A/N: "Olivia" is actually Emma.. With brown hair. You'll find out why eventually.. Maybe. I write what the muse tells me to write, and when I don't she punishes me with horrible chapters.. I digress. This was originally a Nancy Drew fanfic I wrote on a floppy disk and have no idea where it went. I remembered it the other day, and have been rewriting it for OUAT from scratch..
Ch1
Olivia stared at the paper in front of her, aggravated she couldn't remember. She knew her life didn't just begin ten years ago when she woke up in a bed, in a tiny cabin, in the woods. But that was about all she did know.
Liam Jones - a stranger to her then - had brought the doctor to the small cabin. She knew enough about the outside world to wonder about a doctor coming to her. She wondered if Jones was simply important enough, or wealthy enough, or criminal enough.
Or had she been the important, wealthy, or criminal one? Olivia had entirely way too much time on her hands.
Which brought her back to the yellow pages in front of her. Recently, she had started to get flashes of - what she hoped was - a memory. It was a simple image, just a window. Rain on the outside of it. Not a whole lotta help to her going forward.
Grunting in frustration, she slammed her hands on the table, moving to her kitchen wall to boil a kettle for tea. She stared at the unassuming pot, as she always did, wondering where she got her tea drinking habits from. From.. before, when she had no memory? Or had Liam suggested it? She didn't know. The first few days in the cabin were just as foggy to her as the rest of her life. The doctor had been thrilled when she finally started keeping her new memories.
The kettle whistled, making her jump. She stared at it a moment longer than anticipated, finally moving with purpose, quickly moving to pour the water, add the tea, and wait some more.
Breathing out, she tried focusing on that window-memory thing. It was all she had of her past. If it was a memory. It was night. Raining. Thunder. It was a start.
"Listen to the memory." Liam had told her. "Smell it. Feel it. Lean on every sense you can to flesh it out."
"Run." Olivia spun around, positive she could feel breath on her neck, frantically searching the small room for a person, or a hiding place - but no one was there. She was - still - alone. Breathing slowly to try and calm her racing heart, she wondered what the point of this was. Was she making this up? Possibly. Could she trust her own memory which refused to work for an entire decade? Was this actually a new clue her memory provided? How could she find out?
Moving the tea with her back to the table, which doubled as a desk, she put pen to paper, thinking about what Liam had said.
Dear Yellow Legal Pad
It was a dark and stormy night (because isn't it always?) The rain was heavy. It was warm inside. I could feel the chill of the window. I smelled popcorn.
She stopped writing as a new image appeared in her memory: the reflection of a face in the window, behind her. She couldn't tell who it was. Man or woman. Stranger or friend. She just knew their face appeared above her shoulder in the reflection, before whispering that one little word.
Run.
Sipping her tea, bletching at the sourness (having forgotten cream and sugar) she walked back over to the 'kitchen' to remedy that, while contemplating the simple command that her memory drudged up. Was it meant to be a threat from a villain? Or perhaps a friend quietly warning her? Then why not say 'hide'? Questions that may never be answered.
She brought the doctored tea back to the table, setting it down. Still standing, crossing her arms almost in protest, she stared at the yellow pages with new interest. Could writing actually help? Or was she creating fiction?
Blowing air out the corner of her mouth, she plopped down like a child, wondering where to even start now? She grabbed the pen, and kept going. Fake it till you make it?
The face was higher than mine in the reflection, above my shoulder. An adult, taller than me. Perhaps a man?
I stood there for a moment, eyes wide, staring at the reflection in disbelief. They finally found us
Olivia stopped writing, staring in disbelief. Us? Us who?
Groaning, she stomped her foot impatiently. She wanted, desperately, to know now. They were her memories after all, she deserved them back.
It was never that easy, was it?
Ch2
Olivia didn't have much, but she did have a calendar. One that said Liam should have arrived yesterday. Sure, she didn't need him.. Yet. Her monthly supplies were dwindling. She had enough for another week if she rationed it right.
She didn't want to ration it at all. She wanted Liam to come back with her supplies, maybe finally answer the questions he never did, have a few moments of companionship before he up and disappeared for another month, leaving her to her own devices.
It got unbearably boring in the cabin.
"Why am I here Liam?!"
"I told you, for your protection."
"I don't feel protected! I feel like a prisoner! I can't even leave to get my own supplies!"
"It is for the best, I promise."
She eventually believed him, never was sure why, but she did. All she knew was she woke up here, without memories, and never left. Sure, she ventured outside when the weather permitted, but she didn't dare travel too far. The cabin was smack dab in the middle of a small clearing, nothing but thick trees and vegetation after that. What was in those woods? Wolves? Bears? Hunters?
She had no idea where she was on a map, or how far the nearest town was. Liam always arrived on some four wheeler, which she knew nothing about. How far could those travel on a tank of gas?
This wasn't the first time Liam was behind schedule. Never more than a few days at the most, always bringing chocolates or a book as an apology.
She triple-triple checked the tea supplies, weighing her options. She really needed to ration, limiting herself to one cup of tea a day - which she already had. She had access to water from the tap, so at least she wouldn't die of thirst.
Cursing the name Liam Jones for making her ration, she slammed the tea tin shut, instead filling her water bottle with the tap and leaning against the sink to sip and think. She would survive this, and rip Liam a new one when he finally showed his face.
In the meantime, she hadn't touched the legal pad since the last revelation. She couldn't afford to get attached to these stories when she had no idea if they were even real. How could she know?
The problem was her situation. Sure, she could re-re-read a book. Draw. Twiddle her thumbs. Dance naked in the woods like a crazy person.. considering the lack of entertainment options available, she wondered how she stayed sane so long - maybe she wasn't sane. Maybe this whole 'return of memory' thing was her insanity finally showing itself.
Thinking about this - the paper, and what she had written - was becoming an obsession. It was all she could think about. The legal pad was the object calling to her, keeping her up at night, making her feel crazy.
Really, she should just get this over with. Taking a long drink of her water, she weighed her options. Refilling it, just to waste time, she rolled her eyes at herself. What was there to weigh? She'd been weighing for days, and she was still no closer to a solid answer of should she vs. shouldn't she.
She sighed, pushing off from the sink to stomp over to the table where the paper and a pen sat, untouched, since she had left it there.
Carefully situated herself into the chair, she hesitantly picked up the pen, staring blankly at the few paragraphs there. Now what? She had no idea what to write. But that wasn't how this worked. The words just flowed - somehow - from a part of her brain she didn't have conscious access to, and yet the pen could access it with ease.
Shaking her head, she flipped the used paper over to start with a blank page, wondering for the umpteenth time how she should start.
I saw the man. He turned out to be tall, handsome if I'd been older or into the age gap. Fear rose in my chest, standing face to face with the stranger.
Perhaps he truly was a stranger, then, though Olivia couldn't be certain any of this was real. She pushed on, just letting the words flow no matter where they took her. She needed answers and this impossible method might actually - nope. She couldn't get attached.
I heard my mother scream. I pushed past the man, taking the steps down two at a time -
It suddenly dawned on her, the location of the window. The staircase was split in two, with a landing between the halves. That's where the entire memory took place until now. A small area, the window's details coming into view as she thought about it. Pillows, possibly indicating someone sat up there often, a few decorations, and a book.
Then, Olivia focused on the next little detail: mother. She wouldn't have been able to tell if she even had a mother before this, and now this.. memory for lack of a better word, seemed to put the woman in distress.
She had a mother? Where was she now? Why were they separated?
This wasn't helping. Now she was even more confused if she should continue this or not. How could she know if this was fact or fiction, try and treat it like fiction, and then a new tidbit appears to bring out this feeling of hope like it's all real and true? She wanted it to be real. She wanted her memories back, she wanted to find this long lost mother. Not because it was rainbows and unicorns.. Life never was.
Dissociative amnesia, she had been told. Caused by trauma, and usually cleared up within days of whatever caused it in the first place. Olivia found out that her case was rare. Lucky her.
Stretching her neck in every direction, she figured she had nothing better to do but push on.
Ch3
I reached the bottom of the stairs as a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the house, followed quickly by thunder that shook me to the bone. The house was once again dark. Mom had told me to get the candles, and whatever flashlights I could find, but I had gotten distracted by the lightning through the window on the landing.
I didn't know where she was. For a moment, everything was still. Silent. I could hear my own heart, racing in my chest, my own breathing felt louder than a stadium full of people and music -
Then I heard it, a small scraping sound coming from the kitchen. I moved as quickly as I could, through the entry, into the dining room, bursting into the kitchen to see my mother in the glow of the single candle she had lit - the arm of another stranger around her throat. He was dressed all in black, like the man on the stairs.
"Emma-" She gasped for breath, struggling, trying to find traction to defeat her attacker. I was glued to the tile. My brave, strong mother, weakly trying to get away, while I -
"Run-"
I couldn't move if I tried. I should have moved toward her, helped her, and I didn't. Why didn't I move?
Before I could process what was happening, my mother crumpled to the ground, and the man in black raised a hand out toward me, the candlelight glinting against the metal object in his hand. I still couldn't move, but it didn't matter. There was a pop behind me, and the stranger still standing above my mother crumpled next to her. I turned to look, seeing that the stranger from the stairs had returned. He was moving to check my mother's pulse.
I waited, my voice gone, my throat so tight I couldn't swallow my own saliva, the tears blurring my vision. I could barely see the stranger's head as it fell forwards. It took him a moment before he stood, turning to me with a sadness in his eyes that I already knew. I remember that look from the day the police officer came, telling us my dad was dead.
"Come, Emma, I'll get you out of here."
Olivia had spent the better part of the last two days refining these memories she had collected on paper from.. Somewhere. She was focusing on details and feelings, adding bits to the story she already had before trying to add another page.
None of this was making sense. If her name was Emma, why had Liam been calling her Olivia for the last decade? Did she really watch her mother die? Was her father really dead? Who were the men in the house that night? Why did one turn his back on the other?
She had to shove the sorrow down. More pressing than the past, and these possible clues to it, was the question of Liam. Where the hell was he? It was going on four days since his missed check in, and Olivia was getting antsy.
Ch4
Killian Jones swirled the amber liquid around the glass, no longer wanting the drink he had poured over an hour ago. He could hear his self-righteous brother scolding him from beyond the grave at either his use of alcohol in grief, or his waste of the liquid not drunk. He wasn't sure which. Possibly both.
His brother's lawyer was here again. This time, refusing to leave until Killian spoke with her. Apparently, something in the will was time sensitive, though he couldn't imagine what that could be.
He didn't want to bother with it. He didn't want to even acknowledge his brother's passing, though it had been weeks by now.
Weeks.
Grunting in frustration, he swallowed the last of the liquid, pushing up from his desk, clumsily setting the glass down. He checked himself by touching his finger to his nose, as one might on the side of the road. Seemingly not intoxicated, he left the sanctuary of his home office, moved down the hall, down the stairs to the foyer where he found his assistant conversing with the lawyer.
Waving off Tink, he finally faced the woman who refused to leave.
"Mr. Jones."
"Mrs. Gold."
"How are you holding up?"
"What a ridiculous question. Horribly."
Her hazel eyes examined him for a split second, before nodding and handing him a thick envelope. The handwriting, in red ink marked 'Time Sensitive', was clearly that of his brother's.
A new wave of horrible grief overtook him.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Jones. You need to take this."
"Must I?"
"Absolutely. Your brother's will was simple, except for this. Open it."
"Now?"
"I won't leave until you do. He was quite adamant."
Killian glared at the woman, knowing full well she was only doing her job. He angrily grabbed the outstretched object, tearing the envelope open, taking out the page. Naturally, there was yet another envelope inside the first, this one containing the bulk of the thickness. Complications, he was sure.
He did not understand it. His brother had written a simple command, demanding he visit some coordinates immediately, demanding the second envelope be opened only in private.
"Thank you, Mrs. Gold." He said as politely as he could muster despite the swirling emotions inside him.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly reading her dismissal, though she nodded her farewell anyway before leaving the house.
Killian had a strange feeling he was not going to like this.
Ch5
Olivia was pacing. It was getting dark, and she was done with this whole situation. If Liam didn't show by morning, she was going to pick a direction and walk. Her survivability would hit zero here anyway as soon as her provisions ran out, why not -
She stopped pacing, her thoughts interrupted by the whirl of an engine. A four wheeler. She felt her entire body relax for a moment, quickly replaced by anger. Her pacing continued, increasing in speed, until she heard the vehicle slow and approach the cabin like she had heard every month for years.
She had had it.
Bursting through the front door, she didn't pause as the headlights on the vehicle scorched her eyes. She moved forward, fueled by rage, glaring daggers at the black cutout of the man.
"What the hell, Jones? It's been four fucking days and - " She finally moved past the lights, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, causing the man there to come into view.
And it wasn't Liam. She felt the streak of terror, specially after those 'memories' she'd written down.
"Oh shit."
She quickly turned on her heel, running to the cabin - "Lass, wait-" - She didn't dare stop. She didn't stop until after she had slammed the door, bolting the three locks. She leaned against the door, trying to control her terrified breathing.
She managed to calm herself enough to replay the scene from moments ago. He was a handsome man, his face shocked at her outburst. His eyes were tortured, and the accent she heard sounded similar to Liams. English, yes, with the tiniest lilt of Irish in there.
Did Liam send someone in his place? He never spoke to her about that possibility. Perhaps it was an emergency?
Or maybe it wasn't. They could be here to kill her. She couldn't assume the man she saw was alone, even if that 'memory' of her mother proved to be false.
The doorknob rattled, "Bloody hell!" causing her to jump away, frantically searching for a way out. There was no way out, with only one entrance, and there was nowhere to hide.
Great cabin, Liam.
"What are you doing in my brothers cabin?"
Brother?
"Do I have any family?" she asked him plainly, those first few days of settling into the cabin without memory.
"I'm sure, somewhere. None too closely related."
"What about you?"
"A little brother."
What were the chances this man could be the 'little brother' Liam had mentioned? No one else had been to the cabin in the ten years she occupied it, so she supposed, if Liam had been held up, he might have sent his only remaining family.
"What's your brother's name?"
"Liam Jones. A self-righteous pain in my arse."
Well, that certainly summed him up well enough.
Olivia moved into the kitchen, grabbing a knife because, well, it was all she had. She moved back to the door, reaching for the locks, still feeling uneasy.
"How do I know you're his brother?"
"Have you ever seen his handwriting?
"Yeah." On a birthday card.
She jumped away from the door again, as a paper slid through. She tried looking around, as if a ninja would jump out from the table and chairs as soon as she was distracted, though she bent to pick it up anyway.
Killian - if you're reading this, then I'm dead.
What?
It is of utmost importance that you visit these coordinates immediately. Please, brother.
-Liam
If Liam was - what the hell - what did that mean for -
It was his handwriting, best as she could tell. Clumsily, she unbolted the door, turning the knob enough for it to swing open before moving towards the table and sitting down. Her only link to the outside world was gone.
"He's dead?" she asked, staring at the page, her back to the door.
"Aye."
"And you're his brother - Killian?"
"Aye, yet I've no bloody idea who you are or why you're here, or why my brother decided above all else to send me here immediately after his demise -"
"He was protecting me."
"From?"
"No idea."
"Rubbish."
She moved the note aside, dropping the knife on the table, letting her head fall in her hands.
"I don't care what you believe." She muttered. "I have got to get out of here." She stood, moving to the bedroom to look around for anything she might need.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Packing. I'm out. Four days, he's dead, and I could have died too if I had kept waiting for him to show up with my groceries."
"How long have you been here?"
"Ten years." She finally found the small backpack she knew existed, opening it up and dumping out the few pages on the bed. She moved past the brother. Still unable to look at him, to the cupboard she used as a pantry. There wasn't much left. A few cans.
Sighing at the sight, she reached in, a hand on her wrist stopping her.
"You're not going anywhere, lass, not until I get the full story."
Ch6
Killian slowed the four wheeler to a stop, turning the engine off, wearily taking in the small cabin before him. There was light inside, he could tell. He wasn't alone here, and he wasn't sure he had the energy to find out who his brother shared this place with.
Was it a mistress? Why the bloody devil would he have to hide her? Wanker wasn't married, it wouldn't have been shady, and no need to hide -
The door burst open, a beautiful brunette storming towards him angrily. Her jaw was set, eyes glaring, shoulders back and prepared for battle. She was bathed in the light of the headlamps, though she didn't flinch away from their glare. He felt his jaw go slack, unprepared for this vision.
Halfway to him. She shouted, "What the hell, Jones? It's been four fucking days and - " She stopped short. Finally moving past the bringing light, seeing him for the first time. "Oh, shit." She murmured. Clearly having mistaken him for someone she knew.
He was not expecting her to turn tail and sprint back towards the cabin.
He hurriedly tried to dismount the vehicle, falling to the ground in his rush, landing on his side - "Lass, wait-" seeing her slam the door before he could contemplate what to say next.
He took a moment, in the dirt and leaves, trying to process this development. He smacked his head against the ground, wondering what his brother had been playing at?
When he finally stood, brushing off his clothes, he calmly walked towards the door.
He wondered, upon reaching it, if he should knock. Finally deciding it had belonged to his brother, now owned by him, he reached for the handle finding it locked.
"Bloody hell!" He shouted at nothing in particular. What now? "What are you doing in my brother's cabin?" Was all he could think of.
He waited for a response, beginning to think she had escaped out some back way, for how it was taking her.
"What's your brother's name?" He heard from somewhere beyond the door.
"Liam Jones." He told her, closing his eyes tightly. "A self-righteous pain in my arse." He added, last minute. It was true. Even after death, the man continued to piss on him.
"How do I know you're his brother?" What the bloody hell was she expecting from him? A birth certificate? A signed affidavit? At least he still had the note from the lawyer, but he wondered if this woman would take it as truth.
"Have you ever seen his handwriting?
"Yeah." She sounded uneasy.
Well, he didn't care about her ease at that moment. He wanted answers, he wanted to go home, and he wanted to drink himself into oblivion. So, he grabbed the note from Liam's will from his wallet, thrusting it under the door.
He was growing impatient as the minutes ticked away, finally resulting in her unlocking three bolts on the door before turning the knob. The door only opened an inch, so he pushed it further, taking one step inside, pausing at the sight of her back to him, sitting at a small table in the middle of the room, the paper in one hand and a knife in another.
"He's dead?" she asked, her voice void of all emotion.
"Aye."
"And you're his brother - Killian?"
That took him by surprise, before he remembered the note said his name. Would his brother have told her about him? He supposed that would depend on their relationship. His blood boiled at the idea that this woman could have been his brothers best kept secret.
"Aye, yet I've no bloody idea who you are or why you're here, or why my brother decided above all else to send me here immediately after his demise -"
"He was protecting me."
"From?"
"No idea."
"Rubbish."
How could she not know, with a claim like that? His brother may have been MI6, but his wards were for Queen and Country. The crown would have sent another agent long before Killian had a chance to blow off the lawyers first calls, and Killian would have never been allowed within the walls of the safe house. This was no protection detail.
Though seeing her drop the knife, letting her face fall into her hands, gave him pause. She was taking this harder than a mere acquaintance, though not as hard as he'd expect from a lover - though one could never truly know from grief.
He barely deciphered her muttered "I don't care what you believe." Before she shot up, moving around the table, through another door that looked to be a bedroom of sorts. She was riffling around, clearly looking for something, muttering to herself. "I have got to get out of here."
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" He was mildly interested now, stepping closer to snoop at her activities.
"Packing. I'm out. Four days, he's dead, and I could have died too if I had kept waiting for him to show up with my groceries."
So his brother supplied her with essentials. Certainly not on his list of duties that Killian knew of.
"How long have you been here?"
"Ten years." He was not expecting that. A new wave of anger towards his brother emerged, as she smiled grimly at a backpack she uncovered. She unceremoniously dumped its contents, moving past him to the tiny kitchen, opening a cupboard. Her face turned to sadness when she saw the contents, reaching into it to retrieve whatever was there.
He found himself grabbing her wrist before the thought fully formed in his mind to do so.
"You're not going anywhere, lass, not until I get the full story." He could see the panic in her eyes, letting her go just as quickly, and with much less thought.
Her glare told him just how much she appreciated his gesture.
She pushed past him, nearly knocking him into the fridge, likely on purpose. He couldn't blame her. She grabbed a legal pad off the table, turning on her heels to stomp back to him, thrusting it into his chest, hard.
"Take a look." She demanded, her voice low.
Searching her face a moment, he saw the scared little girl beneath the pissed woman who stood before him. He gave her a curt nod, reaching up for the paper, her hand falling away as his hand grasped it.
What he read was confusing at first, flipping back to the first page. It was a journal, he figured, reading quickly start to finish. It still made no sense. The beginning had short paragraphs, none really telling a cohesive story, not to him anyway. Then a whole page of detailed notes about one moment, followed by a fully cohesive memory - or story - of said moment.
"Are you Emma, then?" He asked, looking at her through his lashes.
Her anger dissipated at the sound of her name, something flashing in her eyes. Shock? Recognition?
"Your brother called me Olivia."
Change of name within parameters for a protection detail. "The people after you?"
She rolled her eyes, her gaze back to daggers when they fell back to him.
"What you have in your hands is everything I remember before Liam. And I don't even know if it's true."
"And after?"
"I woke up here, no memory. There was Liam, and an American doctor at first. Then I was left alone, except for once a month when Liam brought me supplies."
"Which was supposed to be, what, four days ago?" He asked, remembering her outburst earlier.
Her glare narrowed, this time because he was paying attention.
"Look, Lass, I've no idea about any of this. All I know is what that letter said. I didn't bring supplies - "
"Great, then I'll be on my way -" She tried shoving past him again, but he sidestepped, efficiently blocking her.
"No." He told her with a smirk.
"No?" She cocked her head, crossing her arms.
"I didn't bring supplies, you wouldn't last the night alone in these woods."
"Your solution being?"
"You're coming with me."
