A/N- I won't really be following any of the original dialogue, except for maybe some of the more iconic lines. I've read other stories that start off on episode one that I find a bit boring because of how utterly canon they are. I promise not to make this an episode by episode rehashing of the show.

-S.

Swan. Swan. No, she was not Emma Swan, but in this world, so far away from anything she knew or understood, couldn't it be possible? Had she somehow fallen asleep as Emma Jones and woken up as Emma Swan? It was the cruelest form of irony, she thought, if that was indeed the case. In another life, she could imagine herself falling asleep to the sound of that word rolling off of her husband's tongue, smiling to herself at the silly nickname Killian refused to let go of.

Swan. I believe that is the perfect thing to call you, so beautiful, majestic and graceful.

You dance quite well, Swan.

Gods, Swan, that dress…

I love you, Swan.

The boy, who, now that she thought of it, looked quite familiar, knocked on the doorframe, effectively drawing her thoughts back to the present. He was still quite small, ten or eleven, maybe, with dark hair and warm brown eyes. She wasn't sure what to say to him. Did she tell him no, that Swan had never once been her surname? Did say yes because, well, something wasn't right here, and she was in desperate need of some information?

She settled for something else entirely.

"Who wants to know?" She hadn't meant to sound so guarded, but now that it was said, she couldn't exactly take it back. This had to have been some cruel trick. This boy could not possibly have been any more than a stranger, right?

"My name is Henry Mills, and-and Emma Swan is my birth mother." He seemed so small as he said it, as if he was terrified of rejection, of the possibility that he was wrong. Instantly, Emma felt terrible for having put that doubt into his head.

And, after all, had she not just been wondering what had happened to her child? It was possible, given the insane nature of the world she had woken up in, that what he said was true. But, if it was, then-then, her son, her unborn child, was already about a decade old. If it was true, then she had missed out on so very much. And Killian, Gods, he didn't even know that he was father, wherever he was.

It was that last thought that had her opening the door a bit wider, and ushering Henry inside. "Yes, that's me," she said. "Emma… Swan." Except that it wasn't, not truly. She just didn't know how to tell him that.

There was an awkward beat of silence as the young lad stood in her living room, and then, "I really just-I needed to talk to you."

She nodded gently, before moving to the sofa. The gravity of what he had told her made her want to wrap her arms around him and never, ever let go, but she thought that that would be a tad bit overwhelming. She could restrain herself. She was, in fact, very good at having copious amounts of patience.

"Okay then," she said. "I happen to be a pretty good listener."

Henry took a deep breath before dropping his bag to the floor and pulling out a large tome. It was so big that it seemed to dwarf him with its size, but he had no trouble lifting it, and setting it on her coffee table. "This is a book of fairytales," he informed her, "you know, Snow White, Cinderella, Peter Pan."

That last name had her sitting on edge. While it was odd that this boy seemed to know about her parents, about the life she'd run from, she couldn't get over the unease she felt at his name. Killian had once told her all about the monstrous man-child and his hellish island. It was a place she wished she never had the displeasure of going to.

"But," Henry began, almost unsure of how to continue, "They're all real. They live in a town in Maine called Storybrooke."

Emma's heart leapt at the information. Perhaps she was not as alone as she thought she was. Perhaps Killian had somehow found his way into this town as well. "Really?" she asked finally, a little too much hope in her voice.

"Yeah, the only problem is, they don't remember." His voice had grown meek by the end of his statement, and Emma could understand why. In her muddled… fake memories, or whatever they were, the stories of the people from her world were just that: stories. They all had nice, happy endings, and only seemed to exist for the sake of spreading happiness and hope, something her mother would have approved of. She wondered if he thought that she wouldn't believe him.

"So what," Emma said slowly, afraid to let herself get too excited over this new information, "you want me to help them remember?"

Instead of answering her, Henry flipped the book open and thumbed through a few of the pages. When he reached the one he wanted, he wasted no time flipping the book around so that she could see it. On the page in front of her, was a drawing of a small baby wrapped up snuggly in her own baby blanket. The image made her heart clench. Even after running away, she was unable to part with it. It was probably still on board the Jolly Roger, wherever she was.

"That's you," Henry informed her, sill sounding meek. "You're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming; the Savior." The first half of that was, of course, not news to her, but the second part, the Savior part, was surprising.

"What do you mean, Savior?" Emma asked, slightly afraid of the answer. She had escaped the castle, she had made a life for herself, and it was all for the sake of being able to decide, to choose who she was going to be. She couldn't possibly let some book tell her who she was.

Henry flipped back a few pages, settling on a drawing of what appeared to be her parents' wedding. She had heard the tale, hell everyone had heard the tale. The Evil Queen had interrupted her parents' wedding to scare everyone and make a few terrible threats, but that was all that they were. After being married, her parents wasted no time hunting down the queen and banishing her from the kingdom.

"The Evil Queen threatened to take everyone's happy endings away," Henry reminded her. "And that's what this curse is. It makes everyone forget who they are, and the life they're supposed to have. They're all living a bunch of lies. The Savior is supposed to be the hero of the story; she's supposed to bring all of the happy endings back."

"And, you think I'm the Savior?"

He looked a bit wounded by her tone. "Well," he began, "I know that it sounds kind of crazy, but yeah, that's what I think."

Emma just couldn't continue to let Henry think that she didn't believe him. She scooted to the extreme edge of the sofa, and met his eyes over the coffee table. "Do you know what's crazy, lad? None of this makes any sense. This morning, I woke up in a strange land, full of odd magical devices, the likes of which I've never seen before, and the one person who seems to make any sense, thinks he sounds crazy."

Henry was silent for a moment, likely letting her words sink in. "Wait, you remember?" Just like herself, he could not seem to keep the excitement from his voice.

"The only thing I don't remember is how I got here."

He looked a bit confused at her response. "But-but you were just a baby. How can you remember anything?"

Now Emma was confused. The curse had been cast when she was twenty-eight years old, seven years after she had run away, and four after she had met Killian. Of course she remembered. "I think, perhaps, your book isn't very accurate. Tell me: is there anything else about me in there?"

Henry shook his head. "No. It goes straight from the day you were born, to when the curse was cast."

"Well, I can assure you," Emma told him, falling back into the couch unceremoniously, "There's far more to the story than that. But, I'm a bit more interested in this, this Storybrooke. Is everyone from this book in the town?" She shouldn't hope, shouldn't set herself up for disappointment, but she just couldn't help herself. She had her son, and now, only one thing was missing.

"Yeah. As far as I know, the curse only affected the Enchanted Forest. So everyone in the town is from the book, but not everyone from the book is in the town."

At first, the information struck up fear within her heart. That meant it was possible that Killian would not be there. But, Emma thought to herself, the last thing I remember is that we were together. If I made it here, and Henry made it here, then-

"I suppose that means that we should take our leave, then."

Henry smiled broadly before shoving his book back into his bag and heading for the door. Emma wondered if she should bring anything on this journey, but still, almost nothing in this house mad even the tiniest bit of sense to her, so there wasn't a point. She grinned back at Henry, and moved towards the door, towards a new adventure, and hopefully, some answers.