Guy, I am SO sorry on the eternity between updates, but I spend too much time on Tumblr and Life spends too much time kicking my ass. Also, I've been trying to make these chapters really fucking long, and I get carried away-a problem because whilst I'm writing, I get updated on the show, and it is depressing as fuck. Y'all know how I feel about CS, and considering...well...it makes it difficult to write for Emma, and Hook, but mostly Emma and given that she's one of the main characters here, it's hard to update this frequently.

But I digress. In honor of those impending nuptials, I decided to include a little IASIS spin on it, to soothe my troubled soul. If you are a CSer, by now I think you know not to be offended by what I rite, because it's by no means an attack on you-but please understand, this "wedding" bullshit is giving me hives.

She touched the lace that crawled up her neck, held by the antique pearl button. A heavy veil hung from her head, descending from the knot of blonde hair piled under a rather dull tiara. The sleeves-tight around her arms, completely screwing with her ability to, well, move-were of a similar lace: also ugly, also heavy, also outdated. She stared at herself in the mirror, utterly humiliated.

It was her wedding day...At what point she'd decided to have a wedding, she didn't know, but for some reason that wasn't the pressing concern. Right now, she was worried about...Emma frowned, tilting her head. What was she worried about?

"Emma." Her mother's gentle voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head to see Snow standing in the doorway: a frozen smile on her lips, cold eyes that seemed to be internally screaming about something-she could almost hear it, and she fancied if she listened hard enough, she could, but Snow was speaking real words now. And very confusing ones, at that.

"It's time," she said, an ominous tone in her voice. "Everyone's waiting. Your father is ready to give you away to be married to the man you love."

"Thanks, I-I know how a wedding works," Emma said, still bewildered by the idea of her own wedding. Shouldn't she have known about this beforehand? At least gotten a calendar notification from her phone?

"Come." Snow held out her hand, the eerie smile still on her face. "Let's go."

"...Okay.ˆ Emma resisted the urge to turn on her heel and run (there was only one doorway and no windows, anyway-as if things weren't creepy enough), and took her mother's hand. "So, um-?"

"Shh."

Emma didn't appreciate being shhed at a time like this, but she barely had time to utter the "you" of "You did not just shh me!" before the doors were flung open and everyone in the church swiveled around to stare at her.

The wedding march creaked out of the old, wheezing harpsichord under Marco's fingers, sending chills down Emma's spine. It sounded more like a herald of death...her doom fast approaching.

Something was definitely wrong. Everyone was acting peculiarly, their eyes dead and their smiles vacant: more like living photographs than people. Even she felt fake-like a mannequin, modeling as a Grace-Kelly-dollar-store-knock-off. This was wrong, this was all so wrong.

"Are you ready?" David said in a low voice, glassy-eyed as the rest.

"No, I'm really just confused," she muttered back, even as David hooked his elbow around hers. "I don't even remember getting engaged, and now I'm getting married? Where's Neal? I need to talk to Neal-"

"Neal?" David frowned. "Emma, Neal's been dead for years."

Which was obviously incorrect, but she couldn't help gasping, tears rushing to her eyes in a sudden flood. "D-dead? Then who am I marrying?"

David nodded toward the front, where the dark-haired man (who, she only just realized, did not have curly hair) was turning around with an eerie slowness. She half-expected his head to spin around and a demonic voice, but it was unnecessary because it was only a second before a pair of blue eyes fixed on her and terror struck her heart. A disembodied muddled British accent seemed to echo from all sides, surrounding her.

"Hello, love."

She screamed.

"Emma. Emma!"

Emma's eyes snapped open, and she gasped, sitting up in a rush. Graham spit out the mouthful of hair she'd flung in his face, and coughed, taking his hand off her shoulder to cover his mouth.

"You fell asleep at your desk," he explained in a slightly strained voice.

"I fell-?" Emma swallowed hard, running her hands over her neck and down her sides, reassuring herself that there was no ugly lace dress in sight. She closed her eyes, sagging in relief as she touched her leather jacket and the denim of her skinny jeans. "Oh, thank God."

"You all right?" Graham asked, walking back to his seat. "You were screaming."

"Nightmare." Emma lowered her hand, realizing she'd reached for the swan pendant that no longer hung around her neck. Regret sank in her stomach as the memory of last night—and the realization that her keychain was gone —settled on her.

"Must have been a nasty one," Graham remarked. "I'd say, maybe you're overworked, but, um…" He waved a vague hand: overworked implies you've been working at all, and you don't work.

Which was a lie, because she did work, she just didn't have to do a lot when three people in the whole town were exclusively responsible for the crime rate, and the biggest culprit was out of state.

"Eh…whatever," she sighed, too exhausted be angry with him. She was worn out physically, mentally, emotionally—shit was getting real in this town, and she didn't want to expend effort on starting a work-war with the least offensive guy in town.

"You…want to get out of here?" Graham offered, looking at her sympathetically "Get a cup of coffee or something?"

"Actually, what I'd really want right now is to find my keychain, but…" Emma shook her head. "That's not going to happen."

She knew she was being childish; knew that a thirty-four-year-old woman was more than capable of getting past the loss of a keychain; knew that if Neal were here, he'd say something like, "You don't need a keychain, Em—you got me," and everything would be fine.

Except Neal wasn't here. And as comfortably and easily as they had lapsed back into their romance, it was still new enough that the insecurities and worries still needled her brain. That keychain had been her security blanket for so long; had served as a memento, a reminder, and existed as such a part of her that without it, she just felt…off.

"It's gone," she explained in response to Graham's questioning eyes. "Forever."

"Oh, don't be silly," he said, already getting up from his chair (Emma winced at the amount of "cheerful" in his voice). "I'm sure if we retrace your steps, and look around a bit—"

"No, it's literally gone forever," Emma interrupted. "Henry destroyed it in the well like the fucking Ring of Mordor."

Graham was quiet for a minute, looking at her with an unreadable expression. "It's…the Ring of Power."

Emma blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"It's just…" Graham shifted, smiling uncomfortably. "You said, 'the Ring of Mordor'. But it's actually 'the Ring of Power'. Frodo destroyed it in Mordor." He glanced up to see her staring at him incredulously for the detail he chose to fixate on. "Sorry, Victor's got all the books at home, and I've been reading—"

"I don't care."

"Right. Okay."

"I'm sorry," Emma exhaled, feeling a pang of guilt for snapping at him. "It's just…I've been having a rough couple of days. And with last night, and then that scary-ass nightmare…" The vague image of the bridal gown and Hook's gleaming, evil smile rose in her mind, and she shuddered. "God."

"Anything I can do?" Graham asked, going back to the report he'd abandoned. "Anything that'll make you feel better?"

"Um…" A hopeful smile spread on her face. "Torching the bridal shop might help?"

"Mmm, that's a great example to set for your fifteen-year-old."

"Yeah, well, considering Henry's shenanigans lately, I doubt my bad influence will make a dent." Emma folded her arms, leaning back in her seat with a heavy sigh. "I'll tell you something, Teddy-Grahams…"

Graham closed his eyes in exasperation at his new nickname.

"…this whole parenting thing is tough. Especially when your kid is in the necromancy business. No offense," she added quickly. "I'm thrilled that you're alive and well—"

"Thanks, I'm pretty chuffed about it, myself." Graham tossed the report to the side, apparently deciding it wasn't worth the effort after all, and swiveled his chair toward her with raised eyebrows, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "All right, so what's the gossip?" he prodded. "Last I checked, I was the only zombie in town, so who did your little delinquent resurrect?"

Emma spread her lips in a mirthless smile. "Ever hear of Cora Mills?"

"Nope—wait." Graham frowned, tilting his head. "Did you say…Mills?"

"Mmm."

"As in, Regina?"

"Her mom."

"Her mom?"

"Yeah, she's a real peach," Emma said ruefully. "You know, she tried to kill us all a few years ago?"

Graham stared at her, as though he half-suspected she were lying. "And…Henry brought her back?"

"As per Regina's request," Emma said, restraining herself from going off on the rant that had already circled her head for the past six hours: that Regina resolving her mommy issues was great and all, but bringing back Cora to do it was more than stupid—it was self-sabotage. Why she couldn't just go to Archie like a normal person….

"Needless to say, we'll be keeping a close eye on her," Emma went on, letting out a tense breath as she added, "And Henry."

Graham looked rather uneasily, but he nodded, trying for a smile. "Well. I'm…glad that they're…trying to work things out. That's good, th-that's very good."

"Mmm."

Her mind was already drifting away from Graham, back to the memories of last night. The more she thought about, the angrier she felt. Or maybe it wasn't anger—maybe it was fear. Maybe it was seeing Henry tread further and further down this path, delving more into magic and enjoying himself. Resurrecting Graham had been a happy accident for him; but Cora? It had been planned, it was an experiment—and it seemed to be accomplished with relative ease.

Having that kind of power—manipulation of Life and Death—wasn't good for anyone. Especially not a fifteen-year-old kid. And especially not a fifteen-year-old kid who'd felt helpless and sidelined his whole life.

"You know what?" Graham cleared his throat, his voice sounding much higher than usual. "Let's get out of here. I-I don't feel like working right now."

Emma widened her eyes as he stood up, shuffling papers back into folders. "Are you—serious?" she asked, incredulous at the thought that Graham would skip work. "Leave the station, in the middle of morning?"

"Nothing's going to happen," Graham scoffed, a nervous laugh in his throat. "The town can handle itself for a couple hours—we're allowed a cup of coffee, we're only human. In fact—I'll do you one better. Let's you and me skip down to the White Rabbit, grab a few shots."

"Shots?" Emma echoed, following him nonetheless and pulling on her jacket. "Is the bar even open now?"

"Ruby will open it, if I ask," Graham said with quiet confidence, avoiding her gaze as he zipped his jacket. "She's…kinda got a thing for me."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, but she knows you're—" Gay, was her next word, but she caught herself just in time. Last time she and Henry had asked after his relationship with Whale, he'd gotten all uncomfortable and red-faced and sensitive. Even now, he narrowed his eyes at her, daring her to finish that sentence.

"Know I'm what?" he said jerkily. "Shagging my roommate?"

"Wha—? I didn't say that!" Emma sputtered.

"Because I'm not, all right?" he snapped. "There is nothing going on between me and Victor, and I'd appreciate it if people stopped asking me about it and implying that we're anything more than—than what we are! Victor's a great guy, and he's a good friend, but does everything have to be about sex with you people? God!"

He turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Emma to stare after him with wide eyes.

"Oh, wow," she said to the empty room. "That was…reactive."

On that emotionally charged note, she walked down the hall, keeping a safe distance behind him. Idly, she wondered if anyone would be up for starting a Graham-and-Victor pool, betting on when they would finally banged.

Three months? she guessed. Three months, tops.

Tap….t-t-tap…t-t-tap…

His pencil drummed a steady, impatient rhythm on the desk; Sister Astrid's mouth moved animatedly, but he couldn't hear a word she was saying. The entire world around him was muted and blurred, only the sound of the pencil tapping distinct, as he stared at the steadily blackening mark on the desk; little graphite crumbs breaking off with every tap as thoughts circulated his mind.

Tap. He'd just resurrected his psychotic witch-queen grandmother.

T-t-tap. He had a meeting after school to discuss a dragon queen's resurrection.

T-t-tap. He had a meeting after his after-school meeting with Rumple to discuss business card layouts and where to set up an office, because he couldn't very well run a resurrection business out of his bedroom.

"…which led to what, Mr. Mills?" Astrid's sensible shoes stopped at the side of his desk. He could feel her eyes on him, boring into his skull. Henry looked up, feeling rather annoyed that she'd disturbed his scheming.

Astrid smiled coolly, apparently satisfied in catching him unprepared. "Which led to what, Mr. Mills?" she repeated.

They were both perfectly aware he had no idea what she was talking about; and yet, here they were…dancing the dance, the teacher-student dance that had endured for centuries— possibly dating all the way back to the days of Socrates.

Henry tapped his pencil a few more times, eyeing Astrid with as much obvious disdain as he dared. "I don't know."

"Hmm." Astrid let out a disapproving sigh, and shook her head as she made her way back to the front of class. "You know, it's awfully difficult to learn when you don't listen to the lesson…"

Alas, if only I cared, Henry thought dryly, going back to his pencil-tapping as Astrid's voice faded into white noise.

It was getting harder and harder to really care about school. He was already failing English; soon to be failing History; and yet…? Meh. Life was a lot more interesting with magic; and magic was a lot more interesting since he was good at it.

Maybe he could learn more. Maybe he could extend his powers past resurrection, and learn the sort of powers Rumple and Regina hd. It was in his blood, and he was smart enough that the years of study would be well worth the effort. He could end up being really fucking powerful—

"I'll be wanting to see you after school, Mr. Mills," Astrid called, her voice carrying over the sounds scraping chairs and clattering books as everyone prepared to leave. Henry looked around in surprise, having not even realized class had ended. Did he really doze off for that long, or had it been a lot later than he thought?

"Mr. Mills?"

"Yeah, yeah….cool." He batted a hand at Astrid, vaguely agreeing to meet her after class, and started gathering his stuff together. Violet hovered at the desk beside him, holding her backpack strap in one hand as she waited for him.

"Did you even do the paper?" she asked, somewhat disapprovingly.

"Kinda-sorta, I don't know," he shrugged. "Why, is it a big deal?"

"Quarter of your grade."

"Oh, no," he gasped mockingly. "So worried!" He shot her half a smile, which she didn't return."Vi, relax, it's all good—"

"It's not all good, Henry," Violet frowned, setting a brisk pace out of the room: not too fast for him to keep up, but just enough that he knew she was pissed. "My parents aren't going to let me hang out with you, if they find out how much you've been slacking off."

"I had no idea they were so invested in my future."

"They're invested in mine. And if they think you're a bad influence, they're going to—" Violet sighed, coming to stop in front of her locker. "Look, I'm supposed to be a doctor one day. They take school really seriously, and if you're not even making an effort…"

"I literally don't see why my education concerns them," Henry said flatly, leaning his shoulder against the adjacent locker as he watched her twirl her combination lock. "Seems like that's something for my parents to lose sleep over."

Violet glanced at him, as though she'd've quite liked to hit him then; but she didn't say anything more about it, instead turning back to her locker with a resigned exhale. "Whatever," she said. "Do what you want, it's your funeral."

"Yup," Henry said, already losing interest. "Hey, so—you doing anything this weekend? I'm trying to stay out of the house as much as possible to avoid the adults, and I was thinking—"

"Can't." Violet slammed her door shut, and brushed past him. "Shopping for my quinceañera dress."

"Ah."

"You're still invited, by the way. You know—" Violet gave a little shrug, feigning indifference—"if you're not too busy raising the dead and taking over the world."

The fuck…? Henry frowned, feeling more than a little irritated with her. Why did she suddenly care? No, but seriously—what the hell?

"You know what, maybe I can't come after all" he called after her as she walked away. "I'll try to move some things around, but I can't promise anything!"

Violet turned around, a mirthless smile on her face, and spread her arms. "Whatever you want, man," she said. "I really don't care."

"Great," Henry shrugged.

"Awesome."

"Fantastic."

"Whatever."

Henry rolled his eyes, scoffing as Violet stalked away. Clearly just looking for an argument, so why did he care again? Oh, that's right—

He fucking didn't.

"He should have been here by now," Cruella sniffed, looking up from her diamonds-encrusted watch. "It's past three."

"Regina promised us," Ursula growled. Her narrowed eyes darted around the diner, searching. "I never thought I'd be anxious to see that kid, but where the hell is he?"

"He better not be trying to play us," Lily muttered, her gaze trained on the door, as if by mere willpower, she could force him to materialize. "If he's making us wait on purpose…"

It would be such a Henry-thing to do—which was exactly why Lily did not care for Henry: he was an insufferable, entitled little bastard who was far too aware of his own value, and looked entirely too much like his father—who she also didn't care for.

Neal hadn't done anything specifically offensive to her, nor she to him, but it seemed an unspoken understanding existed between them: they would never be friends, or even friendly. Emma dangled between them, the inspiration behind their rivalry…though she wasn't quite as "on the fence", as Lily would have liked. Actually, she wasn't on the fence, at all: she was firmly planted on Neal's side, which made Lily hate Neal all the more.

"Are you all right, darling?" Cruel asked, lifting her eyebrows over her martini glass. "You're growling again."

Lily shook her head dismissively. "I'm fine, I'm just…thinking about stuff."

"Hmm," Ursula mused, exchanging a significant look with Cruella.

"Don't hmm," Lily said exasperatedly. "It's nothing."

"Oh—" Cruella tutted—"now, now, darling, there's no reason to be embarrassed. First loves are never easy to get over."

Lily exhaled through her teeth.

"Look at your mother," Cruella went on, gesturing toward Ursula. "Centuries since her first love broke her heart, and she still hates him with a burning passion! Not that I don't love your passion, my love," she added, stroking her finger along Ursula's jaw. "But I do wish you would put it to better use." She turned her head, eyes dropping as she sniffed, "I hate the thought of you wasting it on that diseased pirate."

"That's not passion," Ursula reassured her. "Hating Hook is effortless, I waste no energy on him at all."

"I wish you wouldn't waste your thoughts, either," Cruella continued to pout. "When you could be thinking about other things…putting that wild imagination to some sort of functional use…"

Lily closed her eyes: she'd been relatively old when Cruella and Ursula had adopted her, but they still embarrassed her as much as any overly sexual parents would their children. "Keep it PG, guys," she warned them. "We're in public. Hands where I can see them," she added, pointing sternly at them.

Ursula reluctantly removed her hand from Cruella's leg and put it on the table. Lily raised her eyebrows at Cruella; who let out a huff, and also dropped her perfectly-manicured hands next to Ursula's.

"Thank you." Lily leaned back in her seat and exhaled, glancing toward the door, willing it to open—

It startled her when the bell rang out, announcing a new customer. For a second, she almost thought had somehow conjured Henry, but when she looked up, it was to see…

Not Henry,

"Afternoon!" Rumple beamed, sweeping a ludicrous, fluffy hat off his head and shaking the snow off his coat. "Coffee, Mathilde?"

The old woman (whose given name was not "Granny", Lily realized with a start) gave a polite nod, and grabbed the carafe to fill a cup. Rumple accepted it with a quiet, "Ah, thanks"; took a sip, gagged, and continued drinking as he drifted over to the table.

"How are you, ladies?" he asked pleasantly, pulling out the chair opposite them. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

Lily raised her eyebrows. If Rumple considered dirty snow and temperatures hovering around the negatives a "lovely day", he was either insane or living in the Enchanted Forest had been even more hellish than she'd imagined.

"Terrible coffee," Rumple remarked cheerfully. "Why are we meeting here? Jefferson's place is much better, and Ruby always gives me free peanuts."

"Because we're meeting with Henry, and I'm not getting in trouble with the sheriff for taking a minor to a bar so you can have complementary peanuts," Lily said witheringly.

"Apparently, there's laws," Cruella added, rolling her eyes at the height of ridiculousness she had to deal with. "Something about underage drinking or some such nonsense—in my day, drinking was more essential to socialization than talking."

"I'm sure when you were involved, it definitely was," Rumple muttered; then cleared his throat importantly. "No matter, no matter…Henry should be along soon, the boy's got schooling to sort out. But there's no reason we can't simply enjoy each other's company in the meantime!" He smiled around at them all, showing off pointy teeth. "How's your day going? Good?"

Ursula lifted her eyebrows. "You're in a good mood," she observed wryly. "Miss this sort of thing, do you?"

"What sort of thing?" Rumple asked, raising his eyebrows over his cup.

"You know…." Cruella drawled, leaning back in her seat, placing a long finger against her temple as she regarded him. "Making deals. Dark magic. Charming smiles masking malicious words."

"Little Belle's been keeping you on your toes, making you behave yourself for so long…" Ursula added. "You don't miss the business?"

Rumple's smiled wavered. "Of course, I miss it, but… well, Belle and Neal, they…They're looking out for me, you see. It's for the best."

"And pushing your grandson into it is also for the best?" Cruella asked innocently.

"Henry makes his own decisions."

"But I can't imagine the boy's father is very pleased about his son following in your footsteps," Ursula suggested with a side glance at Cruella.

Lily watched in fascination as they worked together, silently anticipating the other's words, creating a poisonous haze of insecurity and malice around him—like two snakes winding steadily around a man's neck. What their purpose was, she had no idea: maybe they wanted to torment him, maybe they were just bored. Either way, it was almost elegant the way they coiled around him, hissing in his ear.

"From what I've heard, there's still some bad blood between you two," Cruella went on. "Suspicion…doubt…."

"All in the past," Rumple said, looking steadily more unsettled. "Neal understands—"

"And Belle?" Ursula cut in sweetly. "She's understanding, as well? No worries about you being tempted back to your old ways?"

Rumple frowned slightly, as though with growing realization; he sat back in his seat, eyeing the two of them frostily. "Belle will kick my ass, if I try anything," he said. "She won't let me use magic, period—she won't even let jinx Hook. And as for deal-making and charming smiles, I'm still a lawyer, so believe me, dearie—any time I get the urge to legally con someone out of everything they own, I can." He straightened his tie superfluously, lifting his chin with a sniff. "Villainy was giving me wrinkles, anyway."

"Being three hundred years old was giving you wrinkles," Lily couldn't help snorting.

"Two hundred seventy one," Rumple corrected coldly. "And I still look a damn sight better than you, sweetheart."

Lily flicked her eyes in derision as her mothers tsked their agreement, and started picking up her ponytail and touching her jacket, murmuring little comments like, "Perhaps if you did something with your hair…"

"You know who's got great hair, though?" Rumple said thoughtfully, pointing a finger. "Graham Humbert. Graham Humbert has got some great hair."

"Mmm, I love those curls," Cruella said, shaking her head.

"The rest of him's not so bad, either," Ursula chuckled, and nudged Cruella. "Those arms…"

"Those abs—"

"—that ass," Rumple finished.

"And moving on," Lily said loudly, getting rather annoyed with the pointless tangents. "How long do you think Henry's going to be at school?"

"Patience," Rumple soothed. "He'll be here. He's very eager to enter the business world of magic, he wouldn't miss this."

"I hope he hasn't set his little heart on too much business," Cruella said, arching an eyebrow. "You remember New York, darling? How we agreed that Henry would bring Mal back in exchange for us not ruthlessly inflicting our tempers on the town?"

"I do remember…I did not tell Henry, though…" Rumple twitched his mouth to the side regretfully. "Probably should have done that, earlier."

"He's not going to give us any trouble over it," Lily said, folding her arms; daring him to disagree.

"No….no, I'll see to that," Rumple mused. "I don't expect he'll be thrilled, but he's fifteen. He'll jump at the chance to have something else to bitch about." He flicked a small, reflective smile. "He reminds me of Bae at that age. Neal, that is," he added for Lily's benefit.

Lily smiled mirthlessly. "Why does that not surprise me…"

"A little bit more power-hungry, than I remember…That quality seemed to skip a generation, Bae never had much trouble resisting the lure of magic." He paused. "But Lord, the attitude on that child—couldn't go five minutes without being a smartass!"

"We've all got our demons," Cruella sighed, adjusting her furs. "I myself am overly fond of martinis. And watching my dogs rip people to shreds."

"I'm petty as fuck," was Ursula's contribution. "I'll literally do anything out of spite."

They all looked at Lily, who looked back, mystified.

"What, my turn?" she asked, pointing to herself.

"It's only polite," Rumple shrugged. "We're all talking about our flaws, you might as well toss something in there."

"What does this have to do with finding my mother?" Lily said exasperatedly.

"Nothing," Rumple said, picking up his coffee for another swig. "We're just killing time until Henry gets here. Something you should know about this town, dearie: about ninety percent of what we do is waste time. You know—" he waved his hand, shrugging—"drinking coffee. Slut-shaming each other. Watching T.V. and fighting over the remote. Almost none of it is spent on anything epic, like resurrection. So in the waiting time in between…"

"You small-talk." Lily stared in horror, wondering if perhaps she'd missed Storybrooke and sank right into Hell. "Fuck me."

Rumple tched. "Not if you paid me."