Hello my darlings!
I hope this doesn't get lost in all the CS Date love and drama, but here, have a chappie ;) Just so you know, the scene where Emma is trapped in ice and nearly freezes was planned long before 4x02 came out, which is why I didn't write a 4x02 oneshot ;) Consider this chapter that oneshot :D
Now, on with the show! I'd love to hear your opinion and guesses as to who will figure out who Anna is first ;)
Thank you to JustSmileBFF and DancingDoula for beta'ing this for me and listening to my rants about OUAT, Captain Swan and life in general.
R&R, darlings! It feeds the musie-she's a greedy little bitch ;)
Love, Annaelle
PS Thank you to all those who have read, faved, followed, reviewed and loved already! I love all of you!
Chapter Two—Yesterday
Suddenly, I am not half the man I used to be
There's a shadow hanging over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly
Why she had to go I don't know
She wouldn't say
I said something wrong, now I long for
Yesterday
Yesterday
Love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
—Yesterday, The Beatles
The Enchanted Forest—little less than a year into the future
"She's really beautiful, mom."
Emma smiles sadly at Henry from her position in her bed, swaddled up in blankets and soft pillows as she recovers from giving birth to her daughter. It had been a very difficult and long birth, and even three days later, Emma is still tired and sore—she can barely get herself to move.
Her pregnancy, though in many ways a lifeline over the past nine months, has taken a lot out of her.
And though Henry's tried to keep it together for the four of them—for her, for the baby, for baby Graham, for her dad—she knows he is exhausted too.
Sometimes, it is just too easy to forget that she is not the only one who is grieving—that she is not the only one who lost a lover, a friend, family. Sometimes, she wants to forget, because if she does, it is easier to be angry and hurt and snap at everyone who approaches her.
If she forgets, she does not have to feel guilty about being mean and rude afterwards.
She chokes back a sob as she watches Henry lift his baby sister carefully, staring at her almost as though he's in awe—maybe he is.
She had been, when her baby had first been placed into her arms. She had been in awe that she had been able to create something so delicate and beautiful—so fragile, but already so powerful. When the baby cried yesterday, all the windows in the room had shattered, and Emma had been grateful for her practices with Elsa—she had had enough control to throw up a protection spell around her and her beautiful little baby girl so they wouldn't be harmed by the glass shards that had flown around the room.
It'd sent Elsa and her father into a frenzy to find a bracelet to control the baby's magic until she is old enough to learn to do it herself—but all Emma had been able to muster up was awe.
Awe that something so powerful and beautiful and small is hers.
"She is," Emma finally whispers in reply when Henry moves to sit next to her on the bed, his baby sister cradled in his arms, "and she looks just like him. She even has his eyes." !The thought of his crystalline blue eyes, eyes that could always see right through her, makes her heart clench painfully, as though the shard of ice that had been lodged in his heart and that killed him has found its way into her own heart after all and is now slowly trying to kill her from the inside out.
The mere memory of him hurts, and it makes her feel sick, because she'd loved him—because he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and he deserves better than to have his memory associated with nothing but pain—because her daughter looks just like him, and she can't look at her without hurting.
But she can't stop looking either.
Maybe she truly is a masochist.
Henry smiles sadly too, chuckling when the baby waves her arms around in that uncoordinated way babies do and reaches for his finger. "You know it might change," he says softly, uncertainly, "her eye colour… She might get yours eventually."
Emma shakes her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she looks down at her baby, "No… No, she'll have his eyes—he'll still be with us through her." !Henry nods slowly, playfully tugging on the baby's hand, trying to elicit a smile from the baby—even though they both know a three-day-old baby can't actually smile yet.
Henry grins when the baby scrunches her nose and starts wiggling insistently in his arms, and he bumps his shoulder against Emma's playfully as he hands her the baby—he's been around baby Graham long enough to recognize the signs of a child that is about to throw a tantrum because she's hungry. "You better feed the monster, mom. I think I heard her scream all the way in my room yesterday. For such a tiny thing, she sure has a big pair of lungs."
Emma chuckles, shrugging off the loose shirt she's wearing and guiding her daughter's hungry little mouth to her breast. She gasps when the baby finds her nipple and starts drinking greedily—breastfeeding is the oddest sensation, and though she knows it's good for bonding with her child, she doesn't really regret not having had the chance to do this with Henry.
She's in the same boat now as she was when she was seventeen—it feels like she is—and she's still not sure how to do this.
How to be a mother and not screw up.
She'd been broken before, after Neal, after Walsh, but she'd been able to be strong then, she hadn't been shattered so badly she couldn't remember how to breathe on her own.
But she is now—and so is her dad.
She doesn't have anyone to look to anymore.
Elsa will help, and so will Ruby, but they have both suffered heavy losses in the battle too and Emma doesn't know how to let them help.
How to let anyone but Henry and her dad near her precious little baby.
Her beautiful little girl that is the only link she has left to her pirate—her dashing, courageous, loving pirate. She misses him more than anything, and she knows that he would have been overjoyed to know that he had given her a daughter.
He'd have wanted to be here.
He would never have left her if he had known—she's sure about that. Surer than she had been about Neal—she's thought about him too, over the course of her pregnancy, and she's wondered what her life would have been like had Neal known of her pregnancy before he left.
She knows that Killian would have done everything he could to stay.
She knows that.
But she's not so sure about Neal.
And that, knowing that she couldn't trust he'd have stayed, helped give her some closure—helped her realize that even if she'd have given Neal a chance before he'd died, it wouldn't have worked. It would have ended anyway, because she knows she couldn't have trusted him with her heart.
Not like she trusted Killian.
"So," Henry drawls slowly, drawing her attention back to him, "Did you decide on a name yet?"
Emma looks at her daughter with a small, tender smile, gently lifting her daughter's tiny hand from where it was pushing on her sensitive breast. "Yeah," she says softly, "Leia—for the last adventure her father and I had. And Mary for—" she breaks of as another tear rolls down her cheek.
She doesn't need to finish that last sentence.
She knows Henry knows.
Henry is silent for a moment, obviously mulling over his baby sister's name before he smiles brightly and nods. "Leia Mary Jones. It does have a nice ring to it."
.
.
.
Storybrooke, Maine—Sheriff's Station—Present time
"She's what?!"
Killian watches as Anna flinches at David's shouted inquiry, uncertain of how to take Anna's disheveled and panicked state—it is more than obvious she did not expect Elsa to capture Emma and pressure them into finding Elsa's sister. He sighs and turns to David, clapping his hand on the man's shoulder while trying to keep himself under control—Emma needs him with a clear head.
"David, this is not helping. Anna is not to blame for someone else's actions." He turns back to Anna, raising a single eyebrow when her eyes flash with something—something he cannot and dares not identify.
He is silent for a moment before he shakes it off and continues, "Do you know where Elsa's sister is?"
Anna bites her lip and shakes her head. "No—no. I know that she is here, and that her name is Ana, but I don't know where she is. I thought that… If we found Elsa before she did, we'd be fine. She knows how to control her magic—I know she does." Her voice is shaky and unsteady, and Killian is not sure what to make of her obvious concern for Emma.
He supposes it makes sense that she cares for them—why else would she have traveled back in time to save them?—but it is still quite startling to witness.
"We need to get Emma out of there," Anna continues, her voice a little steadier, but not much, "As soon as possible." Her eyes flash with green and Killian nearly jumps when he feels the familiar tingle of magic rush through the station before Anna's eyes flash back to their usual intense blue.
"I tried to break through it," Anna continues, "But I couldn't get past the ice—it was like there was a magical barrier that prevented my magic from getting to Emma… I've never—" she shakes her head and sighs, running her fingers through her hair, "I've never felt anything like it before. It's the first time I've ever felt anything that was stronger than my magic. I don't know what it is…"
She meets Killian's gaze head-on and sighs, "But it's not Elsa. She seemed surprised as well—before she took advantage of the situation to demand Ana's safe return."
"Fine," David sighs, "I suppose we could conduct a search of the town, ask people if they know her… That's how we usually manage to find people here; especially after this second Curse." David sighs and rubs his hand over his forehead, "Maybe Snow and Henry could help too…"
"We don't have time!" Anna exclaims suddenly, and Killian feels horribly unsettled at the panic in her voice, "She's freezing to death! We need to get her out now!"
David is still talking, but neither Killian nor Anna is listening to him—Killian's eyes are fixed upon Anna, who seems quite unsettled. He notes that she is shivering, and her fingertips are tinged with blue. He does not know, nor does he care, how she knows that Emma is freezing, but it seems that she has somehow connected herself to his Swan.
If it is a spell, it is a clever one.
There is no better way to monitor Emma's health than to feel it. However, the effect that it seems to be having on Anna is slightly worrying, and he does not know how much help Anna can be if she is experiencing Emma's feelings.
"Anna," Killian interrupts David's monologue, "How bad is it?"
His voice is shaking, but he cannot help it—he is terrified.
Despite Anna's assurances that Elsa is not evil and on their side, he is terrified of losing Emma, and he feels so useless. He cannot fight Elsa's magic—he cannot find Elsa's sister to have her return Emma—he can barely think straight.
Anna's eyes meet his, and he does not even flinch when her eyes flash from deep, rich blue to forest green before she replies. "She's bad—I don't think she's even conscious anymore. We need to get her out now." Her eyes fall to her own fingers, and she shivers as she stutters, "S—she's turning blue."
The urgency and fear in her voice are palpable, and it shuts both him and David up for a moment.
Killian almost feels as though the air has been punched out of his lungs.
He cannot fathom the idea of losing Emma—not Emma. He has survived the loss of his brother, of his Milah, of Bae—twice, at that—but he cannot survive losing his Swan. He will not be able to go on without her, and he is not being melodramatic either.
He is simply realistic—Emma had given him a reason to want to live once again. If he were to lose Emma, he would lose that love, that will to live.
"Then what are we waiting for?" He shifts impatiently, and he would have left already had he had any clue where Elsa and Emma are. His earlier calm completely evaporated when Anna told them that Emma is freezing—now he can only think of getting to her and saving her and never letting her out of his sight ever again.
"Come on, mate," David sighs, "we can't just run up there half-cocked without a plan."
Killian glares at David as Anna throws her hands up exasperatedly, "Well, we have to do something! The—she's freezing. She doesn't have much longer." Both Killian and David stare at her, alarmed by how faint Anna's voice is. Killian's eyes widen as he realizes just how pale she is—her fingertips are almost completely blue and frosted and her lips are tinged with purple.
He turns back to David to give him a pointed look—to which the Prince finally responds with understanding, jumping into action and leading them both back to the large truck.
He doesn't even jump when the automobile emits a loud roar when David makes it move—all he can think of is his Swan, and his hope that they will be in time.
They have to be in time.
.
.
.
Cold.
All she feels is cold.
She can see through the thick walls of ice that surround her now—the thick, unforgiving white had evolved into a clear, glasslike state a few hours ago, and Emma can see the woman in the blue dress pacing constantly, only slowing when she passes Emma's cage. Emma's pretty sure Elsa—that's her name, right?—is the one that turned the ice into its current glasslike state.
She'd watched as Elsa tried to take down the cage when she'd realized how cold Emma was getting, but it didn't look like she'd managed to make any progress.
Her head feels heavy and she's curled up into a tight little ball against one of the walls, too cold to even shiver anymore. Her thoughts are sluggish and it's getting harder to keep her eyes open—it won't be that bad if she sleeps for a little bit, right?
Surely she'll feel better once she's taken a little nap.
"Emma!"
Her eyes flutter open again, and she looks around confusedly—she knows that voice… She's pretty sure she does. There's someone in front of her cage, kneeling on the ground and hand pressing to the cold ice. His features look all messed up through her bleary eyes and the thick ice but she knows him—those blue eyes…
"Killian?" Her voice is soft and shaky and she can barely even hear herself.
"Emma," his voice is louder and stronger, and it feels comforting to know he's right there with her. "Emma, love, you need to keep fighting—we're almost there. Anna and Elsa are working on getting you out. Just a little bit longer, love."
He sounds so worried and she doesn't like that—she can almost see the frown creasing his forehead—, she just wants him here with her, so she can hold him. So she can tell him that she's fine, so that he can envelop her in his arms and so she can feel safe and home.
He's always so warm—she could use some of that.
"Take c—care o—o—of Henry f—for me," she manages to tell him. She knows he'll never deny her anything—he never does—and she needs to know that, because she knows she's going to die in here. And she needs to know that both her boys will be taken care of—her father will be okay if this ends badly—he has her mom and baby Graham—but Killian and Henry…
She needs to know they are both okay.
"I—I'm sorry," she stutters, "I really lo—"
"No," Killian exclaims, and he sounds pained and scared and she doesn't want the last thing she hears to be him yelling at her, pleading with her to hold on, to not leave him too—to stay with him.
Frantic. Desperate. Terrified.
She's mad at herself for forgetting that she's not the only one who's lost a lot of people—who's been abandoned. For not seeing that he's always been there for her, even when she gave him no reason to be there.
'I love you.' She thinks, wishing that somehow he could hear her thoughts—her body's not cooperating anymore and she can't even feel the cold anymore as she slips down to the floor of her icy cage. Her eyes flutter shut of their own accord and she knows that her rescue is going to be too late—she's not even trembling anymore.
She knows she's slipping away—she can feel it happening, and it's the oddest, most terrifying thing she's ever felt. It's also the most comforting, because it's easy and slow and there's no pain there—she knows there won't be.
The last thing she hears before everything goes black is Killian's frantic voice, begging her to hang on, to stay with him—to never let go—and she wants to, so, so badly, but she's so tired. She just needs to close her eyes for a little bit.
Just for a little bit.
.
.
.
"Do something!" Killian cries desperately, digging his hook into the thick ice over and over again, to no avail—the ice is too thick, and he will never get through in time. His heart is pounding loudly in his ear, and each beat feels like a punch to the gut—his heart beats the same steady staccato…
It feels like Emma's name is imprinted upon the organ and each beat reminds him of her.
Emma.
He feels as though he too is struggling to survive, as though his body is shutting down along with Emma's—he cannot imagine a life without her by his side anymore, and he refuses to accept it. He has never felt so useless in his life—but he will not give up.
He bites his lip as he listens to Anna argue—albeit very shakily—with Elsa, pleading with her to help them take down the ice wall. He clenches his fist desperately, because he knows that his temper will not aid them, nor convince Elsa to hear their plight.
Anna had already admitted that something in the ice that is holding his Swan captive is stronger than her magic, and that she has never before seen anything like it.
Emma.
His nails dig into his skin as he pleads with Emma to hold on, to wake up—to not leave him as she had feared he would leave her.
Emma.
He cannot lose her.
He will not survive that heartbreak.
Emma.
"Get a move on," he bellows—his carefully built façade shatters at Elsa umpteenth refusal—turning to glare at the stately blonde, "I don't care for your petty arguments and pathetic plight! She's dying!" He is beyond caring about showing his vulnerability.
All he cares for is getting Emma out of this icy cage.
"Please," he whispers, fully turning to Elsa, "Please. She is…" he chokes, "She is everything. Please."
He barely listens to what David and Anna say to Elsa—his heart is pounding painfully in his chest and he cannot—
He cannot breathe.
Fear is gripping at his throat, and he feels as though he is the one who is frozen—he wants to cry and scream and rage and run, but he cannot bring himself to move.
He cannot go through this again.
Not again.
But then something in the ice changes—it starts to melt, little drops of ice cold water dripping onto his hand where it is still pressed tightly against the ice. He does not turn to see who is melting the ice—he does not care.
The ice is thinner, and he can almost punch his fist through it—and then there is an opening.
A small one, but it is large enough to see through it, and he cries out in pain as he sees Emma curled up against the far end of the cage, her eyes shut and her skin deathly pale. Her lips are tinged with blue, and he cannot help but punch through the still-melting ice in his desperation to get to her.
Emma.
She hangs limply in his arms when he pulls her to him, but she's breathing and alive and he can breathe again.
He is still terrified—it is not the first time he has seen the devastating effects of cold on a human body—but he is also joyous and light, because she's here.
He has her in his arms and he is never letting her out of his sight again.
Her skin is ice, and he needs to get her out of here and to a healer.
He lifts her up into his arms—he smiles lightly when, despite being unconscious, she snuggles into his warmth—and hurries out of the clearing, ignoring David and Anna and Elsa as he hurries towards the 'truck', as David had called it. It is somewhat difficult to see where he is walking, with Emma in his arms, but he manages and does not once trip over hidden tree roots or slip over an ice patch on the forest floor.
"Hook!"
He can hear Anna behind him, but he can't stop, he needs to help Emma, keep her safe—
"Killian! Wait! I can get you to the hospital far faster than this—wait!"
He stops reluctantly, turning to glare at Anna as she runs up to him.
"I care not for magic tricks," he hisses, "We need to get Emma warmed up right away or—"
"I know," Anna bites back, a green fire flashing in her eyes, "I know—let me take you to the hospital. I can take you there in less than a heartbeat, and you will be able to care for Emma an—" she cuts off, but his attention is once again diverted by his Swan, who stirs in his arms, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal that the usual vibrant forest green of her eyes is dulled and misty.
"K—Killian," she breathes in a whisper so soft, he can barely hear it.
"I've got you, love," he whispers in her ear as she tightens her near-frozen fingers in his shirt, "I've got you. I'm here."
He takes a moment to revel in Emma's slight awareness before he nods to Anna and extends his hook to her.
"Take me to this 'hospital'.
.
.
.
Storybrooke, Maine—Granny's Diner—at that same moment
"How's the little guy?" Ruby smiles at Mary-Margret and Henry as she brings them their lunch order. Baby Graham is happily suckling on his pacifier in his carrier, the picture of innocence—Henry rolls his eyes.
If only Ruby knew how loud Graham had screamed earlier when Mary-Margret didn't get him out of his crib immediately to feed him.
He barely listens to the conversation between his grandma and Ruby—he's far more interested in figuring out who the new girl in town is. He'd heard her say she's from the future, and that she's here to help everyone survive the new villain, but he's not sure he believes her.
She's from the future—he does believe that—but why would anyone come back, ruining their own lives in the process, to change the past? Even if she does manage to change the past—or the present… Whatever—she won't be able to go home.
He sighs and munches on a French fry absent-mindedly.
Everyone knows that, right?
So, why would you risk your entire existence for a group of people you've never even met? No matter how much he'd admire anyone, he doesn't think he'd ever feel that kind of devotion.
Not to total strangers…
It just doesn't make sense to him.
So… That would imply that she knows them, in the future—not just knows of them.
He's about to share his theory with Mary-Margret and Ruby when the door to the Diner suddenly crashes open, and a tall, beautiful, pale woman in a long white dress strides in. He swallows thickly when her pale blue eyes—so pale they're almost as white as the whites of her eyes—fall upon their booth, and a cruel smirk curls on her lips.
"Ah," she speaks softly, "Just who I was looking for."
Before he realizes what is happening—before he even gets the chance to be some kind of afraid or alarmed—she has raised both palms towards them, and he can see the cool, crackling white of magic growing within them, her head tilted to the side slightly as she adds, "I do apologize for this… But you would only get in my way."
And then the Diner is filled with bright white light, an icy cold wind and baby Graham's cries.