AN: I have to start by thanking sambethe for encouraging my second CSBB try, without your message I don't know if I would have ever found the courage to attempt this again. imagnifika your art has made me smile more than you'll know, thank you for bringing this story to life. shippingtheswann Samantha! I couldn't have asked for a better beta! Your kind words kept me going when I needed them most. And halobxist & meanderingcaptainswanmusings there would be no fic without you two. Thank you for everything. And finally but not in the least, thanks to all that are running captainswanbigbang and everyone involved. What an amazing, talented, lovely crew. So happy to be apart of this. Go check out all the fantastic stories and art that have been created for you!
Ok, ok! It's finally time! Come to take a trip to Ireland with me :)
Chapter 1
"Granny, I got one for you," Emma calls out from her spot at the counter. She swivels on the stool, pausing a moment to glance outside. Steely colored clouds hang low in the sky, threats of a storm looming close. The occasional fat raindrop dampens the empty sidewalk, keeping the locals inside their homes, leaving the diner quiet for the afternoon.
Emma spins back to face the kitchen doors and waits patiently for the woman everyone in town calls Granny to emerge. This is a regular game they play, and she knows the older woman is never able to resist.
A beep sounds beyond the swinging doors and moments later the rich aroma of spices and cheese; garlic, basil, and a hint of parmesan drift into the diner. Granny's classic lasagna. Emma knows it's only moments now before the woman behind the masterpiece makes her entrance.
She pulls a pencil from her apron and taps the eraser end against her teeth as she studies the New York Times crossword puzzle. She quickly scribbles in an easy answer and glances up when she hears the doors swing open. Granny, wiping her hands on a towel steps through with a look that says, do your best.
Emma grins, Granny continues to watch her over rounded glasses that have slipped down her nose.
"A person who behaves without moral principles or a sense of responsibility, especially in sexual matters. Four letters."
Emma shimmies on her perch, hoping for a reaction, but her boss only tuts, apparently unimpressed with the question's lack of difficulty.
"Please try harder next time, dear. Wolf."
The older woman turns to retreat back to the kitchen but pauses to tend to her messy curls atop her head. She delicately tucks a stray lock and raises her chin.
"Although some do call me 'Gran.'"
She leaves Emma with a wink, returning to her tasks in the kitchen and Emma snorts as she fills in the four letters. As she hears the pots and pans clang in the background, she briefly wonders if she can convince the older woman to whip up a batch of cookies.
The afternoon continues on; clues being called out, the scratch of pencil on paper. And when every box is filled, and a middle age man and woman settle into a corner booth with their food, Emma finds herself back at the counter, chin in hand. She absently turns the display holding postcards, round and round, until one of the waterfront catches her eye: a tall ship docked at sunset. Emma smiles as she remembers when the famous photo was taken. The ship, on its way up the coast, docked in Storybrooke due to a minor emergency. They now returned every year after being so well received in their moment of need. That was Storybrooke for you.
Emma plucks the card from the rack and flips it over.
She absently writes her name and address, doodles small flowers down the side.
"You'll have to pay for that, you know," Granny announces, suddenly in front of her.
Emma only startles a moment before reaching into her tips and handing the woman a quarter. Granny makes a show of ringing her up and closes the cash with a flourish.
Emma tucks the card away in her apron.
"Everything ok over there?" Granny whispers, a small nod to the couple in the back.
They haven't touched their food, too distracted by their own conversation, whispered words that neither Emma nor Granny can make out.
Emma shrugs.
"I've checked on them a few times. Very gracious, assured me everything is fine."
Granny looks over again and nods absently just as something buzzes from her pocket. She pulls Emma's phone out and holds it up as it vibrates again.
"This thing has been driving me crazy back there."
Emma groans reading the name on her phone. She plucks it from Granny's hand and silences it.
"Walsh," she groans. "What was I thinking?"
Emma rubs her temples. She doesn't need Granny to answer. She, along with everyone else, had let it be known what a terrible idea they all thought he was.
"I told him it was over. He told me I was making a mistake, that I wouldn't get any better offers than his. He could show me the world. I was drinking a Guinness at the time, and so I told him I had actually just booked a trip to Ireland. Alone. I'll show myself the world. Guess I'll have to Photoshop myself into some pictures," Emma explains, but before Granny can answer, they are interrupted by chairs scraping roughly against the diner floor.
Emma looks over to see the couple approaching, eyes wide. The petite woman with a dark pixie cut is clutching a manila envelope, her knuckles nearly white. Emma feels the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. She tries to push the feeling away.
"I hope everything was to your liking?" Emma asks, her voice infused with a brightness she doesn't quite feel, just as the man speaks up. He's tall and blond, with just the hint of gray at his temples, and Emma can't help but think he looks almost familiar.
"Are you leaving?" he asks.
Emma's words stall in her throat at the anxious looks they both carry. Looks that are directed expressly at her. The woman may have tears in her eyes. Emma's eyes flit to the man – actually, he may have tears as well.
"I – I know this isn't the best time or place, but we heard you say you were leaving and we just, just found you," the woman's words come out in a stuttered rush. She stops herself and takes a deep breath. "Emma," she says, almost tasting the name instead of saying it. Emma can't make sense of what the woman is trying to say but her heart picks up, especially when she realizes she never told the woman her name. Before she can think to ask what the woman means, the man speaks up.
"What we are trying to say is, we believe you are our daughter," the man's words are even, but his eyes betray him, a lone tear escaping down his cheek.
"David," the woman quietly exclaims, likely not the way they had planned on breaking the news.
Her stomach drops away completely. She barely hears Granny gasp over the roaring in her ears, are you out of your fucking mind? She thinks, my parents abandoned me without a second thought.
"Impossible," she says instead, her eyes narrowing at these strangers.
"It's tr-"
"You can't be," Emma cuts off the woman. "And who comes into a diner and announces something like this?"
The couple don't seem to mind her vehement denial, too intent on staring at her with sad eyes.
"We've been looking for years, different private investigators. We think, we-" the woman trails off as Emma looks away.
Emma's eyes find Granny who looks as shocked as Emma feels.
"Could we sit down?" the man tries a different tactic.
Sit down, with these people who think they are her parents? Emma's mind races and she wants to be anywhere but here. She had never let herself believe a moment like this could happen. She isn't equipped to deal with it and if these people really were her parents, where had they been? Why now?
Why leave her?
Emma feels the heat of tears behind her eyes and –
"I can't. I'm leaving." The devastation that crosses both their faces softens Emma's resolve just a little, and she hesitates. "I'm sorry. I just don't have any time right now."
She surprises herself with her lie and she's grateful her voice doesn't waver. Her eyes flit to Granny who visibly deflates, it's a different kind of sadness Emma sees in the older woman's eyes, but Granny nods all the same.
"Yes, Emma here actually needs to go home and pack. She's leaving for Ireland in just a few hours, and Lord knows the girl hasn't even begun packing," Granny says, as she moves around to lay a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder.
It's clear the woman wants to say more, her eyes never leave Emma's face, appearing to catalog every inch, but with a sudden determination, she thrusts the envelope she's been clutching forward. Emma can't help but accept it.
"Everything is in there, who we are, why we -" the woman's voice cracks and she takes a deep breath. "Why we had to give you away. When you're ready, please call or write, whatever you are comfortable with. We can wait, as long as it takes. Whenever. Please," her last words are whispered but strong. Emma's eyes bounce between them, trying to find a lie in her words but sees none.
The man reaches out but stops, his hand caught suspended halfway between them. With a sigh, he lets it fall but looks to her with the same determination as his partner.
"I'm David, and this is Mary Margaret, and we'll be here. We're sorry we weren't before. More than you could ever know."
There's another beat of silence and Emma can't find any words to fill it. The envelope feels heavy in her hands, but the hope and longing in their voices weighs heavier.
"I'll, I'll look it over," Emma finally musters, and it seems to be enough. She receives watery smiles and nods before they slowly make their way to the exit. David (she tests the name in her mind a few times) holds the door open for Mary Margaret, giving Emma a last long look before following his wife out the door.
Emma stands dazed long after the bells signaling the couple's departure stopped ringing. There's a tremor in her hands that she can't stop, and she can't tear her eyes away from the door until she feels Granny's hand on her arm.
"Do you want to open it?" the older woman asks, in a voice gentler than Emma's ever heard.
She almost drops the envelope.
"No!" she nearly yells, suddenly wanting the envelope and all it contains as far away as possible.
"Well then, you better go pack for Ireland," Granny responds, very matter-of-fact, her voice back to normal.
Emma looks at her like she has lost her mind. She can't go to Ireland.
"I can't go to Ireland."
"Sure, you can. I know you have enough money saved away, I'm firing you from the diner, effective immediately, and I really hate that boss of yours at the bail bonds office. You can find something better when you get back. Spread your wings, dear. Sometimes distance can bring perspective."
Emma sputters, unsure of which argument to attack first. It doesn't make a difference either way because Granny doesn't seem to care, already walking away. Emma can only watch as she disappears into the kitchen.
She looks down at the envelope, her name written in neat cursive on the front. She draws her finger over the lettering.
Granny bursts back through the doors, hands full. She drapes Emma's coat over her arm, her purse over her head and captures her face.
"Go. Explore. Take care of you. The envelope can wait."
With Emma's face between her weathered hands, she kisses her forehead and whispers, "You can do this."
Now, Emma really is going to cry.
"I can't," Emma whispers, "this is crazy."
"You can. You are stronger than you know. Go."
She turns Emma towards the door and gives her a firm shove. All Emma can do is walk out of the diner and towards a very different future than the one she woke up to that morning.
xo
Fáilte go Aerfort Bhaile Átha Cliath. Welcome to Dublin Airport.
Oh, God. I think I might get sick. Emma's stomach twists as she looks up at the sign.
Emma had always expected her first trip abroad would be to one of the warm, sandy places Tink often went on about. Somewhere she could sip Mai Tais and live in her bikini. Except Emma always got in her own way, finding excuses and putting it off. In college, there were exams to study for and extra shifts at the diner to pick up, money to be saved. Graduation came with a paper bearing her name, but a degree in criminology wasn't enough to quell her fears.
She still felt like the lost little girl she had always been. Sure, she grew up and found a circle of people who loved her. She plays house in a warm little one bedroom apartment, but it's never been quite enough to chase away the ghosts of her past. And so as a result, instead of using her degree, she keeps it tucked away. She lets herself believe she will use it as soon as she's ready, and stays with the status quo. She picks up shifts at the diner when she isn't working at the bail bonds office. Chasing skips isn't the best work, but dealing with other broken souls reminds her of her past and how quickly the life she built can slip away. So she keeps her money in the bank and her sandy dreams on hold.
But right now, as the moment threatens to overwhelm her, Emma shakes her head against her wandering thoughts. Yes, Emma absolutely believed her first trip would be relaxing and fun, not because she wanted to get as far away from her worries as possible. Sure, she is no stranger to running from her problems, but it has never led her across an ocean. This is new, even for an old pro such as herself.
Emma glances up at the sign again, backpack weighing heavy on her shoulders; she ran all the way to Ireland.
The limited hours of broken sleep had allowed her brief moments of selective amnesia but now, standing alone amongst the crowd near the baggage claim, reality slams full force into her gut, tying it in knots. She watches as friends chatter enthusiastically about where they are going first, and she has to shut her eyes against tearful family hugging in the distance if she doesn't want to become her own crying mess.
She presses her palms against her eyes until stars bloom behind her lids and she refuses to let her mind bring forth the image of the petite woman with a dark hair and tears in her eyes. Although, the words still rattle around in her brain like a pinball machine.
"We just found you."
"We believe you're our daughter."
She can still see the sadness warring with hope on the face of the golden-haired man as he held out his hand for her and she can still feel the envelope gripped between her fingers. The envelope that is sitting at the bottom of her suitcase, a suitcase she still needs to find.
"Ugh," Emma groans and allows herself two more breaths; deep in, shaky out.
Nope, try again.
Deep in, steady out.
Emma blinks her eyes open against the neon lights and focuses on the luggage carrousel: black duffle bag, purple hard shell, lonely car seat, and on and on. Her breath hitches at the sudden notion that her bag may be sitting somewhere else in the world, unclaimed.
Thankfully the panic is short-lived; her red suitcase slides down the shoot, an obnoxious bright orange sticker slapped across the front. DANGER: HEAVY.
"Excuse me," she mumbles, easing her way to the baggage claim and on her second try manages to heft the bag off the carousel. She slips back to the periphery of the crowd and blows a lock of hair out of her face. A little dazed, bag handle clutched in her right hand, she looks around for some sort of direction.
Carr ar Cíos, Car Rental.
Right, car rental.
With her next goal in focus, everything else becomes background noise. Navigating through the people, pack rumbling behind her, she follows the signs for Carr ar Cios, Car Rental. She only pauses a brief moment when she sees a mailbox next to a small shop offering drinks and magazines. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the postcard from the counter at Granny's. She traces the waterfront she knows so well and flips it over. Her name and address are already written out. She bites her lip in thought before approaching the store clerk.
"Excuse me, but would you have stamps for the United States?"
It only takes a moment to ring her up and another for her to figure out what to write on the back.
You can do this. I think. Good luck.
She stares at the words, they aren't glowing with confidence but they are somewhat truthful, and she has to start somewhere. She shakes her head and drops the postcard into the mailbox.
She looks around. Right, car rentals. And with renewed focus, she spots the counter she needs.
The paperwork goes smoothly, and before she has time to fully process it, her suitcase is stowed and she's sitting in the car, staring wide eyed at where the steering wheel should be.
"I knew this. This isn't a surprise," she mumbles, still somewhat expecting the steering wheel to appear in front of her on the left side of the car. She gives herself one more moment to take in her surroundings before finally sliding over the center console and into the driver seat.
With the key in the ignition and the car idling, the digital clock flashes the numbers of the early morning hour. Half past seven. Emma does the math, two-thirty in the morning back in Storybrooke, everyone likely asleep. The burning behind her eyes threatens to return, but as her foot eases off the clutch and she presses on the gas, her concentration on the potential adventure ahead manages to hold her emotions at bay.
"At the roundabout, take the second exit."
The sudden sound of the artificial voice breaks the silence, and the car jumps forward. Emma hiccups a laugh but manages to keep the vehicle moving forward.
And she just may have screamed through her first roundabout but she makes the second exit, but with that accomplishment, everything else seems a little less scary.