Chapter Text
“We’re current on schedule to arrive in Bangor by sunset, viewable to your left. Looks like it’s gonna be a smooth touchdown, folks. Once again, your pilot and crew thank you for flying the friendly skies with-”
Emma pops her earplugs back in as the airport gets closer and closer.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, it seems like the plane carrying your check-in was delayed.” The person at the desk tells her, “but we expect it to arrive in about three hours, if you’d like to wait? Otherwise we can ship it to you at a later time. You should get it in a week, at the latest.”
Emma wants to point out that most people flying anywhere need their baggage when they land, not when they leave, but it’s not like it’d do her any good. She sighs, “No, no, three hours? That’s fine.”
At least she gets a meal voucher for the trouble.
It actually takes seven hours for her to finally retrieve her suitcase. When it becomes apparent that she will not be leaving Bangor International four hours after she landed, she calls.
“You’ve reached The Enchanted Forest - Storybrooke’s family florist shop and a Yelp favorite! We’re closed for the night but if you leave a name, number, and the kind of bouquet you’re looking for, we’ll get back to you bright and early!” A chipper voice recording tells her.
“Hey, mom-” the word reluctantly tumbles out, if only as a self-preservation instinct, “- I know I said I’d be there by now, but there’s been some trouble with my-”
And as if she had recited the correct magic incantation, the phone picks up with a click.
“Emma, sweetheart! Where are you? I’ve been worried sick! Oh, my heart couldn’t handle it if something had happened to you too! With everything that’s happened I’ve been watching your flight since it left and I was so relieved to see it land on time and that the weather was fine along your travel path and-”
“Yeah, uh, some trouble with my baggage. I’m just waiting for it, that’s all. I’ll be in late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Oh.” Her mother sounds disappointed, “You couldn’t have it shipped? Or come back for it?”
Emma laughs and it comes out a little flat to be convincing, “I’m not driving three hours back to Bangor. It’s fine; like I said, I’ll just be in late and don’t wait up.”
A pause, “Okay. Dinner’ll be in the fridge. It’s your favorite. Drive safe, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Emma says and hangs up. A security guard comes up to her, wheeling along her suitcase. “This yours?” he asks.
“That’s mine.” She confirms and reaches for it. Her jacket rides up in the motion, revealing the hints of her sleeve, which the guard doesn’t miss. “They yours too?” He asks, referring to them.
Emma smiles politely, hoping to just get her goddamn suitcase and leave, but the security guard seems intent on conversation, even if it’s just with himself and Emma as an unfortunate casualty. “Got a set for myself, too.” he continues, “Didn’t make my partner too happy when she first saw them, let me tell you. Called me an extra fucker. Shit, you don’t mind the language, right? You don’t seem like the kind of person to mind-”
“I’ve got an appointment to keep.” Emma interrupts, “So if you don’t mind-”
“Oh! Sure, sure,” the guard says, finally relinquishing his grip on her suitcase, “You have a nice one! And remember, whoever they are, they’re your extra fucker.”
Emma decides, right then, that she will pay extra money to take a train to New York and fly out from there. No money saved is worth the annoyances she’s already had to endure and she only just arrived. The clock ticks over to midnight.
Happy fucking birthday, she thinks.
The highway to Storybrooke at this time of night is blissfully quiet and under the flickering pattern of streetlights, she can see her tattoo sleeve under her jacket.
Yeah, of course she had to get, as the security guard so aptly self-described as, an extra fucker for a soulmate. An extra fucker who decided it’d be a good idea to get not one, but two full sleeves without any consideration for the innocent parties who’d also be forced to to get not one, but two full sleeves! Who even does that?
Emma’s grip tightens on the wheel. She’s sure her soulmate lives in like one of three cities where it’s actually socially acceptable and probably socially encouraged to have full sleeves and she’s been tempted to storm the tattoo parlors and beat the name out of a series of poor and beleaguered tattooists. Heck, she could start on it during this trip - there’s that tattooist right next to The Enchanted Forest. A popular one who could probably point her in the right direction, if Snow’s constant bemoaning is anything to go by.
It’s a nice thought to keep her company as she’s greeted by the “Now Entering Storybrooke - Home of Your Happily Ever After!” sign.
Snow isn’t fretting and she knows Emma told her not to wait up. It’s just, with David in the hospital and Emma coming late, she couldn’t sleep. So she’s up baking some pie. Maybe she’ll take it down to Granny’s in the morning. Granny has never begrudged her a spot in the display cabinet and it’ll be a nice surprise for the regulars. Snow’s pie always goes quickly whenever they have a neighborhood potluck.
There’s a rustling sound by the door, that’ll be Emma reaching for the hideaway key. A click, Emma unlocking the door. Boots scuffing on the mat, a pause before Emma audibly sniffs, “Snow? Are you still up?”
“In here!” She calls out, “Just baking some pie!”
“Told you not to wait up,” Emma says somewhat gruffly. It must be the stress of nearly losing her baggage, Snow thinks - a mood remediable by pie. Good thing she stayed up to make some.
“Sometimes you just need to make some pie.” She says sagely, turning back to check on it. Behind her, Emma takes off her jacket and pulls a chair out - almost certainly to put the jacket on it. “The coat rack is where it always is.” Snow reminds her, not bothering to turn back - the pie’s just about done. She opens the oven door and reaches for it, the smell of apple wafting through the house.
Emma’s voice filters in from the hallway, getting louder as she returns, “Anyway, I’m pretty tired so I’m just going to-”
Snow shrieks as Emma re-enters the kitchen, promptly dropping her pie. It splatters apple filling over both of them. Emma jumps back, “Shit! That’s hot! What the-”
Emma, her precious child Emma, is wearing a tank top that prominently displays both of her arms. Both of her heavily tattooed arms. Tattooed with tattoos Snow knows.
Snow faints to the sound of Emma cursing and rushing over.