AUTHORS NOTE: Charming is coming I promise!
TRIGGER WARNING: Sensitive situations will be marked off with the bolded KEKEKEKEKEKEKEK.
He didn't go after her, as much as he wanted to. He didn't, because he knew she would shut him out, not even give him a chance. That's what he would've done. Instead, he grabbed a broom, and a dust pan, and carefully made his way into the kitchen. Ignoring a sniveling Mary Margaret, he swept the broken dishes into the dustpan, all in one motion, and dumped it in the trash. Next, he walked quietly up the stairs. He looked longingly at Emma's closed door, Of course Mary Margaret gave her the bean stalk one, but turned the other way, towards the room Neal was surely hiding away in. He threw open the door, not even bothering to knock, and stepped in, taking long strides towards the bed opposite of the one Neal and Grace sat side by side on.
"Give us a moment will you lass?" Killian said politely. No one would mistake it for a question though, it was more like a direct order. Grace nodded her consent, gave Neal's hand a reassuring squeeze, and walked out, shutting the door behind her.
"Putting the moves on the ladies eh lad?" Killian chuckled awkwardly. Neal gave him a pointed look.
"Spit it out Killian," he spat. Killian's expression hardened at the venom in the young boys tone.
"You will not smash any more dishes, and you will not yell at Mary Margaret again. I mean for God's sake lad, you made her cry!" Killian exclaimed furiously. "You are fourteen God damnitt Neal! Start acting like it! Like it or not, Leo needs you, Grace needs you, and now Emma needs you, to be strong despite the circumstances! Get over yourself!" Neal stared at Killian like he had seen a ghost.
"Say something!" Killian almost yelled.
"You sound like my father," Neal whispered. Stunned into silence, Killian just sat there, staring at Neal, who stared right back, both unsure of what to do. Finally, Killian just said, "You will apologize to Mary Margaret first and foremost, and to everybody else, and you will fix your attitude, and your behavior, alright?" Neal nodded his head slowly. Killian stood up from his chair, and moved towards the door way.
"Things are finally changing lad. But things are going to get worse before they get better," Killian said quietly, standing in the door way now. Neal gave him a funny look.
"How do you know?" he inquired. Killian looked at the boy for a moment, before looking away.
"I just feel it," he concluded, before walking away.
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Emma sat in her room, crying softly, mourning for the things she had lost, and the things she could have had. Most of all, she mourned for the girl she could've been, the girl that would've embraced Killian's words, that would've told him everything he had wanted to know, that would've opened up. She cried as she heard heavy footsteps walk down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door.
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Time passed in Storybrooke, 11 days, 13 hours, 34 minutes.
Emma slowly but surely grew acclimated to her new home throughout the week. She wondered if Cassidy missed her less and less, and she came to know all the other residents of the house, and the volunteers, favoring the dirty blonde man known as David, who worked at the animal shelter, and apparently came on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Mary Margaret. She slept soundly, if not a little awkwardly, due to her ever growing baby bump, and the new cast on her left arm. It had started out white, but the kids had been bored one day, and had wanted to give it a little pizazz as Grace had put it excitedly. Emma was against it at first, and even the constant badgering couldn't change her mind. It was when Grace and Neal had finally given up, and left her alone with Leo, that her mind changed. Leo had stood next to her, and taken one of her hands in both of his, and looked into her eyes. Emma froze, not used to human contact that wasn't causing her pain, and clammed up tight, but after a second, her feelings seemed to mellow out, becoming more calm. Her reservation faded away, replaced by feelings of contentment, and even something that resembled happiness. A smile grew on Emma's face, matching the small one that sat on Leo's. When Leo released her hand, she quickly realized that she was grinning like a fool, and schooled her features. She looked over at the young boy, with a puzzled expression, but found no trace of the smile he had on earlier. He was back to his stoney faced self, and he was walking away from her, towards where Grace and Neal were sitting on the couch, watching TV. Emma smirked at the two teens who were a little bit too close to be called, just friends, and before she knew it, she was calling out to them.
"Alright fine, let's see whatcha got!" she had yelled. The kids laughed, and split up, running to their rooms to gather supplies. When they came back, they sat Emma down in a chair, laid newspaper out on the table, and set to work. Neal painted, Grace and Leo bedazzled. She ended up with a cast that was patterned with ocean waves, with the sky was made up of white and light blue gems that Grace had had laying around on the forearm, and on the upper arm portion, Neal had painted it so it looked just like a flying ship. It was actually really awesome. It reminded Emma of something, though she couldn't remember what. The ship gave her a comforting feeling, and she found herself looking at it before she fell asleep.
She dreamed about Killian, except this dream was different than all the others. He wore what she could only describe as an old fashioned naval uniform, maybe from the 1700s, and he was walking away from her, up onto the ship that was painted onto her cast. As he sauntered up the gang plank, he looked back over his shoulder, and offered her a sad smile. Later in the same dream, back in her room at the castle, Come on Emma, your days of wanting to be a princess were over a long time ago, a still very pregnant Emma plopped down onto her bed. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a man with gold, scaly skin appeared in a puff of smoke, and handed her a box. He chuckled, but it was more like a cackle, and puffed out of the room again. Dream Emma opened the box and screamed, because inside of it, was a human hand, one that unmistakably belonged to the man she had seen off at the docks earlier.
Real Emma's eyes shot open, and she sat up violently, clutching at her stomach. She heard someone screaming, but she couldn't tell who, all she could understand was the pain, searing pain, radiating from her very core. She heard panicked voices yelling, something about calling 911, and the baby, and calling Mary Margaret or David or Killian or somebody, and then there was only darkness, sweet, sweet darkness.
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She was floating, she felt light, and she felt free. She tried to open her eyes, but they stubbornly remained shut. A feeling of unease washed over her. Something enveloped her, and it was warm, and soft, and she just wanted to lay in it forever, but she couldn't. She was restless, tossing and turning, trying to shake the thing off. A whispered voice cut through the darkness.
"Rest little one, go to sleep now," it was a motherly voice, Emma decided. It reminded her of Mary Margaret, except this one was slightly different, the emphasis on different words and syllables. It was more like an older version of her, Emma decided, and that relaxed her, because if the older version of her approved then why shouldn't she? The movement of her limbs ceased, excluding the tapping of her fingers, that she couldn't seem to stop.
"Be still little one," the motherly voice of older Emma commanded. Emma tried to comply, but to no avail.
"No!" a more urgent voice said. Again, the voice reminded her of herself, but this one brought on different feelings. It wasn't calming, it didn't soothe her. It riled her up, made her feel twitchy almost. She started to move again. "Fight it!" the urgent voice commanded. Murmuring filled the abyss, the two voices battling against each other for dominance. One voice, a new voice, boomed over all the others.
"It is not her time," the familiar voice thundered. More murmuring ensued, but the strong voice cut through the white noise again.
"She needs to go back," it said. This voice, just like the other ones, stirred more feelings inside of her, but they were of a different kind. These were deeper feelings, which she couldn't quite place
"Yes master," the other two voices hissed. Emma's body tensed because something wasn't right with the way they both sounded pleased at the decree. The familiar voice caught it too.
"Both of them," he said, in an accent so similar to Irish, that she decided to call it that. The warm feeling that surrounded her, receded, replaced by coolness. Cold metal brushed her arms, and her body seemed to be in motion, like she was being pushed, or rolled on something. She peeled her eyes open groggily, and tried to sit up.
"She's awake!" someone yelled over her. Another someone spoke to her directly.
"Don't try to sit up sweetheart, just lay back, that's right good job. Everything is going to be fine I promise." The someone said. She heard a voice calling her name loudly.
"Sir stay back!" someone shouted.
"That's my fiancé! She's pregnant, that's my kid!" the voice yelled angrily.
"She isn't your fiancé anymore!" a woman joined the fray. The angry voice turned on her.
"You bitch, stay out of it!" the man spat.
"Don't talk to her like that!" a different man called, this one more protective.
"Listen here you little sh—"the angry voice started to say, before it was cut off by the sound of flesh smacking into flesh.
"Should've left while you had the chance mate," another person cut in, his voice fading away slowly, as if he was walking out the door, or maybe being dragged, given the circumstances. Despite the dull ache in her belly, and in all of her joints, a tired grin blossomed across Emma's face. She fell back onto the pillow below her, and the darkness rose up to catch her.