The 8tracks playlist for this fic, Songs from the Shedrow, has been updated. Thank you to idoltina for beta'ing. Enjoy the chapter!
The next few days pass more quickly than Emma would expect. She spends a lot of time in the stables, trying not to hover around Princess and arguing with Phillip about whether or not she should set up a cot in the next stall over. "Emma, I know you're freaking out because of the last one, but I promise that you don't need to set up camp down here," Phillip tells her on Monday. "I swear when I let her out to pasture this morning, she sighed with relief, like 'thank God one of you has sense to leave me alone.'"
"Okay but did you -"
"I put her fleece blanket on her, yes. I know how to do my damn job, Emma. Let me do it."
She feels a little like a kid being sent to her room, but she sighs and stalks out of the office. Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she makes her way to the tack room, intent on polishing irons until they gleam.
To Emma's surprise, it's Ruby texting her. It's not unwelcome - they've spoken a few times since the season ended, but their schedules haven't clicked - just unexpected. 'Hey! NYE, u, me, Vic, TOSS THIS YEAR OUT IN STYLE!'
Emma smiles, leaning against a post as she taps out a response. 'Sounds fun. Anywhere in particular?'
Ruby replies almost immediately. 'Yes! Same bar we always hit up. Elsa n Anna r in Boston like lame-os. We'll get u a NYE smooch 4 SURE!'
Emma almost rolls her eyes as a string emoji of lips and sparkles and what's probably supposed to be the ball dropping pops up, but she just replies with, 'Text me a time, I'll be there'.
Another text comes in just then, and this one Emma expects. She smiles as she reads Killian's message - nothing important, but that's what makes her smile. Something had changed between them since Christmas, something good this time. They talk more, either texting or calling each other up at night. It feels easier to just talk; not about anything in particular but just about their day, a funny thought they'd had, her upcoming trip to New York, his planned races down at Charles Town.
It feels as if nothing had ever changed. Yet at the same time, she can't help but remember his words - the weight of what he'd said on Christmas.
Strong enough to last. A future. Their future.
It's a lot to think about, but the weirdest part is imagining herself living at the Horn someday. She's spent enough time there over the years that it's comfortable, but five years ago she would never have thought she'd be living there. She's caught herself thinking about throwing out Killian's old furniture and them buying a new living room set together. She's wondered what it would be like to argue about what color to paint the bedroom. She's even imagined the different uses for the two unused rooms upstairs. No, the weirdest thing is not imagining herself living at the Horn. The weirdest thing is realizing that she's not entirely opposed to using them as bedrooms - and not of the guest bedroom variety.
It's usually around that point that Emma snaps herself out of it and goes to find something to do with her hands.
It's a lot to think about, but she's noticed that the more she thinks about it - daydreams about it, even - the less scary it becomes. Planning a future, putting down actual roots, finding home, it feels - it feels right.
There's a radio on one of the shelves in the tack room, covered in straw-dust but still perfectly serviceable (even if it is older than she is). She flicks it on, twisting the dial through the static until she finds something acceptable. There's the tail end of another warning about this supposed snowstorm headed their way, then some mindless preteen music starts up. 'I'm listening to pop music, don't make fun of me. :P', she taps out on her phone.
Emma tucks her phone into her coat pocket as she straddles the bench, not giving Killian the satisfaction of reading and replying right away. She pulls a box of irons towards her with a smile and picks up her cleaning rag and polish. No, she won't be looking for someone to kiss at midnight, not this year. Ruby's just going to have to live with the disappointment.
New Year's Eve is a cold, windy day, with steely-gray clouds and the occasional light dusting of snow. The wind had started up the night before, making the house creak and any kind of sleeping difficult. Emma spends the morning down in the stables, tiredly mucking stalls and wondering if she'll even be able to make it to midnight, let alone drink until then. She's definitely in need of a caffeine boost around two. She helps Phillip finalize the emergency plans in case they get buried tomorrow; she still isn't sure if this storm is happening, but the radio keeps calling it a 'snowmageddon' or 'snowpocalypse' or whatever the buzzword of the day is, so Phillip wants to be prepared. "I can manage most of it if we get snowed in," Emma argues after they've conscripted two of the guys who have tire chains into coming in tomorrow, come hell or high water - or snow, as it were.
"Keyword there is 'most'," Phillip says. "David will kill me if something happens to you because we weren't diligent."
Emma meets his gaze, ready to argue, but she recognizes the stubborn set in his jaw. He's pretty easygoing, but she's known him for almost half her life. And maybe if it was anyone else but Phillip, she'd argue. If it was anyone who hadn't been here when James had died, she would have fought it, but Phillip's worked here for longer than Emma's lived at the Point.
She relents.
She stops in to check on Princess before going back up to the house to get ready for her night out. Emma knows what Dr. Lucas said and that hovering is probably the worst thing she could do, but the due date could be any day now. Princess whickers as Emma lets herself into the stall. "Hey, pretty girl," Emma says softly.
Princess nudges Emma's chest, blowing out her nose. Emma smiles, patting her neck. "I know, I'm disappointing without any carrots." She runs her hands over Princess's flank. "You're gonna be good for the boys tonight, right?" she asks softly, mostly just talking to keep Princess calm. She doesn't feel anything unusually warm, just Princess' heavy winter fur. "We don't want to make anyone freak out, there's enough to worry about. I don't know, though, I'll believe this storm when I see it. But you," Emma says, patting the bump where the foal is moving, "you just need to stay in there for another thirty-six hours at least."
Princess bumps her head against Emma's arm, whickering again. Emma gently strokes the thin stripe running down Princess' nose, then leans against her neck. Emma's tired and looking less and less forward to going out for the night, but she'd promised Ruby. And ringing in the New Year with friends sounds a little bit better than dozing off in the barn office while waiting for this foal to make up its mind on when it wanted to be born.
Only a little bit.
Emma straightens with a sigh, giving her horse one last pat before heading back up to the house. She's gotten a little more used to the house being so empty, but it's still unsettling to walk in the back door and be greeted by silence. She's considered leaving the radio on, just for noise, but she's heard that's what people who leave their dogs home alone all day do. And she's not a dog, dammit.
Showering helps wake her up a bit and eases the weariness in her muscles. She curls her hair and goes easy on the makeup, not really looking to spend an hour later scrubbing her face clean. It's probably too chilly for her sleeveless red dress, but Emma expects the bar to be kind of crowded. Hopefully she'll be buzzing enough later that she won't notice the chill. Ruby says it's her turn to play DD and Emma's not going to pass up a free ride - particularly remembering the last time they'd all gone out without a plan in place.
She gets downstairs with her clutch and her shoes just as Ruby pulls up the drive. Emma smiles as she unplugs the tree and locks the door behind her.
-/-
Killian's dozing on the couch when the front door bangs open. He shoots up, sending Si spilling onto the floor and causing Am to dig her claws into his thighs. "Bloody fuck - Scarlet, what in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Killian exclaims, his heart ready to bust out of his chest from sheer terror.
Am's quietly growling in his lap, her fur all fluffed out and her tail twitching in agitation. He's got no idea where Si vanished to, though if she's got any sense then she's hidden herself away from any more mad British invasions. Killian tries to ease Am's claws out of his leg but only receives a few well-placed bites in return. Will, however, doesn't bother to answer the initial question. "Not knowing who Zinedine Zidane is, I can grant you that 'cos he's French and fuck the French," he says, his accent thick with his irate tone of voice. "Paolo Maldini, a bit of a stink eye 'cos the man won the Champions League five times. But Ronaldo? Mate, I knew you was a bit dodgy when we brung you in, but I cannot work for a man who has no idea who Ronaldo Luís Nazário de Lima is."
He punctuates this by slapping two DVDs on the coffee table. Killian barely registers France '98 World Cup and 2002 FIFA World Cup Korea Japan before looking back up at Will. "What the hell are you yammering on about?" he asks calmly.
"Football!" Will shouts and Killian blinks at the sincere amount of despair on Will's face. "Robin tells me you don't know your arse from your elbow about footy. I don't got anywhere better to be tonight, you sure as hell aren't doing anything, I am rectifying this situation before this year ends and you begin another as an uneducated git!"
Killian watches, bemused, as Will turns on the TV and pops one of the disks into the old DVD player. "It's New Year's Eve, Scarlet, go out and do something foolish with yourself."
"Nope," Will replies, flopping next to him onto the couch. "Plenty of foolishness to be had here."
There's a long moment of silence as he gets the DVD started. Killian sighs, settling back against the couch. As the pre-game commentary fades into the match, he says, "Will, truly, I'm not in need of company -"
"Jones, this isn't about you, alright?"
He glances at Will sharply, who steadfastly ignores him in return. But Killian can still see the worn expression, the tired droop in his eyes and the purple smudges under them. He wants to ask if this is about Belle or if there's some other unknown quantity of woe in Will's life that he's not privy to, but he has a strong suspicion that were he to ask he'd receive his answer via a blow to the head. Killian nods, turning back towards the TV. "Alright, mate. Now who's this Renaldi fellow?
"Bloody fucking hell, you ignorant pillock."
-/-
Emma's about three vodka cranberries into her evening when Ruby starts in on the New Year's kiss. "Okay, so I've been scoping out the area. Unfortunately, the more attractive individuals seem to be paired off already, so I've lowered my - and thus your - standards a bit. There's a cutie at your six -"
Emma swivels in her chair to face Ruby head on. "Ruby. I appreciate the effort. You are my number one pick for a wingwoman. But I'm not -"
"Are you and Killian dating again?" Ruby asks, the sharp wings of her eyeliner making her glare even scarier than usual. "Did you two hook up again? Without telling me?"
"No -"
"Emma Swan, do not ring out this shitty year with a terrible excuse. Did. You. Two. Hook. Up?" Ruby asks, poking Emma repeatedly in the leg for emphasis.
"No!" Emma protests, swatting Ruby's hand away. "No, we haven't hooked up."
"Who hasn't hooked up?" Victor asks from behind Emma.
She turns in her seat to talk between them better as he leans on the bar, a pint glass in hand. "No one is hooking up," she says.
"Emma and Jones are a thing again," Ruby says.
"We're not a thing!"
"You should be a thing," Victor says with a shrug, taking a long pull from his glass.
Movement out of the corner of her eye made Emma glance over in time to see Ruby pull Emma's phone out of her clutch. "Might want a better password," Ruby says as she taps in 1234 and goes into typing a new text.
"Ruby!"
She smirks, sliding the phone over as the text sends. Emma grabs at it, her cheeks burning as she reads, 'Hey y havent we hooked up?' followed by several obscene emojis.
"He has a shitty old phone, he doesn't even know what an emoji is," Emma snaps. She quickly types, 'IGNORE THAT. RUBY BEING INAPPROPRIATE', quietly wishing for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.
She definitely doesn't want to look when her phone cheerfully chirps at her that she has a new text. She doesn't want to look, she doesn't want to look, she doesn't - 'Swan, you wound me. You never shorten words, only phrases.'
"Oh my God, look at the smile on her face," Ruby tells Victor as Emma taps out a response. "Seriously, it's a text and she look like he wrote her a romance novel."
"I do not," Emma says, smiling even wider as she lies right through her teeth.
"You are so ridiculous, both of you," Ruby declares.
Emma slips her phone down the front of her dress - thank God for shelf-bras - and glares at Ruby as if daring her to try and fake-drunk-text anyone now. Ruby just raises an eyebrow, smirking. Emma hears Victor chuckle. "She'll go for it, don't give her an opening," he says, setting his glass on the bar. "Come on, ladies, the night is young, this beat is hopping, and I have some moves to bust."
Emma laughs as Ruby groans, taking her hand and pulling her along after Victor. "You are so lame," Ruby complains.
-/-
'And you type like you're writing in Ye Olden Times.'
Killian chuckles, then sets his phone to the side as Will shouts at the match on the TV. "Mate, how many times have you watched this?" he asks.
"Not enough - oh bloody hell, that's a red card, ref," Will says, gesturing wildly. "And you, with your nose in your mobile like you ain't got anything better to do."
Killian just shrugs. The match is interesting enough, but it was sixteen years ago. He's certainly starting to see the point of this Ronaldo person, but the match was sixteen years ago. This match could legally drive in some countries. This match could legally drink in most countries. Ruby roping him in on some banter with Emma is a mite more entertaining.
His phone buzzes again when he's in the kitchen grabbing something to eat. 'Victor and Ruby are being gross.'
'Are they in public?' he types.
Her reply is instantaneous. 'Yes.'
Then came a few in rapid succession. 'I wish you were here.'
'Crap. Forget I said anything. Too many vodka cranberries.'
'Sorry.'
Killian waits a moment to make sure there aren't any more incoming messages. He sets his sandwich to the side and leans against the counter, trying to decide how to respond. He's gathered that Emma and her friends are out for the evening, probably at a bar or a party, and while he does appreciate the sentiment he's not quite ready to test the limits of his sobriety - nor has he told Emma about said sobriety. 'Love, don't worry,' he writes. 'I'm well-occupied tonight. Will's here trying to educate me.'
He's back in the living room with his sandwich when Emma responds. 'Oh God, do I want to know?'
Instead of replying, Killian takes a picture of the DVD cases. Will scoffs. "Mate, just fuckin' ask her out again."
"Watch it, Scarlet."
"I am. I'm watchin' you make disgusting lovey-dovey eyes at a bloody mobile," Will says, propping his chin on his hand. "Don't be a wanker, Killian."
"I'm not," he says, dropping his phone at his side and crossing his arms over his chest.
Will reaches over and rips off a chunk of the sandwich for himself. Killian glares at him, but Will's undeterred, tearing it into smaller chunks to eat. "Seems to me like you is," he says, his mouth half full.
"For a posh boy, you act like you were raised in a barn," Killian snaps, grabbing the rest of his sandwich.
"Work in one, don't I? You lot an' your backwards manners musta rubbed off on me. An' we don't mention the posh bit."
"Sure and you were down for Eton. What your rugger mates must think of you now."
Will punches him in the arm. Killian winces slightly; they'd come to blows once or twice over other nonsense, so he knows Will's holding back, but it still smarts. "Stuff it, you," Will says. "Watch the bloody match."
Killian scoffs, shaking his head and taking a bite of his snack before surreptitiously checking to see if Emma had replied yet.
-/-
Per Ruby's orders, Emma hasn't touched her phone in a few hours. She'd gotten the picture - some soccer DVDs, he seemed to be having some kind of guy's-night-in then - but Ruby had then insisted that if they were going to have a good time phones had to be out of sight, out of mind.
Emma made sure to change her passcode anyway.
Now, as midnight ticks closer and closer, and the dancing is starting to wear off in favor of finding someone to cosy up to, Emma finds herself back at the bar and hovering around hers and Ruby's clutches and nursing some water. She'd stopped drinking about an hour ago and at some point earlier, someone had passed out some silly party hats; Emma thinks her New Year's top hat looks quite dashing, much better than Ruby's headband and way better than Victor's novelty 2015 glasses.
Her hand inches closer to her bag.
Part of her is disappointed that Killian doesn't want to come out, but it's a much smaller part than she'd expected. It would be nice, but she thinks she'd feel worse if he wasn't already doing something. And knowing that he's spending time with someone, doing something equally silly and fun, makes her happy.
It's nice to end the year on a good note.
And maybe… maybe next year they can share a New Year's kiss. End next year on a better note.
She flicks open the latch on her clutch, lighting up her phone screen to see a message waiting from Killian, just one from a few minutes ago. She opens it, grinning when she sees a picture of him cartoonishly puckering his lips over Will's (seemingly) asleep head. There's a caption, 'Should I kiss him at midnight?'
'I dare you.'
"EMMA!" Ruby's voice carries over the crowd and Emma looks up.
Ruby's pushing her way to the bar, Victor not far behind her with a party blower dangling out of his mouth like a cigar. "Oh, for God's sake," Ruby grumbles, adjusting her headband. "Come here, if you insist on being technologically addicted, we're taking a New Year's selfie."
Emma holds her phone out as Ruby comes in close, turning her head at the last second to press a kiss to Emma's cheek. The picture comes out pretty good, actually, Emma's surprised laughing face and Ruby's smug profile as she leaves a red lip imprint on Emma's cheek. As the crowd starts to count down to midnight, Ruby leaves her for Victor and Emma sends the picture to Killian, titled, 'Got mine too.'
The crowd reaches zero and the cheers almost drown out Auld Lang Syne piping in over the old speakers. Someone starts setting off party poppers, the party lights catching the metallic confetti and sending colored light scattering everywhere. The DJ starts playing Frank Sinatra, like it's Time's Square and they're in New York, New York instead of tiny bar in Storybrooke, Maine. There's confetti in Emma's hair and she's laughing as Victor dips Ruby in a kiss worthy of a romance novel cover, and even though she knows that it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things - time goes on the same as it always have, the new day and month and calendar year is only symbolic - something in Emma's chest loosens.
It's been a year. They happen, every 365 days or so. There's good ones and bad ones.
It's been a rough year. It had its ups and downs; some ups were higher than others, and the downs were pretty low. And in a way - well, not that she could do anything about it, but if she had a choice? She actually wouldn't change too much about it. Maybe she would have made a different decision back in September, but she's learned a lot about herself since then - and about Killian, too. She's made her mistakes and learned from them. She's ready for whatever comes next, when he decides he's ready, too.
And she's changed a lot since moving back to Storybrooke, mostly for the better. She'd made new friends, met new people, reconciled old hurts. She has Henry back in a way she'd missed over the last few years. She has a crowded house full of nosy and well-meaning and loving family, and a few new members of the family on their way.
So, it's been a year.
And this is a new one. Blank and waiting to be filled with new memories, new people, new family, new hurts.
New hopes.
Emma's phone buzzes twice. One is from Killian, definitely kissing the top of Will's head and it makes her laugh to think of what might have happened if Will woke up during that. And the other is from Elsa. It's a simple 'Happy New Year!' message, under a picture: Kristoff and Anna sharing a kiss while Elsa grins, wrapped under Kristoff's other arm and taking the picture.
She sends them the same message, with the picture of her and Ruby - Elsa will appreciate it - and turns back to her friends. Emma hugs Victor, kissing his cheek and brushing confetti from his hair, and Ruby sweeps her up in a bear hug, laughing as the DJ continues through a medley of cheesy music. Victor pushes his way into their hug and they sway as a trio, laughing and stumbling through the lyrics.
It's been a year.
Ruby plucks confetti out of Emma's hair. Emma lets her head fall back as she stops singing, watching the mirror ball reflections spin on the ceiling. Light shines off of metallic streamers and she closes her eyes, listening to everyone else drunkenly try to remember the lyrics to a song that's older than most of them are.
A new year. New possibilities, new chances - maybe only in spirit, but Emma let herself have that hope tonight, here, surrounded by everyone else who clung to that same hope for a better, happier new year ahead.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Emma gives Phillip a smug look when she walks down to the barn the next morning. "Huge snowstorm, huh?"
He rolls his eyes at her and she grins. "It's better to be overly prepared," he retorts, and her grin widens.
It's not a clear day by any means, but the clouds don't look like snow clouds to her and there's not even a breeze to chill the air. It feels like a regular January day and she's just glad she doesn't have to try and keep the snow clear from any paths or off her car. They're a little understaffed today, Phillip claiming that a lot of the guys called off with hangovers, so Emma has plenty to keep herself busy. She's nursing her own hangover, but she's definitely had worse. And she has less of an excuse to slack off since she lives here.
Feeding has been taken care of in both barns by this point, but most of the stalls still need mucked out and the tack room has slowly been turning into a disaster, so it's been decreed a cleanup day. Phillip already scheduled it to be a rest day for the racehorses, so Emma spends a lot of time doing quick groomings and strapping on blankets. She does get a little bit tired of singing Happy Birthday over and over again while grooming, but Mary Margaret isn't here to do it and Emma figures someone has to.
After making sure everyone's groomed and warm, Emma takes her time leading finicky horses out to their respective pastures. The geldings are starting up a game of blanket tag in their pasture, so Emma makes a mental note to keep an eye out for blankets strewn around the grass in an hour or so. The mares are a more sedate bunch, quietly grazing as Emma walks past their pasture back to the barn to get to work.
Between the group, stall cleanup takes no time at all, and they clear out enough space in the main aisle to move things out of the tack room to give it a thorough cleaning. "New year, clean tack room!" Phillip keeps saying, and if Emma wants to punch him after saying it once, she definitely wants to by the fifth, sixth, and seventh.
The barn cats had clearly been busy since the last time they'd cleaned out; Emma finds no less than three dead snakes hidden around under the cabinets, and one of the guys, Eric, seems to have a knack for continually finding dead mice. "What's the point of these fleabags if they don't actually eat the mice?" Emma grumbles, making a face as another mouse corpse is tossed into the trash bag.
"Feed them less?" Eric asks.
Emma snorts; as if Mary Margaret would allow that. "Be glad they catch anything at all, they're all lazy bags of bones," Phillip says.
They break for lunch, then get right back to it. They wind up tossing out a lot of things taking up space: old and broken harnesses, halters, lead lines. A decent chunk of the medicine cabinet is expired, which worries Emma. "Seriously, we get enough Lasix in every month, we can't check that we need more scrub or drops? And with how often Belle was here? And - Jesus, what the hell is -"
"Emma, it's fine," Phillip says, dumping a ten-pack of expired artificial insemination preservatives. "We have more, we just overbought a lot of stuff. With how often Dr. Lucas has been here over the last few months, it just hasn't been necessary to resupply so much. And we haven't done as much non-local breeding lately, so this kind of thing just went to waste."
She purses her lips, watching Eric dump a box of colostrum from the medicine fridge. "You know we have a foal coming, right?"
"We have more."
Still, Emma runs down to the office to get a notepad. She writes down everything they've already pitched and makes notes on what else gets thrown out, ignoring Phillip's exasperated sigh. She'll talk to David when they get back tomorrow, they can place a big order before their other stuff gets shipped. The guys might say that it's fine and dandy, and Phillip can yell at her later about letting him do his damn job, but she worries anyway - the worst tends to happen at the most inopportune moment.
Such as when a third of the medical supplies are expired.
Once the sweeping is done and the trash is taken out, putting the room back together takes almost no time at all. Emma's starting to feel the hangover a little more now, her bones feeling more leaden than they had that morning and her body desperately craving a shower, but she still has to help bring the herd in for their dinner. After that she can rest. There's still some time before they need to do that, though, so she takes a moment to go check on Princess. She's been out to pasture since before Emma came down and is probably tired too.
The sun's started to set and the wind has picked up as Emma leaves the barn, but it still hasn't started to snow. She smiles to herself, thinking that either this snowstorm to end all storms will pass them by completely or have petered out by this point. However, her smile fades when she notices how much Princess is pacing and lifting her back legs to nudge at her belly. Emma leans against the fence to watch for a while, her brows coming together in a frown.
The blanket hangs too low to see the udder, though the growing darkness would make it hard to see regardless, and if Princess is this antsy then there's no way Emma's going to get in there right now to check if she's started to sweat. One glance tells her that the blanket's thick enough to make it okay if Princess is sweating in this kind of weather, but they should probably bring her in soon.
As she digs in her pocket for her phone, a snowflake lands on her nose.
She pauses, glancing up. Big, fat snowflakes are starting to fall from the sky and there's a pang of regret in her chest for her earlier glee. "Shit," she mutters, pulling her phone out and calling Dr. Lucas. She gets the answering machine at the clinic and taps her foot impatiently, waiting for the message to end. "Hey, it's Emma Swan. I think Princess is close to labor, she's kicking at her abdomen a lot like it's hurting her. I know you'll want to come out to check on the foal, but just giving you a heads up that it's looking like it's soon."
Phillip and Eric are on their way out to help bring in horses when she slips her phone back in her pocket. "No snowstorm, huh?" Phillip asks, grinning.
Emma smiles tightly. She knows it's just payback for this morning, but she's a little too wound up to appreciate the ribbing. "Looks like it."
The horses come in willingly as the snow starts to come down a little faster; all except for Princess, who seems intent on shying from anyone who comes close. It takes Emma and Phillip herding her around towards Eric before he can get a lead line on her to pull her in. "Might have a little one soon," Phillip muses, watching Eric take her in.
"Yeah, I just called with an update before you guys came out," Emma says. "Not the best timing."
Phillip shrugs as they head in. "You know these things can take a while. She might act up for another two or three days before anything happens."
After the evening feeding, they go over the same plans from the day before. "You've got plenty of fuel for the generators if and when the power goes out," Phillip says. "Tweedle Dum and Dee know they're supposed to come in tomorrow as long as there's not a road ban and I'll call them to remind them not to stay up all night drinking again."
"I can handle things here if they can't," Emma says, her confidence wavering only a little as she runs down the list of what needs done. Hopefully the herd had enough playtime earlier that staying in their stalls won't bother them too much until she has help clearing out the pastures.
"Still," Eric says. "Call for help if you need it. Twenty-five horses is a lot for one person."
Emma glances out the office window. It's fully dark now, so she can't tell how much snow has fallen just yet, but if it gets as bad as they say then she's probably looking at handling the farm by herself for a day or two. "If I need it and if it's safe," she says, "I'll call someone."
-/-
Killian brushes snow out of his hair as he stomps a cluster of it off his boots on the porch. Some way to bring in the new year, he thinks. The night crew's well settled in, and good thing too; if it keeps up like this there might not be a shift change come morning. There's food enough in the house to keep everyone in good spirits, but if it goes on past a day or two they might be in trouble.
The cats are cosied up on the couch together and ignore him when he sets out their dinner. He tosses another sandwich together for himself, then leans against the counter, staring at his phone. He knows that Emma's by herself at the Point, and he can't help wondering if she's alright. Doubtless she has a plan or seven in place, but he can't help but worry about her overworking herself. It can't hurt to check in on her, right?
She answers on the third ring. "Hey," Emma says, sounding tired. "You guys getting buried over there?"
"Aye, might have some serious overtime pay due by the time this ends," Killian says. "You're alright over there, love?"
She hums a confirmation. "I sent the guys home before it got too bad, they have wives and children and whatever. I'm set here in case everything goes to hell."
He frowns at that. "Did no one offer to stay?"
"We have emergency plans in place. Gus and Keith are coming in if it gets bad, they should be able to drive. Killian really, it's fine, I've got this."
She sounds a little defensive, but perhaps her crew has been badgering her about this as well. "Aye, love, I believe you do," he says soothingly. "I just wanted to ensure you wanted for nothing."
She snorts at that, but it's a laughing sort. "Well, I appreciate it, but I do want for nothing." She pauses for a moment, then, "That doesn't sound right, but I'm kind of too tired to care."
"Busy day, then?"
He putters about the kitchen as she fills him in on the cleansing of the tack room - an unpleasant chore any day of the week. "And I think the foal's coming. Maybe tonight, probably tomorrow night," she adds. "She's too restless for it not to be seriously soon."
Killian pauses, hand hovering over the faucet in the sink. Emma had voiced concerns about handling the foal's delivery by herself. "Emma, are you sure you -"
"I already promised -"
She stops interrupting him so abruptly that he wonders if she's ended the call on him. After a moment, he hears her cursing quite colorfully. "Emma, what happened?"
"Power's out. Fucking fuck… I have to go check the generators, they should have kicked on by now."
The windows rattle with an enormous gust of wind and the lights in the kitchen flicker. That must be what killed the power across town. "Bit dodgy here as well," Killian says grimly, thinking of his own backup generators. "Go take care of that, and call me if you need anything, Emma, I'm serious."
"Promise," she says before hanging up.
He weighs his phone heavily in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. She'll be fine, he tells himself, washing up.
He does a routine check on his own generator - he trusts that Lewis did the same already for the shedrow - before deciding to make an early night of it. He knows he'll be too distracted by worry to focus on anything else; it's probably best try to sleep it off. He showers and gets ready for bed, leaving the bedroom door open for the cats to come in to steal his body heat when they're ready for it.
And sleep takes a long while to claim him.
The bedding grows too warm from how much he tosses and turns, either waiting for his phone to ring or alert him of a message, or someone to come up to the house with an emergency: surely another disaster would befall them during a snowstorm. He tries the new meditation techniques Tink had taught him, trying to release the worrisome thoughts, but they just claw their way right back into his mind every time. Stupid, bloody tree nonsense, Killian thinks, rolling over for what must be the umpteenth time and punching his pillow into a more agreeable shape.
After almost two hours, his phone buzzes with a text from Emma. 'Got the house generator up. Barn's fine. Sleeping out with the horses, all bundled up.'
Another comes in as he processes it. 'Don't worry about me. Will call if I need anything. XO'
Sure, and telling me not to worry makes me not worry, Killian thinks, frowning. She must be concerned about her horse if she's sleeping out in the stables in this kind of weather. It's snug and warm but it's not the house, and he can't help but feel concerned.
But the XO at the end softens the blow a little. Perhaps she'd meant it to, and perhaps she'd also meant it. He thumbs the two letters briefly, like an eejit, then tells her to stay safe and warm before setting his phone back on the nightstand.
He still worries, and it's not long before he recognizes it to be the kind of worry that fuels his desire for a drink. He knows these are insane thoughts, the ones that drive him to drink most often, the intrusive ones that drive him mad, that Tink had been helping him manage before they parted for the holidays, but he worries anyway. He worries about Emma freezing to death out in the barns, or the roof caving in under the weight of the snow, or ten other increasingly unlikely situations. He knows he's tired and it's the weariness that's making him less rational, but he can't shake the uneasy feeling.
His throat is dry for wanting a drop of whisky.
It's the new year and technically his forced sobriety is over - Tink had requested it through the holidays and those are over. He could walk downstairs right now and have a glass and no one could give him any hell for it. He's managed fine, enough distractions and friendly faces to keep the thought of a bottle far out of his mind. But -
He wonders if it's the best thing, to drink now to erase the worry from his mind.
And perhaps this is what Tink had been getting at when she'd made her request. Perhaps she knew, as he does, that he'd relied too often on alcohol to numb healthy emotions because he just didn't want to feel them.
And perhaps he doesn't want to continue this sobriety for her - perhaps he wants to test himself. Perhaps he can have a pint or two someday without the need to numb a memory or a feeling, but for now maybe… Maybe he wants to see how far he can get without that particular crutch.
It doesn't help his worry for Emma, this realization. But maybe that's the point. She'll be fine, he tells himself again and again, willing himself to stay here in bed and not get up to do something foolish. She promised to let you know if she needed anything. She said not to worry. She'll be fine.
Killian repeats that to himself, an droning internal mantra. He doesn't know if it's the boring repetitiveness that finally gets him to sleep or if exhaustion has finally caught him up, but he's glad for a dreamless sleep anyway.
-/-
Whoever thought the invention of the camp cot was a good idea needs a swift kick in the teeth.
Emma's up at the crack of dawn for no other reason than her body refuses to lay on this ridiculous thing a second longer. The wind rattling the barn and the snow piling up on the roof and causing it to creak is absolutely nothing compared to the way her hips are killing her and how her feet are absolutely protesting sleeping in her snow boots. (Sue her, she didn't want to waste time lacing up if something went wrong.) Add in the fact that any noise Princess had made during the night had Emma sitting up and listening intently for several minutes, and she hadn't slept very well through the night.
It works out for the best though, because in the dim light Emma can tell that no one else is going to be able to come in today. There's over a foot of snow on the ground and it's still coming down thick. She sighs and gets the old radio out of the tack room, turning it on for company while she gets the morning feed ready.
The music is interspaced with weather updates: eighteen inches of accumulation so far and the storm itself hasn't blown itself out just yet. They're calling for it to continue into the afternoon, possibly thirty inches or more before all is said and done. Emma sighs, wondering if it's too late to start moving snow around or if she should just wait it out and handle it later. The four-wheeler isn't going to be enough to move that much snow around, and Emma can't hitch the big plow up to David's truck by herself.
She's gonna be stuck for a while.
She also feels silly wading between the two stables; the snow's well up over her knees but it's not too wet so she rethinks the four-wheeler on her trek over to Mary Margaret's barn. She figures that between the time it takes to get between the barns and how long it takes to dole out breakfast and morning medications, she'll be able to get back to the main stable in time to muck stalls, and then switch back; she already feels the headache brewing trying to juggle everything, but she did say, repeatedly, she could handle this by herself.
Now she just has to live up to it.
As expected, it takes most of the morning to get the basics done. Emma's tired and starving and really just wants to get out of these heavy clothes by the time she leads Uncle Tickles back to his stall. He nibbles at her hand when she unlatches his lead and Emma runs her fingers through his thick winter coat, grinning when his ears droop lazily. "Two thousand pounds of teeth and hooves, and under all of that you're just a big softy," she murmurs, giving him another pat before closing the stall door.
She can hardly see the house as she heads out of the barn, the snow's falling so thick. A normally two-minute walk takes close to ten as she stumbles through a sea of snow, falling on her face a few times in the process.
Fuck this. The four-wheeler can wait, she thinks as she makes it to the safety of the porch.
She peels herself out of her layers, leaving them in a heap in the mud room. She feels ridiculous showering already when she's going to have to do it all again later tonight, but she feels gross and sweaty and her nose is frozen. And... actually, she's more hungry than anything else, so a shower can wait.
Emma tosses a few grilled cheese sandwiches together and tomato soup, scrolling through a few messages on her phone while she eats. Two are from David, confirming that there's no way they can make it back up from Boston today - she wouldn't have expected them to and tells him so - and there's at least three from Killian checking in on her. 'I'm fine, sorry, it's been a busy morning. Eating now, then shower and sleep,' she writes to him.
She manages to make it through most of her second sandwich before he replies. 'You had me worried, Swan. Thought I might have to hire a team of sled dogs.'
'Nah. Lots to do. Tired.'
'Rest up, love. Let me know if you need anything.'
Emma looks out the window at the snow that hasn't let up at all. She doesn't doubt that he would come out here if she asked him to, but she's not asking him to risk his neck for something she can handle herself. He's already done enough for her, put himself on the line enough times. She can handle this. Even if she is exhausted.
When she wakes up from her nap, the snow's finally slowed. It hasn't stopped completely, but the light snowfall won't add any more inches to the ridiculous amount that's already out there. Emma stretches, then bundles herself back up with a sigh, deciding to give the four-wheeler a shot. It's not like she has anything else to do.
Plowing goes surprisingly well, even if she does have to do a couple of passes. She's freezing by the time she finishes the driveway, but at least she can get out if need be, or someone else can get in. Let them try to get out of coming in tomorrow, Emma thinks smugly as she stashes the four-wheeler back in the shed. The roads should be good by then, and then things can get back on track. Hopefully.
Looking at the sky, she decides it's late enough that it'll be okay to dish out dinner, and then she can take some time for herself before another night in the barn. Her hips are already protesting, or maybe they're still protesting from last night, but she wants to be nearby in case something happens.
And judging by the way Princess is laying down when Emma passes her stall, something definitely is going to happen tonight. "Shit," she mutters, lingering by the door.
The straw is all pawed up, a definite sign of restlessness. She knows it's probably better to leave Princess alone, but the blanket she's wearing is probably too much and might get in the way later. Emma opens the door and eases in, talking softly the whole time. Princess' neck is damp with sweat when Emma removes the blanket, though her breathing is even. "Okay. Stage one," Emma mutters to herself.
Princess gets back up and starts pacing around the birthing box after Emma lets herself back out, which is a good sign. She's got a few hours at most before anything happens, so that's enough time to get everyone else fed and then camp out here for a while. And possibly get Dr. Lucas out here, just in case.
Emma speeds through the last of dinner, then jogs up through the snow to the house for her phone and to grab something to eat for herself. The last thing she needs is to be distracted by hunger. Dr. Lucas picks up on the second ring. "Hey, it's Emma Swan," she says, rummaging through the fridge for something quick and easy. "It looks like it's happening tonight."
Dr. Lucas sighs. "Well, it's going to have to happen without me," she says. "My truck is buried and the plows haven't been by this side of town yet."
Emma's pulse quickened but she took a deep breath to stay calm. "Okay."
"I can try to stop by tomorrow at the earliest to check on how everything went, but I cannot get out there tonight. If you just let her do her thing, there's a reasonably good chance everything is going to run smoothly." 'Reasonably good chance' isn't what Emma wants to hear, but even she knows that 'everything will run perfectly' is not something Dr. Lucas or anyone else can promise. She seems to sense that, because the next thing Emma hears is, "Emma, it's going to be fine. She's healthy, the foal is healthy. There's nothing more you can do but sit tight and let nature take its course."
"Okay," Emma says, but she feels very small as she hangs up.
She doesn't like it.
She ends up reheating the last of the Christmas leftovers, and though Regina's cooking is excellent it still tastes a bit like sawdust in her mouth. Emma's worried. She doesn't like all of this uncertainty, and she definitely doesn't like being by herself to handle all of the unknowns, but she doesn't have a choice.
She calls Killian after she washes up her dishes. "Hey, just talk to me," she says when he picks up, sitting heavily on the sofa. She glances at the clock, figuring she can let him calm her down for twenty minutes before heading back outside. "I don't care about what, I just need you to take my mind off of this."
He makes a noise she can't interpret. "Swan, what's wrong?"
Emma rakes her fingers through her hair; she'll have to find a ponytail holder before going back down too. "I have to deal with this foaling by myself tonight and I'm kind of freaking out over it and I just need you to talk me down from this ledge, okay?"
"If you need me to -"
"No," she cuts him off. He would, she knows he'd come out here in a second if she asked and she - she wants him to, but she needs him to stay in one piece more. She can't ask that of him. "No, I don't want you driving out here in all of this. I can't ask you to do that, I - I don't want you to get hurt because of me."
She doesn't say again, because she doesn't have to. She feels very watery and her lip trembles a bit and she absolutely blames it on how tired she is because she knows she's done being all weepy about something that happened months ago. It's a new year; she needs to leave that hurt behind her. Emma takes a deep breath to calm down and hopes he can't hear how shaky it is. "Emma," Killian says, his voice that soothing tone he gets when she's at her worst. "You aren't asking. I'm offering. I have chains for my tires, the plows have been by where I am. If you're that worried, love, I can come out. I doubt I'll be able to offer much except a hand to squeeze when you're nervous, but I've handled a fair amount of foalings in my time."
Emma's quiet for a long moment. She glances outside, where there's snow up past the front porch but it's stopped falling out of the sky at least. "It's dark," she says softly.
"Aye, and I've highbeams."
She closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead. She'd called him to calm down, and now he's only got her more worried. But if she says no, she wonders how quickly he'd come over anyway? "Drive slow," she says, trying to make herself sound stern and probably failing. "Don't rush, Killian, I mean it. There's still a lot of time."
She hears the smile in his voice. "As you wish, Swan. I'll see you soon, then."
"I'll be down in the barn. I'll try not to think you're an axe murderer when you come barging in."
He laughs. "This isn't Fargo, love."
"There's enough snow," Emma counters.
"Aye. Well, I promise not to murder you when I get there. See you soon, love."
She smiles as she hangs up. Idiot, she thinks fondly, realizing that even just a little joke has set her at ease. Or maybe it's the fact that he's on his way over.
Either way, Emma bundles up again feeling better about what's ahead. She can do this.
They can do this.
One more proper chapter! I'm just as nervous as you are, even if it is one of those chapters that's been fully formed in my head since the start. Thank you as ever for reading, and for leaving feedback!