CHAPTER TWELVE: BREADSTICKS
(In which a funeral is glossed over in exposition in favor of a rather pathetic reception where Emma reflects on widowhood and bad parents... and Henry is a pervert!?)
Snow flurries fell on the deck of The Jolly Roger as Emma stood on crutches, helped by Henry since Dr. Whale had thrown a fit over her using her fractured hand to support any of her weight. They'd gone as far out to sea as the town's magical barrier allowed, lowered the sheet-wrapped body in a longboat atop a bed of roses (damaged in the accident, so Moe French couldn't sell them)... and then after it had drifted a bit, Mary Margaret set it alight with an arrow... some sort of ancient mariner custom in the Enchanted Forest.
Then Smee steered the ship back to port, Emma endured being pushed down the ramp in her wheelchair, and they all went to an Italian buffet luncheon reception. And though the in-no-way-authentic-Italian food was kind of crap compared to anything Emma had gotten in New York, and she had so often wanted to get up and bitch-slap that pasta-slurping Lady and the fucking Tramp couple of regulars, Killian was always insistent on going there because of that first date... trying to milk it for all it was worth whenever they were in a rough patch.
Emma didn't love him anymore, had emerged from that disease-created-hormone-haze, but it felt like she had to at least go through the motions, because true or not, he had believed that he loved her. And she was partially responsible for his death, even if it was the disease he gave her that made her flip out and magically glue his boots to the street. Which, ironically, also gave her some clarity after years of just being horny for him.
And if that wasn't weird irony enough, it seemed that Killian had gotten the particularly virulent and magical-resistant syphilis from Neal's mother. Poseidon (who'd shown up for the funeral with Ursula), confirmed having sold some kind of rare and expensive potion to him after selling one to Milah; she'd apparently led her new pirate lover to believe that her husband had been her only lover, dismayed as she was to be faithful to a coward in a small town where no other man would have the wife of a coward - when she'd actually been banging everything with a dick that came through town - hence having also purchased from Poseidon an infertility drought, as she hated kids and didn't want to be "shackled to another man via a needy brat just in case things don't work out with this one".
Apparently, Poseidon and his merfolk had gotten their jollies and revenue for oceanic upkeep by selling horny pirates, sailors, fisherman, and other seaside-adjacent humans potions. They also sent their teenagers out on some kind of Rumspringa type thing to experience having legs, human sex, and shitting in a hole in the ground instead of just wherever... or something. Emma hadn't asked Ariel for details on that when she showed up for festivities, though she did finally figure out what was happening to all of the buoys in the harbor and told Poseidon that maybe he should see about getting the mermaid a potion to cure kleptomania before Eric found himself married to a horder and was crushed to death in his castle under massive piles of fishing nets, plastic bags, and dirty needles.
Anyway, on the syphilis front, Poseidon had boasted that he made a killing on potions that required ingredients like squid ink or kraken saliva in maritime villages, and occasionally ventured further inland using the family leg-making jewels when there was some war going on that led to a rise in pregnancies and STDs, what with all of the soldiers going about raping and such. Pirates, of course, were his biggest customers, and Killian probably should have renewed his prescription, but who would guess that he'd live to be 300 plus years old and have a flare up?
Long story short, Emma now had to deal with having gotten an STD from her kid's grandmother. Which, in this family, was pretty much par for the course at this point.
On that creepy thought, Emma broke a stale, previously frozen breadstick in half and sighed.
This was so depressing. She was a widow. She'd been Neal's almost-kind-of-whatever when he died, but the almost meant a lot less pitying looks, and her having sort of killed Neal with magic with only Gold to see had never really registered with anyone else in the way her publicly cementing Killian to the street moments before he was turned into roadkill did.
She almost wished for Zelena to storm in making threats. Almost. That wackjob was better off in the Asylum.
"How are you holding up?" inquired Archie, walking over with a buffet plate in hand.
"Wishing it was late enough to switch from sangria to something stronger," Emma admitted with a grimace, then told the shrink, "Hey, look, I'm sorry for being rude the other day at Granny's when you were just trying to help. I know you didn't mean to run into me and I was angry at Neal, and-"
Brows furrowing, Archie replied, "Um... I'm not sure to what you're referring..."
"Pongo was chasing a cat. You ran into me. I was kind of bitchy," Emma related, "and then you helped me inside when I got dizzy..."
"I really don't recall."
"The day of the accident," Emma pressed.
Archie told her with a sympathetic look, "Emma, I was home all day with a migraine and Marco took Pongo to the beach. It must have been a hallucination during your psychotic break. But... I appreciate the unwarranted apology and I hope I can help you with your recovery."
"Thanks," Emma muttered, and turned her attention back to her pile of breadsticks. Well, that was embarrassing. The story of her life lately, it seemed.
And speaking of embarrassments...
"Hey," she grabbed the hood of her son's sweatshirt as Henry was walking past, glued to his phone. "Pull your pants up, stop scratching yourself like a flying monkey, and give me your phone."
"MoooooooOOOOOOm."
"Now."
Grumbling, Henry did as ordered, handing over his phone with a particular look of offense that was so Regina it was both impressive, unnerving, and just plain irritating all at once.
"I thought you would be in a better mood," Emma accused. "You were against me dating Killian. And I thought I told you to wear something more appropriate than that ratty hoodie under your coat."
"Like Killian would have cared. He basically had two changes of clothes, his pirate shit and his rock star pimp clothes," Henry returned. "Besides, I liked him better when he realized he had to be super nice to me and do whatever I said or I'd rat his ass out for taking both my grandpa's and my dad's sloppy sec-Owe!"
Now standing behind him and yanking on his ear, Regina snapped, "Don't talk to your mother that way. Go wait in the car. And don't hot wire it to go for a joy ride again, or you will be grounded for a month."
"Yes, Mother," Henry uttered in yet another eerily perfect imitation of Regina and trudged for the door.
"Teenagers," Regina sneered. "He has turned into an oily-skinned delinquent. I don't know what's worse, the stiff sheets, the copious amounts of jock itch powder, or the failure to wear proper amounts of deodorant."
"I'd say it's this," sighed Emma, pulling up a video of Jefferson's daughter taken at night, of her bedroom window, the curtains cracked enough that the girl could be seen walking past in her bra and panties... and unhooking her bra.
"Is he in a tree?" Regina gasped and turned furious. "Grounded for two months. No TV, Internet or video games. And certainly no phone," she stated, then deferred, "Unless you object."
"Hell no. Lock his ass in his room and throw away the key. Henry can get his school work through a slot in the door. And a lump of coal for Christmas!" Emma angrily stated. "And he's definitely going back to therapy! I won't have my son growing up to be some... misogynist stalkery pervert date rapist!"
Looking a mix of smug and annoyed, Regina retorted, "So, you'll marry one, but you won't raise one? Aren't you the hereditary hypocrite today."
"I had brain damage!" Emma exclaimed.
"Brain damage, curses, it's a Sunday," Regina scoffed. "You Charmings always have an excuse. You didn't have brain damage when you shoved your tongue into his syphilitic mouth in the first place."
"Just the desperation of a whore losing her looks," Cora put in with a smirk as she sidled up to join them.
"You would know," Emma snarled at the woman, then directed at Regina, "And you pined for a guy you dated for three days and used the woman who thought was his wife to mop up the cum stains in your crypt and you can't blame that on an STD! I don't know what I was thinking risking my neck for your happy ending. Your whole family is made up of psychos."
"Technically, I used my sister who gave me that infernal infection after she raped Robin."
"Yeah, well, she only raped him for nine weeks as opposed to you raping Graham for thirty-plus years. If you hadn't chugged that infertility potion-"
Regina conjured a ball of fire.
Emma conjured a ball of light.
"Now, now!" Cora scolded her youngest. "You're supposed to wait until after the guests have departed before any sort of gloating or further revenge scheming related to the grieving family of the deceased."
She then waved a dismissive hand at Emma. "If you'd grown up in our world, you'd realize that sexual assaulting men is the only surefire way for a woman to gain any recognition as anything more than just a brood mare. I mean, look at your mother," she scoffed with a side-eye at Snow who had one kid in slung to her chest and the other smearing tomato sauce on her skirt while Charming completely ignored her, instead battling Robin in a game of who could stick a spoon to their nose the longest.
"Really, dear," she sighed at Regina, "you had to choose him?"
"Shut up, Mother," Regina growled and then glared at Emma, "I'm sure this is all your fault somehow!"
"What? Your true love being entertained by jangling keys or your mother being back from the dead with a slightly less Machiavellian plan to show you the true meaning of happiness?"
Regina's eyes flashed and Cora cackled, "I believe the word for that, dear, is 'burn'."
"Shut up, Mother! It's bad enough we have to go Zelena's ultrasound next!"
She snarked at Emma, "So thank you ever so much for saving her."
"Hey, you're forgetting that I killed her," Emma pointed out, grimacing as she said it, then muttering, "Not my fault she came back."
"Yes, well, let's just hope your pirate mascot stays dead this time. One less incestuous relationship in this family..."
"Incestuous? You shared a man with your sister! Your mother banged Henry's and my grandfather!"
"Oh pish-posh," Cora tutted. "I never bedded Leopold. He was far too honorable to fool around before marriage. And by honorable, I mean an imbecile who clearly passed on his low intelligence to your mother. And for which you have my sympathies as it doesn't seem your father's side had much going for it other than alcoholism," she concluded with a sniff toward Emma's large glass that had more liquid than fruit.
"You mean like yours?"
"It's not an insult when I loathed the man, dear," scoffed the former Queen of Hearts. "And it's not Zelena's fault that she has psychological issues. Her father was a psychopathic rapist who got that infernal disease and she contracted it from me before she was born-"
"And now her brain looks like a deformed sponge and she's carrying my husband's illegitimate rape child," growled Regina.
"Yes, well, that's what you get for trying to be a hero and not killing your sister when you had the chance. She would have died, no time spell, no screwed up timeline for you to further mess up by failing to take my advice, and you would be living happily ever after with the man whose wife you killed - neither of you aware of that particular bit of drama, and perhaps you would have been spared my coming back from the dead to teach you that not everything in life is about other people stealing your happiness. So, just be grateful that you don't need a hay cart full of medication to keep from turning green and talking like one of those cartoon characters that Roland likes to watch on the picture box because I got treated before you were born," snapped Cora.
Regina snorted. "Yes, by your lover Rumplestiltskin. Who taught that ginger bitch magic and whose whore first wife is indirectly responsible for bankrupting the city's health insurance fund!"
To Emma, she amended, "I'll have to thank him for that and not murdering your pet pirate centuries ago later. After reading Henry the riot act. I may actually attack him with a tree again, but this time he'll deserve it! Come along, Mother!"
"Can I put him in a stockade?" asked Cora, following to the line of people gathering their coats.
"What!? No! He's my son. He may be a pervert, but we are not torturing him!"
"You're no fun, Regina."
"Don't make me rip out your heart and re-curse it, Mother!"
"If you want me to put in a good word for you adopting your husband's illegitimate rape child, you will be kinder to me."
"I don't think Archie is going to even consider a word from the woman who fake murdered him and had him tortured by a pirate!"
"Oh, please, you and the pirate did a lot worse, and everyone here threw you a heroes' parade for whining about the unfairness of your lives. Of course, a majority of them probably had syphilis and monkey herpes at the time, so perhaps it would be best to triple magic lock the doors, lest they come to their senses and decide to burn your at the stake as justice would demand. Who knows how much of that spilled fairy dust was scooped off of the street, after all. I've seen the way that paper boy Timmy eyes the house as he peddles past. One morning he might dose you and stab you with that gardening spade you keep laying around."
"The paper boy is not plotting my murder, and gardening helps me keep calm!"
"You don't seem particularly calm."
"IT'S HARD TO GARDEN IN THE WINTER!"
As the two women exited, Emma rubbed her temples, trying to work out the headache that seemed almost constant since she awoke.
And the approach of her parents did nothing for her stress levels.
Emma groaned.
She loved them, but... Ugh. At least Granny had been left to heard her siblings out, so he didn't have to deal with playing stroller for her leaky-diapered sister again. By the second kid, one would think that Prince Charming could finger out how to put on a diaper, even the hippie cloth kind her mother insisted on to be more Enchanted Forest authentic. Her mother also made baby food. Which could be great if she spent as much time actually feeding her kids as she did at the store picking out weird foods to puree.
Her parents just refused to see that they made the whole parenting thing ninety percent about their hopes and dreams and needs and fears and public appearances instead of, you know, actual unconditional love of their children for the kids' sake. Which she should have figured out a long time ago. Frankly, between her self-promotion of questionable parenting skills and trying to put a bullshit positive spin on ever bad thing in life, her mother was like the Gwyneth Paltrow of the Enchanted Forest.
It had to be the brain damage, Emma decided, that prompted her to wear those stupid 1950's dresses her mother picked out for more than just the one humor your giggly still-baby-brain-shrunk mother time.
Or put up with the co-Sheriff thing. Honestly, that aggravated the fucking shit out of her. She seriously wanted to fire her father with his damned Don Quixote complex and unhealthy obsession with saving damsels to prove his courageous machismo. But then she'd have to find a replacement since she was on medical leave, and it would cause more family tension and drama she didn't need.
"Things seem to be wrapping up here," said David, "if you're ready to go home?"
"Yeah, sure, if you'll just drop me off-"
"I told you, Emma," Mary Margaret interrupted, "you're staying with us and using the downstairs room until you're up on your feet again. You can't stay at your place or at Granny's alone! And I don't think you want Henry to be the one to help you in and out of the shower."
Emma sighed. She'd only just gotten out of the hospital, but had expressed a desire to move out of her apartment and find a new place... which she couldn't really do until she was recovered. Henry had relocated his stuff to his room at Regina's, so it was just her few boxes of stuff that she'd previously kept in her office at the Sheriff's station to keep her mother from snooping, since her room at the loft hadn't come with a lock on the door. It really was kind of pathetic how few personal items she had even with a place of her own. Even in New York while memory-less she'd gotten a pre-furnished apartment that only needed an end table - and that was probably because Walsh crashed the joint and stole it. She just wasn't good at picking things out and making them match - or getting attached to things that had little meaning - so she'd let Killian go crazy with nautical crap.
"Don't want to find out the Kid's got an oedipal complex on top of everything," she finally muttered. "Fine."
As her parents helped her up with her crutches, Emma considered that, perhaps, the biggest irony of all was that she hated boats.
AN:The title is a nod to Glee, another show that became a pile of shit. Got another HIMYM jab in there. If you didn't catch it, Emma's "hallucination" was Cora. Much as I'd love to see Regina and Cora at Zelena's prenatal appointment with a snarky Dr. Whale, we're not going there. My apologies. Maybe a stand-alone later.
Next up: Is Henry really a little pervert?