Emma and Henry walk round the park, both cradling cardboard cups of hot chocolate they'd bought from Starbucks. Henry wanted an ice-cream, but it's freezing and someone has to be responsible here. She's amazed the ice-cream shop is even open this time of year. It's complete madness - who'd buy an ice-cream during this weather?
Emma's already wearing a hat, gloves and give or take about three pairs of socks. Henry's scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck, and covers his chin. Sometimes he brings it up to rub at his nose, which is strawberry pink. Emma doesn't blame the kid; her nose is so cold, she expects it to fall off at any moment. At least the hot chocolate provides some (if little) warmth. She can feel the heat through her woollen gloves.
"How's your hot chocolate, kid?" She asks, as they walk along the lake.
"Good. Thanks, Mom." He blows out a puff of white smoke.
Emma's eyes are drawn to the lake as they stroll. It's mostly frozen over. A fine powder covers the ice, which sparkles in the winter sun. If Emma wasn't so cold, she might be able to appreciate it better.
Still, she did need to get out the house. The frosty air sharpens her senses. Plus, it's nice to spend time with her son that doesn't involve them being cooped up in the house like a pair of caged birds. Even if they are just walking.
She wants to know how school is - if he's struggling with anything. He says nothing, but she'll have to double check with Regina. She asks who he's taking to the winter con (she managed to swing a few free tickets, thanks to her new actress status) and he mentions a girl called Violet. His ears turn red and certainly not from cold, but Emma doesn't comment. She has to press her lips together to stop from smiling. She knew the girlfriends would start turning up eventually.
He tries to coax Kings and Queens spoilers out of her. Even when Emma tells him she can't possibly know because she hasn't gotten any scripts yet, he narrows his eyes at her. It's clear he doesn't believe her. It's not like she would tell him anyway. She doesn't want to spoil it for him.
"Filming starts soon," she tells him between sips. "Can't you just look up filming photos on that blog of yours?"
"Uh…" He scratches behind his neck. "I don't go on it anymore."
She raises her eyebrows at that. There was a time when she couldn't even get him off the damn website to go to bed, and now he doesn't go on it anymore?
"How come?"
"It's kinda weird now."
"Weird?"
He's avoiding her gaze, kicking the ground with his sneakers as he walks. "There's a lot of stuff on there about you."
"Oh." She blinks. And then: "Oh."
Of course. It must be weird for the kid, being the son of the love interest. And Emma has seen the type of content on there thanks to Killian's blog. She's not just talking about the R-Rated content, but also the amount of hate posts directed at not only the characters, but the actors as well. It's bound to be strange for him.
"Emma Swan?"
They both turn around. A young girl (who can't be any older than Henry) is standing, staring at her with wide eyes. She must be wearing about three scarves. Hesitantly, she holds out a notebook and pen. They tremble in her gloved hands.
"Please can I have an autograph?"
Now Emma Swan has daydreamed about this moment over and over, and each time she has imagined what she'd feel: shock, awkwardness, helplessness, nervousness, and maybe even annoyed. She's not prepared for what she actually feels, right here right now. And she can't put it into words - perhaps a name doesn't exist - but when she looks into the young girl's sheet white face and her warm brown eyes, she melts a little.
"Sure," she says, eyes softening. Gently, she takes the notebook from her and scribbles a signature used for boring things like bank books and statements.
"And… and a picture?" the young girl stammers. "If that's okay?" She's already pulling her phone from her pocket, hope in her eyes.
"That's fine. C'mon over here."
She does so, swiping the hair from her face with nervous fingers. Emma's never had anyone look at her like this before. I'm just Emma, she wants to say. Half a year ago she was serving drinks behind a bar. And now? Now it's like she's like a different person altogether.
"I could take the picture," Henry offers. The girl gratefully hands her phone over, never straying too far from Emma. Henry points the phone at them. "Ready? One…. Two…" There isn't any flash, but there's a clicking noise. Henry takes a few to be safe.
"Thank you," the girl mumbles as she takes her phone back and closes her notebook.
Emma can't help but smile. "No problem." She watches the girl go, expression softening even more when she glances back like she can't believe her eyes. "That was…"
"Weird," says Henry. He chucks his empty cup into the nearest bin. "Totally weird."
"You know what, kid?" She drapes her arms over his shoulders. "I have a feeling it's about to get weirder."
…
When they get in, Emma runs to the boiler and puts the heating on straight away. She strips out of her boots, her big thick coat, and her hat. Henry does the same, shivering. Even though she was wearing gloves, her fingers feel like icicles. They burn a little as they begin to thaw out.
"I'll tell you what, Henry," Emma sighs, as she leans back against the radiator. Her hands meet cool metal. She's impatient for it to heat up. "I think we need-"
"Another hot chocolate? This time with cinnamon," he offers.
Her smile is blinding. "Right you are."
By the time Emma's made them both another cup of chocolate, she's starting to feel warm again. The radiators are hot, the steam from the chocolate is comforting. She carries the mugs carefully through to the living room, and lowers them onto coasters. Henry is curled up on the sofa, reading.
"The answer machine is flashing," he mentions, glancing up from his book.
Maybe it's David or someone. David's always leaving messages on her answering machine, especially when he hasn't heard from her in a while. She presses the red blinking button.
"Um, hey Emma," sounds the voice. Emma raises her eyebrows. Elsa. "It's Elsa." Go figure, she thinks. "I guess you're not in, but could you ring me back?"
"Huh," says Emma.
"Is everything okay, Mom?" asks Henry from the sofa.
"I sure hope so."
She reaches for the phone and presses the contacts button. She finds the number, and presses the phone to her ear. The beeping sounds in Emma's ear as it rings out in Elsa's house. The line connects.
"Hello?"
"Elsa, hey. It's Emma," she says, somewhat awkwardly. "Are you okay?"
"Oh yeah. Of course I am," Her voice immediately brightens. "I just thought I'd let you know about FWC."
"Oh. Right." She lets herself relax a little. So there isn't a sudden emergency or anything.
"You're coming, right?"
"Of course I am." She sinks back down into the sofa and picks up her chocolate with her free hand. There's a shock of cold cream as she brings it to her lips.
"Good, because you're gonna be in a car with Killian."
"I… am?" Emma can't ignore the sudden wave in her stomach she gets at that. It makes her feel foolish.
"Your houses are close to each other, that's all. It makes sense."
"Yeah."
"So Friday, the car's gonna drive you guys to the hotel, ready for Saturday. Did you know that?" Elsa has her business voice on. It's the kind of voice reserved for reading script notes out loud and talking to the producers.
"Nope." Emma pops the p.
"That's strange," she says, a frown in her voice. "You were supposed to get all of this information from your agent."
Emma's chuckle comes bubbling to the surface. David. "My agent's hopeless," she says fondly.
"We have a hotel room each. Don't worry, it's all paid for. And we're all gonna have dinner together, okay? It's a winter con tradition, so you have to be in the hotel lobby at seven."
"That's fine with me."
"And the car's picking you up at twelve, right?"
"Gotcha."
"So, that's all I wanted to say," she says, and Emma can hear her smile. "So I'm gonna have to go, because I've gotta ring a few other people but I thought I'd ring you first because it's all new to you. If you have any questions, let me know."
"I will," she promises. Or she could give David a good kick up the ass and tell him to get his act together.
Goodbyes are exchanged. The phone beeps when Emma hangs up. She only just places it back on the hook when it rings again. She and Henry exchange glances, mutual expressions of 'seriously' on their faces. She picks up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Swan!"
Emma gives a little sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Killian," she says.
"You say Killian in that exasperated tone, Swan but you're smiling. I can feel it."
She can't help it. She smiles properly. "Oh whatever."
"You enjoy my company more than you'd like to admit. I can feel that too, lass."
He's stepping into dangerous territory. She remembers how her stomach swooped when she thought about sharing a car with him. "What do you want?"
"To talk about FWC, of course."
"Well you're a little too late, buddy. Elsa beat you to it."
"Oh ye of little faith, I think you're mistaken."
She frowns. "Nope. Pretty sure that was Elsa on the phone five seconds ago."
"Did she ask you what you're wearing?"
"What I'm wearing?" She's frowning even more. She casts her eyes over to Henry, and then quickly leaves the room, lowering her voice. "I'm not one for phone sex, Killian. Why don't you call one of your many girlfriends?"
"Jealousy sounds good on you, Swan." There's a moment where she scoffs and he sits in amused silence. "But that's not what I'm after. I was wondering what you're wearing for FWC."
A pause. She narrows her eyes, staring suspiciously into space. "...Why?"
"I was musing, as I do-"
"- as you do."
"And I came up with an entirely brilliant plan. Why don't we co-ordinate outfits?"
She has to let the words sink in. And then, with the same suspicious tone: "...Why?"
"I have the firm belief that it would cause quite a stir. The fans already love us together. They already ship us, and I for one-"
"Hang on. They what us?"
He chuckles, breathy and low. "Ship us. Ship."
"What does that mean?" She remembers asking Elsa what 'shipping' meant, but she received a very vague reply.
"It means they want us together, darling," he says, almost like a purr. The sound sends shivers down her spine; shivers she quickly tries to get rid of.
"Okay, well that's kinda creepy."
"But not an unwelcome thought?"
She chooses to ignore the comment. "I mean, they don't even know us, and if they did they'd notice-"
"The unwavering sexual tension?"
"-that nothing is between us at all." She doesn't know who she's trying to convince. Herself or Killian. She's caught herself thinking about him a little too often.
There's a silence; uncomfortable and dragging. When Killian eventually speaks, his voice is softer. "Aye, you're right."
"I am." Her voice wavers a little.
"Well, Swan," he says. His voice is still soft. There's something else in there too, but she can't exactly work out what it is. "In that case, it doesn't matter about coordinating clothing. I was merely joking. I'll see you next week."
"Hang on, if you were joking why did you ring me?"
"I'll see you next week," he repeats.
"I'll see you then," she says, weakly.
They hang up. It's uncomfortable and it leaves a silence ringing around the whole house. She suddenly feels colder. It must be the weather, she tells herself. The weather.