This is an important thing to remember heading into this chapter: Morgan/Mary Beth hasn't seen season 3. They don't know about the Peter Pan arc. She will but for now, it's just me being bitchy at her.
==BOL==
The Enchanted Forest
A very long time ago
This cottage was packed full.
That's what it was meant for, after all. What Malcolm and I made it for, all those months ago.
Since Malcolm was a peasant under Father's lordship, we followed the rules of building a property in his land. The cottage wasn't very large, only a dozen or so feet long. I helped Malcolm as best I could so our home would have some height- we were nearly equal in height, so that helped. While Malcolm gathered supplies, I would make the plaster. My father would be so horrified to see his daughter covered in mud and with splinters in her hands. Together we put up four walls with stone and wood. Together we kept it standing. Together wme cut out the windows and put in the furniture.
Well, Malcolm tried to build furniture. I put him in charge of the animal pen, in the end. Though we didn't have many animals to start with. I figured we would get more overtime- despite all of Malcolm's behavior to the contrary. Our animals either kept escaping or got eaten by a wolf. After the house was constructed, I remember sending out Malcolm to find more so I could patch up his awful fence work.
If you want it done right, do it yourself
The cottage was packed already with all we'd made inside of it. A simple straw bed, two half walls made to give a sense of privacy. It even had shelves added! A table with two chairs, more to be built later when the children were tall enough. There was a cupboard space for winter clothes and a basin for bathing or washing. Malcolm made our fireplace from wood, rather than stone like I insisted.
A fact I was very grateful for after slamming my foot against it.
The noise of pain got Malcolm's attention. He ran into my home, our door nearly slamming off the weak hinges as he did so. "Is it time?!" He yelled out in panic.
I huffed, gripping the nearest bit of wall to brace myself. The cobblestone of it gave me more to grip as my nails bit at the plaster. "No," I grunted, wheezing. "Stubbed my foot- it's nothing."
Malcolm sagged against the doorframe. The excitement had our goats bleating. "He's driving me mad."
Feeling better, I waddled over to the nearby chair. The thing made a creak when I sat myself down, holding my swollen stomach. "Wait until he's born, that'll be like nothing."
Malcolm groaned in dismay. I smiled at the expression, remembering that same frustration with Frederic was born.
Our child spent the past ten months growing inside me. It wasn't long ago since I saw Mother like this, or since I spoke with multiple midwives on the subject. Despite only experiencing one birth and one baby, there was very little I didn't know about pregnancy itself. Then again, I had raised my sister just the same. But this would be my child. Raising him would be...it would be different.
Malcolm was less prepared. His parents sold him off to work with the blacksmiths when he was a boy. Growing up there left very little of him soft and gentle, ever questioning if he'd ever become a father or even what that would look like to him. The past few months did little to dissuade him that he'd be worse than his dad.
Well, I told him, long as you don't sell him off we're all good.
Maybe not the best motivator, or comforting message. Malcolm just smiled all the same. Growing up with a blacksmith must've made me seem like a fairy godmother by comparison.
"We'll be up all night to his cries, or all day if he's a fussy one," I added in. Why did Malcolm's annoyed groans and pitiful whimpers make me want to giggle so much? Not in a cruel way, far from it, he was just so adorable when he was playing all pitiful.
Malcolm gave me a hard glare from the doorframe. I smiled widely at him, enjoying this moment of bonding. The coming months would be full of frustration. I want to enjoy these moments whenever they come. I remember the fights Mother and Father got into the closer it came for Frederic to be born. The tense, quiet mutterings at dinner spoiled the whole meal. The false smiles Mother would always give me whenever the fights made her cry, or Father's distance in the days after.
"I know. It'll be easier on me if he just comes out now." Malcolm complained. He pulled himself to his feet, closing the door behind him. He walked over to kneel at my feet. He leaned down towards my stomach, making me smile again. "You hear that, little guy? Get a move on."
A mental image came to me- of the baby blabbering an affirmative, thus starting the quickest birth in the history of the Enchanted Forest. Malcolm's surprised but pleased expression in this fantasy made it all the better. It delighted me so much I giggled.
Malcolm looked at my giggling self, smiling too. The little joke got me out of my head.
As Malcolm himself often reminded me, 'think happy thoughts'.
"He'll come whenever he's ready. Not a bit sooner." I reminded him. "Just like I told you, and the midwife told you."
"I know, I know." Malcolm took my hand. He squeezed it, holding the knuckles to his lips while smiling up at me. "I don't know how you're doing it," Malcolm admitted. "You've been a bloody saint for all of this."
As midwives often warned me, stress was bad for the baby. That was especially true for me. Course, I didn't realize how true those warnings were until it was too late. Typical. The first few months of pregnancy were awful. The mood swings were the worst- how Malcolm still put up with me. Or the cravings. The mental rollercoasters I'd been on were torture as well- constantly fearing for my child and husband.
But then Malcolm would do something. He'd chase around a loose goat for an afternoon. He'd tell a joke that had me almost peeing from laughter (and doing so, in some unfortunate cases). Once Malcolm started playing that pan flute of his, the tune calming down the babe in my stomach.
"Don't go knocking yourself down. You put up with my moods." I told him.
"Few and far between though they were." Malcolm corrected. He sighed. His fingers brushed on mine, an unconscious gesture I was unwilling to correct him on.
A small lie, but not on his part. I was used to hiding my moods at home- years of being told any exposed emotion was a weakness to be exploited. Many of my moods were covered up for Malcolm's sake.
Except for the cravings.
I had no chance of stopping those.
"Maybe I should stay a bit longer?" Malcolm told me. "Just until the week passes. Then I can-"
"Don't even try." I shook my head at him.
Malcolm groaned. "Morgan."
"Nonono. You know how important this trip is, how much you need it-" I reminded him.
"Do I? We make ends meet well enough." Malcolm suggested.
"With your skills as a smith, you'd be foolish not to find work somewhere." I scolded him. Malcolm rolled his eyes as he always did when I praised his work. "If you wait any longer you get the chance of missing the birth, and being caught in the chill! There has to be a forge around here that'll take you."
"I doubt it."
"Oi." I scolded, smacking his hand away. I took hold of his chin, making him meet my eyes. "What's that thing you're always saying?"
Malcolm sighed, rolling his eyes. It reminded me of Darcy's more petulant moods. "Think happy thoughts."
"Practice what you preach, then!" I instructed. I swatted his shoulder, trying to push him off again.
We'd just done this a few minutes ago. That he still insisted on sticking around was laughable.
Malcolm moved his hand to my stomach. The baby had moved down in recent days. There should be time for him to make this three-day trip and return, by my calculations and by the midwife's advice. Malcolm could get work then be back in time for the birth.
The baby kicked beneath his hand. My hand moved above his, gasping at the feeling. Being kicked from the inside was the oddest feeling. One I didn't dislike...
Malcolm smiled.
"See?" I gave him a pat on the cheek. "He knows his papa is gonna do great things. But only if he leaves."
"Alright! Alright." Malcolm pushed himself to his feet. He walked towards the door, giving an annoyed huff. "I thought I'd wait until after the birth for the nagging to start."
If I had something nearby, I would have thrown it at his head. I told him as much as the door to my home closed. Malcolm's laughter came back through.
I rubbed my stomach, to the boy inside. "Most insufferable man I've ever met...oh I miss wearing shoes. I could've thrown a shoe! Have I told you about shoes? Fascinating things. Another Realm called them 'sneakers'. I'm so impressed."
I looked off towards the cupboard...wondering...could I do it without anyone noticing?
Just take my baby on a trip to see the Realms outside? Show him his legacy?
By the Author, I hope I can...
In the meantime, I was nearly finished with his bassinet.
==BOL==
Storybrooke
This house had always been empty.
The Curse had created it empty. It made up the many walls, the many bland colors, and the carpets that filled it up. Sure Aimee being here gave little spaces their fun but...overall this house was made for me to be acutely aware of how lonely I was.
The same loneliness Regina herself experienced when Daniel died. She held a big grudge against the abstract construct of Death personified. I don't blame her.
But it was so fucking lonely here...Muerte's living home- for all that it was a cabin in the woods- would've been a better place to live. That house felt lived in, with every part touched by something alive. Of a homestead brought to life.
Mary Beth's home was a mausoleum. With the outside looking like an uppity Haunted Mansion, with black shingles on the roof and gray painted exterior. Looking at it made one think of entering the Underworld. The inside was painted mostly dark blue, black hardwood below. It wasn't helped by the black candle lights along with it, really freaking out the guests. A depressing descent into the end of everything.
The furniture wasn't handmade. Everything was more grandiose than needed. White leather couches, with black hardwood backs. All of it facing a wall mount television. The doors and windows to the outside were all dark, blocking out much of the line when drawn. Aimee usually left them open so sunlight came in, contrasting the dark interior.
Upstairs it wasn't any better. The only real difference was that it had less lighting. My bedroom had two switches by the door. The first turned on the main light for me to find the stairs. The second turned on the lights down the hall to the...other rooms.
Given I spent so much time out of my house, either at the station or with Operation Cobra or even meeting Gold, I wasn't often in my own home.
Mary Beth's own home, my bad.
I remembered the memory that came this morning. The feeling of being pregnant was so jarring, that I was scared when I woke up in a cold sweat with a flat stomach. As I looked down the dark hallway, I fretted at the difference beneath my feet.
The warm straw, caked above dirt that relaxed around my toes.
Cold wood that stuck to my feet. The sticky sweat from my dreams made a wet noise as my feet rose and fell on the blackwood. No warmth, no life.
My fingers inched towards the second switch.
Sometimes...sometimes the Curse was creative. Sometimes things slipped through the cracks, dripping out into the Curse. I strongly doubt the name Mary Margaret was something that Regina thought up. Or any of the other oddities that made the Curse a bit too big. The items in Gold's shop that, with just a little magic, would become dangerous again. Regina wouldn't dare bring any of that on purpose.
Maybe...just maybe...signs of Muerte's life bled through too.
Only one way to find out.
I flipped the second switch.
The hallway lit up. An exaggeration, as it barely revealed the other doors at all. Just three. One, my Curse memories supplied, led to Mary Beth's father's study. The other was Mary Beth's childhood bedroom. The third...
I didn't think about that one too hard.
Instead, I walked my sticky feet along the cold, cold floor towards it.
Whatever nightmares might be inside...
Could that be crueler than Regina ever imagined?
Does she hate me that much?
I reached for the elegant doorknob, eager to find out.
"MARY BETH!"
"GAH!" The unexpected voice made me jump back. "What?!"
Aimee came running up the stairs. There was a portable mug in her hands. Was that mine? Ah, yes, I remember seeing it in the kitchen. "Don't you have work?" Aimee asked.
"No. I don't have a job. I quit." I lied. She'd freaked me out. Now all I could think about was what was behind that door...
Aimee gave me an unamused stare. It was so much like Lucia's that it physically hurt. "If Mama could hear you, she would smack you for it."
Nah.
Your mother would just straight up kill me. If I remember right, that's what she wanted to do when I admitted to wanting to be alive again for the Curse. If I'm remembering wrong, it's only because Lucia was often upset at my frankly brilliant ideas.
"Ugh. Fine." I stormed off towards my bedroom. Time to get dressed for work.
That body wouldn't keep for long...not if Regina had any say about it.
==BOL==
He'd gone to Storybrooke General first. Emma called 911. We were 911, so I called paramedics. Graham was long dead already. The ambulance took him to the ER, where they announced what I already knew.
After an hour-long argument with Dr. Whale, he agreed to send Graham to my office in the morning. It was morning.
I was signing off on the transfer for his corpse.
Dr. Whale gave me a sympathetic frown. "Again, are you sure you want this? He was your friend. I'm perfectly willing to run this for you."
"He deserves the best." I countered, finishing the last signature with an added flourish.
Though the portable cocoa Aimee made me this morning perked me up a bit, nothing could make me forget that I'd failed the Huntsman last night.
Nobody within a mile of Regina's claws would defile him again.
Dr. Whale simply nodded. He accepted the paperwork for the transfer. He glanced at the bagged body once more. "Have you heard from Deputy Swan?" He asked.
I shook my head.
Dr. Whale's lips thinned into an even more sympathetic frown. He walked out my door with a parting wave.
I was alone with the Huntsman.
It was my job to get him ready for his final rest. Many at the hospital were suspicious of how a healthy 28-year-old sheriff died of what looked like a heart attack. They'd taken blood last night for testing. According to Dr. Whale, it would've taken a while for testing to come back.
Meanwhile, I had enough supplies here to run them by hand. The point was what ultimately convinced Dr. Whale about me taking the body.
I turned to said body. The body still in a bag. Walking over to it, I unzipped the top to reveal the face of my friend. A friend that was alive yesterday, and remembered me not even a full twelve hours ago.
Now he was dead.
This wasn't my first dead co-worker. In other worlds, other lives lived, there were plenty of others. People that died by explosions, and inaccurate portrayals of gunshot and stab wounds. I worked with them, watched them die on screens then later dying before my eyes.
This was my first time giving them an autopsy.
"Here we are, old friend." I brushed back some of the lackluster curls atop his head. "You and I on the cusp of one last awfully big adventure..."
Without comment from Graham Humpert, my heart broke that little bit more.
Moving him out of the bag was a fast process. His clothes were removed already as personal items. His badge was given back to the department. It would be on Swan's desk, should she come in at all today.
Nobody would rush her on that. Least of all I.
I was the only one here. No assistants, or anything like that. Nobody wanted to sign on. Why would they, with a job like this? Nevermind that I enjoy it. They don't.
The Huntsman was lying still. Yes, I had to say that. He wasn't moving anymore. Usually, a Huntsman being so still was to lure in a kill. To properly hunt, to avoid startling his prey. Him being so still now...no life to him...this hurt more than I would ever admit.
But there was work to do...to complete...I couldn't let it slow me down.
"'Think happy thoughts'," I told myself. Then I scoffed at how ridiculous it sounded. "What a load of crock."
The Huntsman gave no arguments.
He never would, not ever again...
==BOL==
Enchanted Forest
The wood creaked beneath my hammer. I huffed. The project was being quite the handful today. Then again, needing to pee a dozen times didn't help progress.
The babe's bassinet was almost complete. I was decent at carpentry, enough for a working rocking bassinet. Weaving the basket itself took quite a few lessons from a midwife and local wives. The basket would be held in a wood rocking holder, meant to keep the baby contained and easily rocked. I was even planning to add a mobile on the top. There were so many cute ones in other Realms, I couldn't say no!
Another tap from the hammer got the nail to go down. Leaning back I knocked the back of the basket. It rocked smoothly across the straw. Pride swelled up in my chest.
"You like it?" Reaching down, I rubbed my stomach. He'd been kicking more often lately. They were starting to hurt now. "It's gonna be your bed. That way, when your dad rolls over in bed, you don't suffocate and die!"
My baby kicked the side of his room. Given that his room was close to my internal organs, this hurt.
My pain was his first toy, good for him. He's gonna r exactly like his aunt.
I pushed myself to my feet, gripping onto the wall and the shelves to keep from falling back down. Malcolm left a handful of hours ago, by my count. There was work to be done outside to keep the goats from killing themselves.
Ugh
"You're getting active." I praised him. After unlocking the deadbolts on the door, I stepped outside. "Ready to come out and play, aren't you?"
Sure enough, the goats were trying to get out. I checked by the door, the clever little feeding system ready to be deployed. A quick pull of a rope had bells ringing. The goats snapped their heads up, rushing away from the gate.
I'd trained them to run to safety at the sound of the bells. 'Safety' usually meant 'away from the gate'. Malcolm thought it was magic, getting them to listen. It was just simple psychology.
Two chores are done.
"Not a lot of play here, I'm afraid." As the goats came to realize there wasn't a thing to fear, they went to eat more grass. I walked towards the clothes wire.
The rain was coming later. That meant the clothes needed to come down.
"Maybe you'll be like me. I find weird ways of having fun-" He kicked again. I hissed, rubbing my stomach trying to soothe him. "F-Fixing up the house. Fixing up all kinds of things. I'll sh-ow!"
That wasn't a kick.
That was a push.
Holy shit how far apart-
When did they start-
Midwife midwife MIDWIFE-
Malcolm isn't here
Fast as I could, I grabbed the laundry off the line. There was time before I could call the midwife. Clearing the laundry would occupy my mind for a minute.
"Okay...okay...I'm not allowed to use the fireworks...the bells aren't loud enough...would a smoke signal work? Or- or maybe a messenger pigeon! ...I don't have a messenger pigeon."
The baby kicked again. Impatient little bugger!
"Wait!" I told him. A fruitless scolding, I was on his schedule now more than mine. "Give me five minutes- you weren't due for another week. Our family is always on time, boyo! You've got a legacy! Don't tell me you picked up Malcolm's pathetic time keeping, I'd die!"
A goat bleated.
"You shut up too!" I yelled. Taking a breath to compose myself, I put my hand on my stomach. "Okay. Okay- screaming. Screaming could work too. We had a system, dammit."
The baby pushed again. I wheezed in pain, annoyance, fucking everything.
Author dammit, what was I gonna do?
==BOL==
Storybrooke
Clinically, I know what happens during an autopsy. Anybody that's watched even one procedural crime show knows as well. Take some samples of blood and the like, send them off to be tested, and then cut up the body.
That wasn't a process I strictly liked.
To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm doing. Everything I did was like...was like an out-of-body experience. My body moved on autopilot. Complaining about it seemed like the worst thing to do, or even to stop me from doing it.
For all I would complain about having nothing to do, this wasn't the work I was wanting.
When I came back to awareness, all I could think about was the baby was coming, the baby was coming-
It took an embarrassingly long time to remember I wasn't pregnant. The phone was in my hand, ready to call an ambulance.
Muerte got no ambulance.
Is that how she died, giving birth alone in the woods?
Nobody around for miles?
That's an awful way to go.
The scalpel I was using had fallen at some point in between the memory and canceled the 911 call. (Right. It wouldn't have worked anyway. Emma was out today. I could've called Dr. Whale. It'd be annoying but I could've done it-)
Muerte couldn't call anyone.
I looked up at the Huntsman. My racing heart broke at the reminder. I'd failed, and I did so in style.
"You would've helped her." The Huntsman may not have liked people, or anything that they did, I truly think he would've helped Muerte in her time of need. "Pity...I don't think anyone else did...what must it have been like for her...to be all alone. I've been that way a few times."
The Huntsman was quiet. I leaned down, picking up the bloody scalpel.
"You've only died once. Lucky. I've died...a handful, I think."
As a child, just a child, barely old enough to drive. Metal cutting into my skin. Burning. Smoke all around. I screamed-
Something- somebody shot me- it hurt so much-
Their teeth chewed my neck...fuck it was disgusting-
The metal was digging into my skin. I jumped back, feeling the scalpel in my hand. It hadn't broken skin yet...my glove was still on too. Reliving all the times I died was never fun. It wasn't often to happen. Usually, my depressive episodes were never so bad. Every couple of months I would have the odd traumatic dream. Every few weeks I would remember the less deadly occasions.
Today must be a Bad Day.
Great
"A Bad Day, just what I needed." Standing to my feet, I walked over to a nearby table. There was a little dish there I filled with sanitized water, and rinse water. This would have to do with cleaning the tools. I only had so many, and I had the feeling I would be dropping a lot of these today. "A whole day to be reminded of my failures. Of all the times I died. All the ways...and I get to add another one today."
Another scalpel was in another dish, full of cleaned tools to use.
"Wonder how she'll die." I turned to the Huntsman. "Gotta be entertained somehow. You're not giving me anything."
==BOL==
Enchanted Forest
"Can we help her, Blue?"
"Wait a moment..."
"She won't last on her own! Neither will he!"
"...alright. You may bring the midwife to her cabin. Do not be seen, Red!"
"I won't! I'm not as inept as you seem to think."
==BOL==
The screaming really should have worked by now. If this didn't work, there was no hope for me at all.
The contractions were closer together. How many hours had it been? A good few, I could tell that much. Any candles for time keeping were used up a long while ago. I tried setting up new ones. The contractions made it hard to stand as they came closer together.
I wheezed, clutching to the sides of the bed. My teeth clenched. Another contraction came. There was a noise- I wrote it off as the bed jerking. I screamed out.
The noise got louder. Wait. That- that was knocking?
"Morgan! Morgan, it's me!"
The midwife?!
I screamed again, grunting at the end.
The door opened. The midwife rushed in- looking stricken and panicked.
"Early!" I grunted.
The midwife scoffed. She put herself at my bedside, pulling out her supplies. "I've been telling you, that baby ain't gonna come when you want."
"It would've been nice."
"If labor could be scheduled like that, everyone would be happier." The midwife grabbed a full water bucket. She must've taken it from our well.
My gut clenched, not quite pushing but also not quite not-pushing.
I was in pain.
Thinking was hard.
"Malcolm was supposed to be here." The words were teary. Was I begging for him? Mourning his loss? Happy he wasn't seeing me like this? Not even I knew. All I knew was that this hurt. I tried to keep up my breathing like everyone always taught me.
The midwife sighed, sympathetic. She came back to dab my face with a wet rag. "Let's focus on getting through this."
Well that doesn't make me feel any better
==BOL==
"See? I told you I could be subtle."
"Whether that worked has yet to be seen. There's a long wait until he is born. Has Yellow found anything yet?"
"No."
"The great evil...they must be powerful if we can't find them."
==BOL==
Storybrooke
I don't feel any better either
I was dipping a solution into a vial of blood. If I was holding a sharp object or an organ-
Swirling the vial, I checked the slab behind me. The Huntsman was grayer than before. I turned back to the vial. It wasn't changing to the color I wanted. Sighing I put the vial aside.
'Experiment 5: negative'
Irritated, I put the vial aside with more force than necessary.
There had to be an answer. Having your heart crushed had to leave an internal sign! A sudden cardiac arrest couldn't hit somebody like Graham Humpert. The magic should've left a sign.
Given my research, finding physical evidence of the attack postmortem would be hard. That left magic traces as my only chance. I knew Regina did it, Emma should suspect, and Henry knew. Wouldn't it be great to have magical evidence to back me up? I could use that after the Curse breaks to fuck Regina over.
It would make me feel less like a failure
I began setting up a sixth experiment. So far, I would have to officially call it sudden cardiac arrest. It wasn't satisfying. This wouldn't be my first time lying in a police report, so that made it feel less awkward.
It would just annoy me forever
I tapped on the side of the vial, thoughtful. The memories of Muerte were still coming in flashes...more and longer as I worked. Her condition wasn't any less poor. She wasn't alone, but what would that solve? Giving birth was always a risky game back then.
She could still die from childbirth. I could still witness that...ugh how tedious.
Who even is her husband? Malcolm...Malcolm...I don't remember any 'Malcolms' in any of my fairytale research. Or anything vaguely fairytale-like about their life that hasn't already been used in the show!
He did say 'think happy thoughts'. That was a familiar phrase.
"I'm not enjoying my day." I mumbled, swirling the vial. Looking over my shoulder at the Huntsman I asked "There's a song with that...Author, I know every song. I should know this."
My former coworker gave no helpful advice. The Sound of Silence wasn't a Disney song anyway.
"I know it, it's in my head. How did it go...think of the happiest thought, there's no better time to start." I hummed. The vial was once again not changing to the color I wanted. Honestly? That was rude. "Think of all the joy you'll find when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye!"
The song ticked away in my head. It wouldn't play the whole thing at once- wouldn't let me speed through it. Was that my mind being a bitch (a likely option) or was it Muerte, at work deep inside the body I wore to keep me from realizing the truth?
"You can fly, you can fly, you can fly." I tapped a rhythm with my fingers. "I swear to the Author, I know what that song is. Where it's from. It's on the tip of my tongue- this is so annoying."
Twenty minutes were spent that way. Me, humming along to a song I couldn't quite place.
My phone buzzed every few minutes. It got so annoying I pulled it from my pocket, putting it on the table. The calls weren't from Henry or Emma or even Gold, so they were ignored. Word got around fast in this town. Everyone should know what happened to Sheriff Graham. Shouldn't they also know I was busy?!
It buzzed again, nearly falling off the table. I caught it in time.
"What do you possibly want?!" I growled into the receiver.
The speaker was silent. For far too long, honestly. That made me even more irate.
"I am busy! At my job. You know, the dead people job? Dealing with a dead person? What makes you think I wanna talk to anybody right now?!"
"Forgive me, Ms. Spencer, for disturbing you." The Blue Fairy began. Mother Superior. Whatever. She sucks. "That's what I wanted to talk about,"
"Well wait a few hours!"
"Miss Spencer I need to speak to you about his funeral-"
"What part of 'wait' are you not getting?!" I yelled. "Learn patience!"
"His Will says he wants you-"
I hung up on her. Damn, I wish phones could still slap shut. It would make me feel better. Just- the audacity of telling me there was more work for me.
Graham's death was a failure I would carry for a long time. Why do the nuns wanna remind me about that?
==BOL==
Enchanted Forest
The candles flickered when my son came into the world, though I didn't know this until later. All I was focused on was how fucking exhausted this ordeal made me. A tiny bit selfish, it was allowed.
If Malcolm were here, he would've noticed.
Damn him...still being gone...yes I know I sent him away. He still should be here.
He was supposed to be here...
The point was...after a long, long while a baby's cry filled the cottage. My heart warmed up.
The midwife told me what I already knew for certain. "It's a boy...a healthy baby boy."
She handed the swaddled baby off to me. I held him close, clutching to this small, wet, thing that was a part of my family.
My flesh and blood
My little baby...
"You're beautiful." I praised him. The child gurgled, wide brown eyes exploring the space around so he could get used to it. "No, you're perfect."
Pity that Malcolm isn't here to see this
He'll hold it over my head for ages- that he should've been here
It'll be fine. We'll have more, and we'll be extra sure Malcolm can be there.
That was in the future. Right now, my baby was curling his entire hand around my pointer finger.
I stared transfixed at the baby's face. He had such distinct features already...my cheeks, Malcolm's nose possibly...
"I have a name for him." I admitted. "Bad luck to name him without...without his Papa."
We picked it together
It's only right we give it together too...
We picked out the perfect name for him
The midwife nodded. She squeezed my shoulder, wiping away more excess sweat from my head.
The baby cooed.
Literally everything in my life is about you now
No take-backs
Twinkling bells distracted me. Mainly because we had none in this house. When I looked up at the cause, that confused me further.
The twinkling sound came from two brightly colored lights. Blue and yellow. The lights flashed, changing in a flurry of sparkles into two tall pale women. One with her brown hair pulled up in curls, the other with her black hair down. Both wore tiaras and dresses in their respective colors. The wings faded in the sparkles, it did not fade them from my mind. The blue fairy was smiling; gentle and welcoming. The yellow fairy wore a tight expression, her smile on edge.
I knew them on sight.
Be respectful, Morgan
Don't wanna anger any fairies, do we?
"...hi."
Well I'm cursed
"What are you doing in my house?" I asked. "Who are you?"
The midwife flinched back, hawking at them.
"We're fairies, dear." The blue fairy explained. "This is Fiona, your son's fairy godmother."
"Yeah, I figured out the fairy bit." For sure cursed. Forever. Whole life is ruined because I am too tired to keep my mouth shut. Darcy would be losing her mind...
In my defense, they showed up when I was at my weakest...
"I mean- I mean I've heard about fairies and fae. They aren't common for peasants." I explained. "When they do come...they're alone."
The blue fairy smiled politely. Fiona appraised me, her smile less tight and more withheld curiosity.
"What's wrong?" I sat up, holding my baby tighter to me.
Fiona hummed. "Not yet." She looked over my baby again, then locked eyes with me. She gave a dismissive sneer of a smile before shifting back to a too polite smile.
I glared at her, angry.
The blue fairy giggled to ease tension. "What Fiona means is that everything is grand. A prophecy told us that on this darkest winter's night, a boy would be born with great light magic."
"A child known...as the Savior." Fiona revealed.
"...I just gave birth to him. He doesn't even have a name yet!" The whine might've been even ruder. However, I was fresh off labor and had two fairies in my house. Can I be blamed for being curt and short with even fairies? "Can't I name him before you start giving him a job?"
==BOL==
The baby whined.
I shushed him, brushing his tufts of hair. He whined some more. Putting on a sigh, I rolled my eyes. I began to sing a quiet lullaby.
"Just for you, boyo." Taking a breath, I began the song. "Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green. When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen."
He settled back fairly quickly in the cot. I gave it a brief push to rock. That quieter him down.
"Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so? 'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so." Blowing him a kiss I went back to the laundry.
Giving birth made a lot of laundry. There was a special recipe from another realm, another time, it worked well enough to clean out anything.
Malcolm would be upset to see his son born. The least I could do was clean away the evidence. That should lessen the blow.
Only two days have passed since my son was born. The Blue Fairy explained as much as she was able. So basically nothing. My son was a born Savior meant to fight a great evil.
Fiona arguably told me more than that. She revealed just what sort of 'evil' my son was fighting. An evil born this winter, bearing a crescent moon scar on their wrist to expose them.
She no doubt expected me to hunt down this evil. By her insistence on how evil it was, how horrid it was, the damage it would bring.
Like...did she not know evil existed already? Evil existed all over the realm- all realms. Legends of Nimue, the lover of Merlin that turned against him. Wizards succumbing to dark magic for millennia. Need I even steak of evil existing outside of magic, in the hearts of men?
Now that would be a sight...my son, fighting the evils of men. He could do that for sure. As my son, it was his birthright.
I smiled over at his rocking cot. He coped gently, hands waving at the connected mobile. His soft coos carried on the winter breeze.
"Call up your men, dilly dilly, set them to work-"
"Morgan!"
Fast as I could, I grabbed the crossbow from my side. When I leveled it at my target, it fired.
My father ducked, narrowly avoiding an arrow to the face.
Pity.
He held up his hands. His expression was the right kind of fear. "Peace! Peace!"
I pulled another arrow from my apron pockets. If this was a proper fight, I would be dead already. My father came alone.
The crossbow stayed up.
"I did not come to fight!" Father called out. "Morgan please-"
"Yet you come to my home." I replied. "A home where I swore to you if you ever as much as looked its direction, I would cut you down where you stood."
Father swallowed, easing back. "Please. I want to help you."
"You told my sister much the same." I spat at him. "Did you not? That you didn't want to hurt her, only help her? Stop her...what did you call them? Faults? Failures? Disgraces?"
"Yes. Your sister did not need such...behavior from me. I see that now." Father replied. He was as trustworthy as a scorpion, no doubt thinking of me the helpless frog that would give in. "But I- I've changed! I see now what I should have been a better father to her- to both of you."
How funny
Someone else in my shoes would have caved, welcomed their father with open arms. Anything to be a family again.
But Darcy had begged me
Her last words to me were that I make my own path
I would not disgrace my sister like this
"Too late." I told him. "I have my own family now. They need me here."
I failed Darcy, I know that. Never would I fail my son. He needed me at my best. He most certainly didn't need my father. I never did.
"I could help you!" Father explained. "All of you. Look at how you're living! Can you really provide for a child like this? He's my grandson! He deserves better! I can provide for you- give him a childhood without fear, where he can be strong!"
That made me snort, scoffing in distaste. Did he honestly think I wanted any of his money? I've not needed it before. Whenever Darcy and I traveled the Realms, we managed just fine without a single coin from him. Malcolm was out right now looking for work. My son would become a Savior. What could I possibly need from him?
"Malcolm provides for us well enough." I replied.
"Him? He's a peasant! He was a hopeless drunk when you met him. How long until he falls back on his ways?" Father reasoned.
"Then I'll provide." I argued.
Father gawked. "You...you? Provide for your family? That's a man's right. You won't last another season of this. Just come home."
That angered me so much. Darcy was always arguing about Father's opinion of us. The mere fact that we were daughters made us useless in his eyes. Darcy rebelled, and was cast aside.
I rebelled.
The Author gifted me a son for it.
A son that would defeat a great evil.
"Father. Every minute we speak, my patience grows thin. I recommend you start running away."
Father swallowed. He looked me in the eyes, pleading and just all around trying to be sincere. Whatever he hoped to see- mercy, forgiveness, sympathy- the lack of them shocked him.
My thumb pressed on the crossbow's release. There would be consequences for murdering my father. I believed I could fully recover, perhaps blame a wild thief or day it was all an accident. It could work on the people of Father's land. Maybe most wouldn't even care. Malcolm would be confused, possibly a touch scared of what I'd done.
I would still do it. Over my dead body would my son grow up under my father's thumb.
Father finally saw my threat. On realizing he truly wouldn't get anywhere with his child and grandchild. I would not let him in my life. He had tears of chances. It's really his own fault that I hated him. Realizing his life was at stake, Father turned tail and ran back the way he came.
I waited until he was a speck in the distance before relaxing. The baby was crying again. Putting the crossbow back on my hip, I rushed to his side. Lifting him up I rocked him.
"Lavender's green, dilly dilly, Lavender's blue. If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you..."
==BOL==
"Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, let the lambs play. We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way."
The week was almost up. Malcolm would be home soon. There was very little evidence that a birth ever took place. The baby curled up on my chest was the only evidence I wouldn't clean away. That and the small doll I stitched for him- curled up in his cot.
He gurgled. I wiped off the drool from his chin. He stayed on my chest, warming up from my body heat and the wool blanket wrapped tight around him. The fire was going, strong as it could. The warmth helped against the cold.
"When I am Queen, dilly dilly, you'll be my King."
The baby gurgled again. The sound was almost like laughter. He was such a happy babe...could I really give him a life as a Savior? Is that really something I can be okay with?
My son was fated to die fighting evil. How was a mother to cope?
I looked off towards the clothes closet. The closet where I hid away Mother's Hat.
I wonder...if...if maybe...just maybe I used the Hat this one more time...took us both away. What benefit would it be, if my son could see the other Realms? Other times? It helped me well enough. And Darcy.
Maybe it could make a Savior out of my son...make him strong. Strong enough to escape his fated death...we could do it.
Should I leave without Malcolm?
Father was scared off but he came alone. What if he comes again? With soldiers? Father was never one to back down quietly.
That's just how he made choices. How he changed my life. He waited until it was quiet, until I felt safe, then everything was turned on it's head.
Even when Malcolm returned, would there be enough time to explain?
How can I think happy thoughts when I'm so full of doubt and fear?
I just need more time...
My baby gurgled again. I rocked him, humming gently to keep him calm.
Whatever I decide...it needs to be for him. Not me.
Literally everything needs to be for him now.
A twinkling bell rang in the cottage. Behind my shoulder was a flash of yellow. "Why did you deny your father?"
"Or 'hello' as normal folks say." I greeted her dryly. Bundling up my son, I lowered him back into the cot.
Fiona gave no time for me to adjust for the proper greeting. "Your father offered you everything you ever wanted. Why deny him?"
I eyed her, confused. "You're his fairy godmother. Shouldn't you of all people in this realm know about my father?"
Fiona rolled her eyes. "Yes I know. He apologized! Was that not enough?"
"No, actually. My father is a liar. He would turn on his word the moment it was to his advantage." I dismissed the very idea. "My son wouldn't be any sort of Savior after living there."
Fiona huffed in aggravation. "Well you don't have many other options."
"What, besides killing any baby with a crescent moon scar?" I asked. Fiona put on a cold face. "Yes. I got all your little gifts. The list of babies, the map, those blades? Where they poisoned, or enchanted?"
"Enchanted." Fiona answered. "A simple sleeping spell. They would wake up eventually, once the danger passed."
"Oh so just twenty years. That won't cause any murderous feelings against me or my son." I snarked.
"Well I'm sorry. I'm only trying to keep your son- the Savior- safe!" Fiona argued.
"Exactly! My son. Mine. You are his fairy godmother. It's my job to care and provide for him." I argued right back.
"This is about more than just your son! When this great evil arrives, how many more will be hurt because you decided to coddle him? Stop being afraid and help him!" Fiona yelled. For a fairy, she wasn't very good at keeping calm.
"You think this is fear that stops me? Fear of this dark future, of my son being killed? Of course it does!" I snapped at the yellow fairy. "My son will be trained by the best warrior in all the realms. Me. I am more than capable of helping him myself!"
"I doubt that you are! If you were, you would take this threat more seriously! He is the Savior. Do you know how rare Saviors are? With all the threats that we face, we cannot afford to replace Saviors for them. Is it not better for him to be as ready as possible?"
"So my son will not only be a Savior against this threat, but he must take on the burdens of every threat?" I asked. The concept alone enraged me. For all the pride I felt of my son being a Savior, there was no reason for him to be a hero forever. Even I knew sometimes it was better to spend some time at home. "For as long as he lives? How long, Fiona, will he fight? When does he rest?"
"He can! He can rest- if you kill that evil!" Fiona ordered.
"The evil my son is destined to kill?" I countered. "I of all people have seen what happens to people that fight their fate. He will fight it himself. Me? I'll encourage him every step of the way."
"Aren't mothers supposed to protect their children? From any and all threats?"
I pulled out a gifted blade to aim it at Fiona's throat. Fiona scoffed. "Those books spoke of more than just prophecies...they told me a spell. A spell to kill a fairy."
Fiona's face fell. She looked at my knife with a new fear. The enchantment already laid on it by her would be enough to knock her down so I could reach her wand. The few spells I knew on hand weren't powerful enough. They would cause me damage more than Fiona. However if I grabbed her wand...she'd be a sitting duck.
Yes. Occasionally I was a badass.
Darcy would be so proud of me...
"Though I am not the Blue Fairy, with how eager you've been for me to start a murder spree I doubt she would mind if you were gone." I replied.
Fiona glared. A false, haughty arrogance coming over her. "You think you're better than me? A fairy? I've been trained in magic for as long as my existence. You wouldn't dare kill a fairy."
"For my son? Without hesitation." I replied.
"Fine. If you won't help me, I'll have to make you." Fiona waved her wand.
I ducked to avoid the spell, clutching my son tight. Fiona must've known I would, sending a second rapid spell at me. It hit, freezing me where I was.
Fiona smiled, sickeningly sweet. She used her wand to pluck my son from my arms, lowering him into his cot. He cried. Fiona wasn't doing anything to help. Her spell kept me from doing much the same.
"See?" Fiona asked, kneeling down towards my side. "Everything goes so much better when you listen to me. I could let you go, but how can I be sure you wouldn't go against me? I need to ensure compliance, loyalty."
Her hand reached for my chest. My eyes would've widened if they could move at all.
Fiona's hand pulled back. A glowing red heart was in her hands.
==BOL==
Metal fell to the floor in dozens of clatters and bangs.
With how loud I was screaming, it's impressive I heard that at all.
==BOL==
I gasped. Fiona's magic faded off me, letting me fall to the ground. She stood tall. The heart glowing, reflecting off the firelight.
Fiona herself seemed surprised by her actions. She eyed the heart, then my face. "Stand up."
My body moved outside of my control. My back went ramrod straight, my knees bent to push me upright. Never did I bend or pause in my ascent.
"Wow. I never should've sent your father after you. This is much easier." Fiona cheered. I glared with all my might at her.
==BOL==
I screamed again, clutching at everything around me. The Huntsman's corpse was neatly sewn up, everything cleaned up and away. I didn't care about it.
My heart hurt.
==BOL==
"Now." Fiona poofed up a scroll. She opened it, searching it with deceitfully warm eyes. "We can start with the babes born at the last full moon. That was when winter started. You can check them as we go. In the event we find the great evil, you will have to dispatch them. I'm a fairy, it wouldn't be right if I killed an infant no matter how evil they become."
==BOL==
"Gah give me my heart back you bitch!"
==BOL==
Fiona smiled at me. "What do you say?"
"...I hate you." I hissed, with all the vitriol I could manage.
Fiona laughed. "You say that. You don't mean it. You don't mean anything right now, you can't. Your heart's just not in it." She held up the heart, letting me see that which had been stolen from me.
Oh that is not even funny
Her sleeve rolled up, exposing a very dangerous secret. Something she definitely had no clue about.
"Let's get started." Fiona cheered.
==BOL==
Lying on the floor, clutching my chest to feel my heart. It beat wildly in my chest. Graham had a heart rate too. He could feel it beating. He just couldn't feel anything else.
Can I?
Do I?
How long has the Queen of the Dead been heartless?
Then I remembered...remembered what she saw in the past...and I laughed.
==BOL==
I laughed.
Fiona glared at me, enraged. "Well go on, what's so funny?"
Whatever dark magic she used was at work, forcing the words from my throat. They fell out with a demented laugh.
"And you shall know this evil from the crescent moon in bears!" I pointed at her own wrist.
Fiona looked. To her horror, a new scar indeed appeared.
On the sight, magic worked again. The yellow of her dress faded away, the color changing with decay. It darkened from bright yellow to a sickly green. Finally a void of black. Even the feathers in her hair changed from eagles to those of a blackbird. Her wings became less gossamer and more like a dragonfly.
She dropped the heart and parchment in shock. She held her wrist. "Nononono-"
I leapt for my heart.
==BOL==
"Watch out! Her foot-"
==BOL==
Before I could grab it, Fiona pressed her foot on it. I collapsed to the floor in agony. The fall caused a knife in my pockets to cut through the fabric. It cut at my skin.
==BOL==
I clutched my chest to scream. Pain shot through me all over again. The same as it did before...the Huntsman's pain...the pain Henry Senior felt...all of them. Now it was my turn.
Fuck I don't like it.
==BOL==
"You did this!" Fiona raged. "It- It cannot be me! I'm a fairy! We're not evil or dark! I'm not- I'm not this great evil! I refuse!"
Through pain, I scoffed. "Said...the baby killer..."
Fiona pressed down on my heart. I groaned in pain, squeezing my chest.
"The shears. I'll have to get the shears. I- I can cut off his fate. Then I can stop this." Fiona rambled.
My baby was crying again. Louder, more a screech than a cry.
Fiona whirled around to him. "Shut up!" Her wand was raised.
I pushed myself to my feet, leaping at her. "No!" I knocked her to the ground. My heart away from her boot, my son away from her wand.
Speaking of the wand, I reached for it. Fiona snarled trying to do that same. She pushed me off of her. I leapt out at the wand. It too changed with the fairy's magic.
My chest tightened again.
==BOL==
I groaned, turning to the only other person here. "Oh I really don't like her." I snarled.
The Huntsman gave no comment.
==BOL==
Ignoring the pain, I whirled around. Fiona held my heart in her hand. In my hand, her wand.
The spell was on my lips.
Fiona laughed, sneering. "You can't. Not while I hold this." She squeezed.
The pain shot through me. It hurt, worse than before.
I'd given birth seven days ago. This was nothing.
My son cried out.
My hand tightened on the wand. "Try me."
Fiona squeezed.
I started talking, the spell falling out of my mouth with as much force as I could muster.
My son was screaming.
"Stop!" Fiona ordered.
She was too late, of course. The spell was already done.
As it made an impact on her chest, she squeezed.
"STOP!"
Blue was too late.
The heart was already dust.
==BOL==
Storybrooke
"NO!"
Pain
Pain
My heart- my heart was gone-
I could feel it-
Gone- gone- it's gone-
My baby- Author shit what about my baby?!
"Huntsman!" I pushed myself to my feet, running to his side. "We gotta go! We got- he's still there! I don't know- did it work? My spell had to work. She has to be- I don't know! Why aren't you moving?!"
It came back in a slow clarity. The incision on Graham's chest, neatly stitched so you could barely tell I'd cut him open. Bleach filled my nostrils. Dozens of other chemicals came in, sending me into the modern day rather than the very long time ago...
My baby was long gone
Even if he lived that day...there's no chance he's still around now
I sobbed, falling back on my knees.
My baby was gone
==BOL==
Enchanted Forest
Malcolm threw the door to his home open. The goats had gotten out. Morgan wouldn't let them get out.
When he checked inside...what he saw...
His Morgan was dead...
...but their son lived.
==BOL==
Storybrooke
Mother Superior received a simple text saying that Dr. Spencer would handle the funeral affair outside of their church. Dr. Whale received an email about the starter results of Sheriff Graham's tests, most results read off as a sudden cardiac arrest.
Nobody else received a message. Dr. Spencer was a ghost to them.
That's how I wanted it.
The house was cold when I came back. I ordered Aimee not to show up, on penalty of me yelling at her. She tried to fight against it, insisting on coming over. I was in no mood for another house invasion so soon.
I needed to be alone.
I needed to see what was in that room.
==BOL==
Enchanted Forest
The fairies explained everything to him. Malcolm would rather never have known his child had been a Savior. Had been. A fairy had ruined that for them. Apparently the fairy ripped out Morgan's heart, the fall causing a knife to cut at Morgan's skin. Worse than that, Morgan tried to use the wand. If the crushed heart and cuts didn't kill her, the backlash of magic would've done the job.
His wife never stood a chance.
She fought anyway.
Morgan died trying to save their son's fate. How was he supposed to feel about that? He was gone for a week. In that week, Morgan gave birth and died keeping their son alive.
The Black Fairy had used the last of her magic to steal their son's fate. She succeeded, banished to a shadow realm. Malcolm didn't care about her- let her die. The fairies returned their son to Malcolm. An accident, they called it. Morgan was the most caring person in all the Realms- no surprise that her son was meant to be a Savior.
Before that damn fairy interfered.
Before that fairy killed his wife...before she died protecting their son.
A useless son. A son that had his purpose snipped away. A good thing he wouldn't be anymore, how could Malcolm raise a Savior? What was the point of that son, his rattling cry going off all hours of the day?
Yes. Malcolm had given him a name. Morgan would have wanted that. Sure, she had her own name picked out for him, but that name didn't suit him now.
So he picked the best name for a useless, rattling thing.
==BOL==
Storybrooke
The wood was still cold. My feet still stuck to it. The house was emptier now, as my chest was without the heart.
I grabbed the elegant doorknob. "When I am Queen, dilly dilly, you'll be my King. Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so?"
The door opened to a nursery. In contrast to the rest of the house, it was plain. The walls were pale blue, like for a toddler rather than a baby. The flooring was carpeted, soft beneath my feet like his hair tufts. As for the crib, I was reminded of a larger version of his cot. The dark brown wood, full of cream yellow dyed wool. The mobile was full of stars and a moon, spinning on twine thread.
Everything in this room was protesting the rest of it. Like...like what it would look like if Muerte actually did give into her father's wish. The crib was empty- it always had been, and always would be. The rocking chair beside the crib was empty until I sat down in it, gently rocking in it.
"Lavender's green, lavender's blue." I gazed around.
A name plate was hung on the wall across from me. In too beautiful calligraphy was a name that bounced around my head for hours. The few times I had clarity in those flashbacks, the impulse to name my son without Malcolm around.
A lot of answers hit me at once.
Peter Pan
Happy Thoughts was from Peter Pan
The nursery was straight out of the Darlings' house.
Fuck...I had a baby...
Did I have a baby with Peter Pan?
Or had my baby been Peter Pan- as the name plate says?
I can't handle today.
"You don't know me, dilly dilly." A depressed sigh followed. "But I know you."
So I curled my knees up into the chair, holding myself in a ball. My body was taken over by broken sobs for a son I never got to raise.
"I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so."
==BOL==
Gold stepped back into his home. His usual lunch was cancelled due to the Huntsman's death. He didn't begrudge Morgan for her obligations. He himself had affairs to handle over the next two weeks. Swan would need a lot of help before taking the role of Sheriff.
Yet as he walked, let's imagine his basement. There wasn't anything special in there. A few knicknacks carried over from the Dark Castle. The Curse was meant to inflict pain, so it made sure to give off the biggest emotional impact.
A majority were tucked away in boxes. Mainly items that should have belonged to Baelfire. Including an old child's toy, once belonging to Gold himself. A doll made of wool and twine.
Gold went to bed not even thinking about that doll. Or the unfortunate memories that came with it.
==BOL==
AN: FINALLY! This- this chapter right here is the entire reasoning behind this fic. I wanted to off Fiona, handle that whole arc, show Morgan what her life was actually like, and make it all ANGSTY!
Sorry if there was any confusion, but a lot of this chapter doesn't make sense unless my character doesn't know about season 3. The title of the chapter is a reference to Autopsy of a Jane Doe, hence why the entire chapter is Morgan basically alone.
Thanks to potterstar202, RukiaBleach31, RainbowFalls345, Disneylover18, baralph, pax0019, and randomlyrite for favoriting
Thanks to Disneylover18, blackangel365, pax0019, and randomlyrite, for following