Chapter Text
You know what she is don’t you? You know what she is capable of?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you really? If she finds out about this; about our plans—’
‘She’ll never know. No one ever will suspect us.’
‘And if they do? If she finds out?’
‘We’ll slaughter them. Every last one.’
Henry felt heavy in her arms. She supposed it must be because of the fatigue, but that was the lie she was telling herself. Emma could tell things were different between them ever since she and Mary Margaret had returned from the Enchanted Forest. Between all of them, really.
There was a good ten years between them and the others. The others were still the same when they had left, young and full of life. Emma’s legs felt heavy as she walked, her armor adding extra weight to her well-built form.
She wondered if she would outlive them. A Witcher’s life spans were incredibly long. During her time at the School of the Lion she had met other witchers that has lived for over several centuries and then they merely looked like middle-aged men and women.
The Jolly Roger swerved to the side and Emma nearly lost her balance, almost tumbling into one of the posts as she walked. She heard Regina moving hastily behind her, most likely wanting to catch her so that she didn’t fall over and end up hurting the slumbering boy in her arms. However, Emma was nothing if not agile on her feet.
She secured her stance, tightening her grasp on Henry and kept herself upright. Emma spared a glance in Regina’s direction and locked eyes with the sorceress briefly.
Most people didn’t trust sorceress’s, but they were far above witchers in the hierarchy. Even Regina was several ghouls and wraiths above Emma. The blonde could even read the mistrust in the woman’s russet eyes, her orbs scanning Emma’s yellow, catlike eyes.
Over the years she had earned Mary Margaret’s trust. In fact, it had come quite easily. Her mother had supported her decision to join the scholae and Emma had begun the transformation with Mary Margaret by her side. It was the reason that all she and David had done since their return was fight. He couldn’t stand the fact that his daughter was one of them.
The townspeople didn’t take too well to having Emma as their savior anymore either. There were a few odd ones out, such as Granny and Ruby, but mostly because they were magical creatures. Lycanthropes with moral codes to be precise. However, they were the only ones who didn’t mind Emma’s changes.
Henry didn’t have the same problem as the others. He kept going on and on about how cool it was that his mother had all these different powers, and rules, and meditations. He even admired her, and for once Emma found herself able to look in the mirror once again. Even if it was only for a few split-seconds.
Emma sat down with a thud on the bed, located in the Captain’s quarters. The furniture groaned in protest, but, then again, so did the rest of the old ship. So, it could have just been her imagination playing tricks on her, telling her she needed to lay off of the chimera.
The sneaky adolescent crawled under the covers without any protest. His whole body disappeared, and Emma saw a flash of a smile before all that remained was his tuft of brown locks. An amused smile made its way onto Emma’s face, not reaching her eyes like all emotions she usually felt.
Henry hadn’t been asleep. He just wanted to be carried.
She couldn’t blame him. Emma had missed him so much her heart still ached when she thought back to Greg and Tamara leaping through the portal. She still wished her father hadn’t stopped her from diving after them or before when she wanted to gut Neal’s fiancée the moment, she found out she was a traitor.
The ship swerved again and Regina, who’d been standing close by, lost her her balance. She tumbled over her own two feet and Emma’s reflexes kicked in. She flew off the bed and effortlessly caught the woman in her arms, registering briefly how light the brunette was.
Emma’s trained eyes caught a glimpse of a blush, but it disappeared as soon as Regina straightened herself. She pushed off Emma, clearing her voice awkwardly. She then motioned vaguely to the slumbering boy, her eyes breaking briefly with the witcher.
‘I’m going to sleep here with him.’
It wasn’t a question. There was a challenge in her voice as if she expected Emma to fight her on the matter. Her shoulders tensed and Emma knew the woman was preparing herself for the onslaught of insults she thought was coming her way.
Emma didn’t want to fight, however. There had been enough of that over the past few months ever since she and Mary Margaret came home, and even more so the year when she had first arrived in Storybrooke.
She trusted Regina, more than she trusted herself around Henry. Years of curses and mistrust made Emma even fearful of herself. Witchers weren’t people she even trusted. A lot of them were numb to emotions; didn’t feel nor did they even care.
Silver for the creatures in the woods, steel for the people in their stone castles; both swords were for monsters, and neither were for mercy.
‘I’ll take the floor,’ Emma nodded her agreement. ‘You don’t mind if I use the washbasin, right?’
She glanced in the direction of the furniture, merely just directing her eyes towards it. Regina seemed taken aback by the question and she turned around in her speechless stupor. When she returned her attention to the monster hunter, she opened and closed her mouth in search of an answer.
Emma watched her struggle in amusement, a blank expression on her pale features that only seemed to encourage Regina’s inability to talk. Years back, Emma would have laughed or even smiled at the sight; a smirk would have been inevitable. Regina would have scowled in anger and tried in vein to sever had head from her shoulders with one clean bite. Now, the sorceress never could tell what was going through her mind. She always kept a strong lid on her magical power and ensured her emotions never got the best of her.
‘No,’ Regina grounded out, frustrated with herself that she had taken such a long time to get the single word out. ‘I don’t mind at all. Just so long as you’re not a prude. We’re both women, after all.’
The blonde cracked a small, brief smile before she cleared her throat expectantly. She waited for a moment, staring down at Regina and waiting for her to move out of the small space they stood in.
‘What?’ Regina scoffed, narrowing her eyes.
‘Despite what you think about witchers, Regina,’ Emma drawled her voice laced thick with sarcasm. ‘We do have some sense of what to do and what not to do during social interaction. As much as I want to throw you over my shoulder and toss you onto the bed, I know that I shouldn’t.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Emma leaned forward, coming nose to nose with the sorceress. She grasped onto the woman’s wrist and kept her in place when she tried to yank herself away.
‘You’re in my way,’ the blonde explained. ‘I can’t move around you.’
Regina glanced down, discovering this statement to be true. The space between the bed and the back wall of the built-in bookcase barely even held Emma’s taller and more athletic form. A flush coated her cheeks and she quickly backtracked her steps to place some distance between herself and the witcher.
Emma could feel Regina’s eyes burning through her armor the moment she unclipped the swords that rested against her back. She set them both aside on the dresser next to the washbasin before she began to reach for the straps of her armor.
After a long day of hard work, undressing herself always seemed to be more of a task than dressing herself in the morning. Despite her mutations her muscles ached from over exertion and screamed in exhaustion. If she didn’t smell like death itself then she would have happily slept in her clothing and armor that sat on her like a second skin.
She undid her ponytail, allowing her curls of golden locks to fall out of its place and pool down onto her shoulders. It, too, was covered in mud, sweat, blood and grime. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed her hair with shampoo and conditioner, and she could wait for the time she finally would.
Emma lifted her linen shirt over her head, exposing her pale and petite breasts. Her Lion medallion untangled from the cloth as she tossed it aside on top of her armor and swords. The silver thudded softly against her chest and the chain clinked together with the lioness figurehead. She leaned forward and began to wash her face in the cold, sloshing freshwater Killian or Milah had poured for them before they had entered the quarters.
When she came up for air, water dripping down her face, her eyes caught Regina’s in the cracked mirror. The sorceress was perched against the headboard, Henry having turned around to toss her arm over his mother’s upper thighs, and she was staring directly at Emma. As soon as they had locked eyes, she glanced away and proceeded to toy nervously with Henry’s mop of brown hair.
The blonde could only assume the sorceress was a grade-a pervert, or she had been inspecting the scars that littered Emma’s muscular form. If that were the case, then she couldn’t particularly hold it against Regina. The number of scars covering Emma’s back, chest, abdomen, even the unexposed ones by the leather armored pants she wore.
Some of them weren’t even caused by monsters, of the magical kind. They were cigarette burns and whiplashes, caused by none other than abusive foster parents over the years as an adolescent.
Fighting back then always led to bigger punishment, to more pain. Emma took it all, especially when she could keep other foster children from the same fate. More so the younger ones.
Emma looked away from the sorceress, returning to her task of cleaning blood and grime from her skin. She could watch Regina for hours, doing anything really, but she wasn’t going to make the sorceress uncomfortable. She knew all too well what it felt like to be ogled by people whom’s gaze weren’t even welcomed.
Neverland had been another hell all on its own. Not just because of the challenges and the old wounds it had managed to pick at during their time there, but because of the creatures and people on the island.
Mermaids waited in every lagoon, eager to sink their teeth into human flesh. Sirens sung their sweet melodies even more beautifully than their female fishtailed sisters and led David astray, who’s heart was only set on Mary Margaret despite their disagreements. Ghouls feasted on the lost boys' dead. Water Hags came out of every swamp they stumbled upon and had a marvelous time of pulling Emma just below the muddy surface, sending their rescue party into all kinds of panics, even if Mary Margaret trusted in her skills as a witcher.
She has faced countless monsters and she would continue to face countless more, but she knew that the island had been even a harder challenge than her transition into becoming a witcher.
Coming from her that was saying a lot. Four out of five people died during every trial of grasses. Emma was lucky to have survived that, so one could imagine what Neverland must have been like.
A hiss escaped Emma’s mouth as she dabbed the contusions littering her skin with a wet cloth. It has been days since she managed to tend to her injuries and her witcher potions could only keep infection away for so long. She couldn’t wait to return home in order to put on clothes that weren’t drenched in monster blood.
Satisfied with her current state for the time being, Emma yanked the nearby dresser open and retrieved one of Milah’s shirts. It sat a little lightly against her frame, but she couldn’t dress herself in her own article of clothing again.
In fact, she was eager to burn her shirt given all its unidentifiable stains.
She took off her boots, exhaling in relief for the freedom of her feet. Then, she grabbed her armor and swords off the wooden surface and padded over to Regina’s side of the bed. The reason she told herself was because there was more space on the floor there then on Henry’s side of the bed.
Callously, Emma tossed her armor and swords a few paces away from her mentally marked out sleeping area. They landed loudly in the floor, the items' metal clinking against one another. She imagined Regina glaring at her from behind, angered by the noise.
She unclasped the belt around her pants and tossed it aside as well. She yawned and stretched herself before she lowered herself down onto the wooden floor, thinking back on how this didn’t even rank in her top ten of horrible places she’d slept before. Tucking her arm under her head, Emma closed her eyes.
‘Goodnight, Regina.’
Emma didn’t receive an answer. She was used to the sorceress's coldness, even more so because of her mutations. It stung even when she knew it shouldn’t. A lot of people assumed witchers had no heart and even less so a soul. She just never thought that someone like Regina could be so hypocritical.
The blonde jumped when the pillow collided with her head. She sat up instantly, her first instinct to reach for her sword. However, she stopped and allowed herself to assess the area first. Emma’s eyes connected with Regina’s backside and she frowned in confusion at the brunette’s form.
‘Goodnight, Miss Swan.’
If it wasn’t for Emma’s enhanced senses, she would have missed the whispered sentence entirely. She glanced between Regina and the pillow that now lay at her side, and for the first time in what could have been years she allowed the goofy smile to spread over her face.
She grabbed for the small piece of luxury and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
Milah seemed to tolerate Emma more than Hook did. She didn’t seem to share her lover's opinion that all witchers were vile scum of the earth. Emma often caught the woman smiling at her from somewhere on the ship, mostly just to be friendly and make her feel more welcomed than her own father did.
The pirate queen, however, left well enough alone. She respected Emma’s need to distance herself from the group, often not sharing meals with them during their long and treacherous course on Neverland’s seemingly endless ocean. She also annoyed Emma far less than Hook did.
This was what Emma thought of as she drew her eyes away from Milah, feeling Henry pat her cheek lightly. He was seated on her shoulders, his legs dangling past her breasts and proceeding to kick her in the gut every so often. She stood by the wooden rail of the ship, her knees just touching the edge so that she could feel the rush of danger tugging on her stomach.
Storybrooke was still a good journey ahead of them, several hundred miles to be exact before they could use such things as pixie dust or whatever idea Hook had up his sleeve to place a whole realm between them and the blasted rock called Neverland.
‘I didn’t know there were dolphins here!’ Henry exclaimed, pointing to where he’d spotted the sea creature.
Emma cracked a small smile at his enthusiasm, pleasantly surprised when she spotted the mammal for herself. Just shy off the starboard of the Jolly Roger there swan an entire pod of the sea creatures.
It should trouble Emma that she knew so little of the area she had been all but dropped into. As a witcher, lack of facts or information could cost one one’s life. Emma had nearly met her maker more than a few times during their journey on the island. Though, she couldn’t care less about that place. All Emma cared about was going home with Henry and figuring out how her life as a witcher could fit into his.
‘I didn’t know either,’ Emma mused fondly, glancing up to Henry’s grinning face.
The scar traveling across the left side of her face, going directly over her eye and having nearly blinded Emma in the organ, twitched when Henry’s hand grazed it lightly. He pulled back in surprise, glancing down to check if she was alright, yet at the same time inspecting it with childlike curiosity as best he could from his position.
She allowed him to trace the old injury with his fingers. Henry was purposely being gentle with her, as though he thought it could somehow still cause her pain. Emma could tell that he admired the scar, the cogs of his mine turning in effort to understand how she could have obtained it.
‘A souvenir from a cockatrice,’ Emma informed humorlessly. Though, she chuckled when Henry tilted his head to the side in curious confusion.
‘What’s that?’ He asked. ‘It makes me think of a cockroach.’
Emma’s chuckled grew louder, more audible and pleasing to the ear.
‘Trust me, it’s anything but that,’ she scratched the scar, feeling it itch as she thought back to when the reptile had caught her by surprise. ‘It’s like a dragon, but smaller and less intelligent; four-limbs, wings.’
Henry leaned his weight against her, and Emma turned her gaze back to the horizon. He rested his chin against the top of her head and she instantly feel the small amount of tension he had held in his body disappear.
‘Do they breathe fire like a normal dragon?’
Emma grunted, thankful there was one less thing she needed to concern herself with the next time she came face to face with a cockatrice.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘They use toxins and they strike with their beaks and tails. They surprise their victims, and with me that had been the case.’
‘The "cock" part of the word makes me think of a chicken,’ Henry hummed. ‘Do they look like chickens?’
Emma snorted, ‘Yeah. A little bit.’
‘Did it hurt when the cock-a-trice gave you the scar?’ He annunciated each part of the word, careful not to mispronounce it or to leave any syllables out. ‘It looks like it did.’
Did it hurt; he asked.
Cockatrice’s were non-intelligent, but they were dangerous. Their blows were so precise that they went for any exposed skin available to them. Their wing and tails struck for vital organs and left their victims bleeding before they sunk their venom in.
Of all the beast Emma’s come across, they were the most frustrating. The last cockatrice she had faced had lasted all of five hours against her silver sword and oils.
‘Yes, it did,’ Emma answered honestly. ‘My mom—Mary Margaret, I mean—she had been so mad when I came back to camp looking, I’d fallen down a hillside face first. She patched me up and forced me not to take another job until a week later.’
‘Well, it looks pretty cool,’ Henry complimented. ‘You look like a badass.’
‘Language,’ Emma warned gently. ‘If your mom hears you talking like that, she’ll run me through with my own damn sword.’
‘Now who has to watch their language?’
Cocky bastard.
‘Do you think I could become a witcher some day?’ Henry questioned innocently.
Emma clenched her jaw and slightly tightened her grip on Henry’s upper thighs. Entertaining his ideas of becoming a knight was one thing, but Emma would saw off her own arm before she allowed her precious boy to go through what she had to become what she now was. Emma would also never subject Henry to the constant hate she dealt with that came along with being a mutant.
A lot of people hated her kind. Emma’s been spat on, belittled and insulted in every sense of the world. Some often forgot who kept monsters at bay from their villages, towns and cities.
The blonde might not have a heart of gold, but was it too much to ask for a small amount of respect?
‘You wouldn’t want to become like me,’ Emma answered.
‘Why?’
A sigh escaped Emma, wondering how she was going to get through to the boy. ‘You remember when Mary Margaret and I first came back? When David wouldn’t even talk to me the first week?’
Henry’s chin moved on top of her head and Emma assumed it must have been a nod. He remained silent, however, hanging on to every word the witcher said as though she held all of the answers in the universe.
‘Well, that’s because he...’ she paused, uncertain how to phrase it. ‘He had a strong disliking of witchers. People who are different... scares David. As they do everyone else. David only accepts me because I’m his daughter.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Henry mumbled, his brows knitting together in a frown. ‘He shouldn’t feel like that.’
‘Yeah, well he does,’ Emma insisted. ‘Witchers go through a lot during our transformations and sometimes it can make them seem uncaring in the way they do things. It makes them seem... heartless.’
The brunet didn’t reply to that. Emma could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind and smell the smoke coming out of his ears.
He surely must have noticed her change in demeanor and the way she behaved at times. Emma often was different from the old bail bondswoman that used to care for no one other than herself. She had brutish temper when her limits were tested, and she smiled a lot less at times. She was still her goofy self, often, but very few knew what went on inside her head.
‘So, people are afraid of you because of what you can do?’
Henry was definitely Regina’s kid.
‘Um, yeah,’ Emma confirmed. ‘I guess they are.’
The brunette lifted his chin off Emma and began to carry some of his own weight. Emma wasn’t certain what was going through his head, but she could he understood things a little better on some level.
If Emma could help raise this little boy to have courage and be kind in their hateful world, then she had at least done something right with her miserable life.
‘I’m not scared of you,’ Henry promised. ‘You’re still my mom, Emma.’
Emma beamed, looking up at her son.
‘Can I go and hang out with Hook and my grandma?’ He asked. ‘I still want to learn a little more about sailing.’
The witcher didn’t answer, merely lifted Henry off her shoulder and watched as he barreled away to where the man in question stood with Milah behind the helm. Up until that point they had been leaning against one another and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears, but as soon as Henry’s footsteps hammered on the stairs, Milah turned to face her grandson.
She laughed as she caught Henry in her arms, easily lifting him off the deck with a smile that even infected Emma. Milah looked towards her and offered a wave in greeting. Knowing she wasn’t expected to wave, Emma angled herself away from the sight and leaned against the side of the ship.
Just as she had begun to relax, she felt something collide with the back of her head along with the usual word Mutant! tossed her way. Emma rubbed the back of her head, accidentally tangling her gloved hands into her ponytail. She glanced down at the item that had fallen to the floor with a thunk before she lifted the apple. She glanced to where some of the lost boys were swabbing the deck, per Killian’s orders.
It wasn’t unusual for them to express their biased hatred for her in such a way. After all, she’d killed their leader and dragged them away from the only life they’d known for years. Pan feeding then tales of how terrible witchers were didn’t help the case either.
Instead of glaring at them or scolding them, Emma took a bite from the fruit and returned to what she had been doing before they had so rudely interrupted her.
She heard Regina approaching her from her right, distinctive by the way she walked and the sass that dripped off her feminine form. Emma didn’t pay her much attention, dividing her focus between the ocean, the sky and the horizon as she munched on the apple she’d scored.
‘I’m mildly impressed by your sense of self-controlled,’ Regina informed, hoisting herself onto the edge of the boat and taking a seat. She tempted fate as her feet dangled in the air, an amused smirk gracing her lips as she stared down at Emma. ‘Had it been me I would have either burned them alive or tossed them overboard.’
‘Their just kids,’ Emma murmured into her apple. ‘Orphans. I used to be like them. I know exactly what’s going on in their mind. I loved testing authoritative figures, especially when they we’re the strongest or the toughest ones around.’
‘You’re no match for Gold, Miss Swan,’ Regina scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward.
Emma leisurely turned her head towards the sorceress, taking a bite out of the treat in her hand as though it said enough.
‘Well, then, you’re no match against me.’
She smirked, swallowing her bite and then looking back into the horizon as she wondered just how far it truly stretched.
‘Not gonna argue with that,’ Emma answered, leaving whatever lingering questions still remained unanswered. ‘Care to tell me why her majesty has graced me with her presence? I thought she couldn’t stand me.’
‘I can stand your company far more than either your mother or your father’s,’ the sorceress sniped back. ‘And I found that I could listen to your ex utter one more word or else I would have made him combust spontaneously. His voice irritates me, especially when he thinks I know nothing of navigation.’
Emma hummed audibly.
She remembered something about her mother telling her Neal was going to teach them how navigation in Neverland work, in case they should ever have to return to the gods forsaken spit of land, no matter how unlikely. The blonde herself knew she should have most likely gone and listened to what Neal had to say, but there were several reasons why it would have been a terrible idea.
The only good one being she hated his guts.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t punched him in the face,’ the witcher informed.
The scar on Regina’s lip twitched. ‘Well, it’s not because of my lack of trying.’
Emma nodded, tossing the apple stork over the side of the ship and watching as it landed in the water with a splash. Her gaze followed the spot where it disappeared until she could no longer see it before she turned to look back up at Regina.
‘You don’t like him,’ she pointed out. Not a question, merely her stating a fact.
‘What gave it away? The insults or the way my face contorts with disgust every time he opens his white male entitled mouth?’
Emma chuckled, a deep and genuine sound. ‘Both,’ she informed. ‘I just don’t understand why. Being Henry’s father certainly fuels it, and him being... well, Neal definitely doesn’t help his case, but it isn’t the root of it.’
Regina rose a skeptical eyebrow, ‘And since when do you care about why I despise someone?’
The blonde couldn’t help but think, even as Regina was questioning her intentions and motive, she was beautiful; stunning. Witchers often broke beautiful things, so Emma forced her eyes back down at the ocean waters.
She shrugged nonchalantly, not truly knowing the answer herself. The reason she told herself was because she was curious, but she knew it to be a boldfaced lie.
‘I’m just wondering,’ Emma answered vaguely. ‘I know why I hate his guts, but he hasn’t done anything to intentionally annoy you nor did he do anything even remotely damaging to Henry. He’s surprisingly been an okay influence on the kid.’
‘He’s a liar and a thief, Miss Swan,’ Regina deadpanned, her voice filled with an undertone of fury. ‘I do not trust him, nor do I trust him with our son. He is the type of person you warn your children to steer clear of.’
She wasn’t wrong. Neal was anything but parent material. Emma tolerated him because she had lied to Henry about his existence. In truth, she was just waiting for him to shatter everything she and Regina had worked so hard to build, and then just pick up the pieces from there.
Though, Emma wasn’t so sure if she herself should be allowed to be Henry’s parent anymore. She, at times, didn’t trust herself around Henry. Trouble always followed wherever she seemed to go and the last person she wanted to get caught in the crossfire was her son.
‘Henry’s a good kid,’ Emma said instead of what she wanted to say. ‘He knows the difference between right and wrong. When Neal does turn out to be the douchebag, we know he is, we will be there to pick up the pieces.’
Regina remained silent for a moment, her mind trying to determine if the answer was acceptable or not, or if there was any need for her to tell Emma she was downright an idiot. Then, she simply nodded her head curtly.
‘How... level-headed of you, Miss Swan,’ the sorceress mused. ‘You have come quite a way, haven’t you?’
‘Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths,’ Emma recited with a shrug. ‘Can’t really let yourself hesitate, now, can you? You hesitate in front of a ghoul they’ll severe your jugular and you’ll die.’
‘I suppose not,’ Regina said evenly.
She turned her head slightly into the distance where Emma continued to stare and fell into pleasant silence with the witcher. For once, the other’s company didn’t seem so sour as it did long before.
Emma flew up out of her plane of peaceful slumber and gasped at the cold water dripping down her figure, soaking her blanket and pillow. The sound of her discomfort waking Henry and Regina from their own state of rest.
The witcher looked up to where two lost boys stood, grinning like they had just found where the leprechaun kept his pot of gold. In their hands they held a bucket, tipped over in the blonde’s direction.
Lost boys were well known for their habitual pranks and their foul manners. Disney’s portrayal of them might not be all too accurate, but it had given Emma a background on what she could have been expecting from the abominations.
Then again, that didn’t stop her from losing her temper.
A furious growl escaped the witcher and the smile on the lost boys' faces fell away instantly. They dropped the bucket and scrambled for the exit where they would no doubt seek refuge from one of the other’s above the deck.
Emma tossed her wet blanket aside and flew up onto her own feet with practiced precision. Not even thinking to grab her sword, she barreled towards the cabin doors, running into some of the posts or tripping over their things around the room in her fury induced haze. She ignored Regina’s calls and rammed through the exit, her feet nearly splitting the stairs leading up to the deck in half.
Outside, she tripped over the last few steps and nearly toppled over onto the deck. Easily regaining her balance, the blonde’s head swerved around in search of the miscreants who’d interrupted her peaceful night. Emma spotted them just a few paces ahead of her, running towards a surprised David.
The blond dropped basin he had been carrying as his hands flew to protect the cowering boys behind him.
Damning the consequences, Emma put on a burst of speed that could rival a panther’s. The two kids behind her father dove completely out of sight. David stepped in front of the blonde, blocking her from the two mischievous rascals. She shoved against the man’s chest, catching a glimpse of the two cowering boys.
‘Emma!’ David shouted, his head whipping between his daughter and Regina running towards them with Henry in tow. ‘Emma, what is going on?!’
‘Those little shits doused me with a bucket of water!’ Emma exclaimed, flailing her arms in exasperation. ‘I’m going to dangle them over the side of ship and then decide if I’m going to drop them.’
Her father glanced back at the children clutching to his pants, tightening his grasp on Emma’s shoulders.
‘Go!’ He yelled. ‘Go to bed now!’
The two of them didn’t bother to be told twice. They ran as though a pack of wolves snapped their jaws at their heels. Emma moved to push past David, but he struggled against her with all his strength.
‘Let go of me! I’m going to drown those bastards if it’s the last thing I do!’
‘Emma!’ Regina exclaimed, grabbing ahold of the witcher’s shoulder. ‘Calm down! It’s just a bit of water!’
Emma stopped dead in her tracks. It was as though she’d been doused from in the freezing bucket of water all over again. She spun around to narrow her cat-like eyes at the sorceress, clenching and unclenching her fists to resist the urge to strangle her.
And Niagara Falls was just a puddle.
Sleep was the one thing that hadn’t changed in the past ten years. It was the one thing where people didn’t stare at her like she had just eaten their children. Now the lost boys had taken one of the only things left that brought her solace. She was going to drown those ignorant, ungrateful brats before they arrived in Storybrooke.
‘Just a bit of water?’ Emma repeated. ‘I’m soaked down to the bone, my pillow and blankets have just experienced what everyone else in the world who had not been let onto Noah’s arc must have felt like, I’m not going to get back to sleep because of them and you’re telling me to calm down. If you were in my position, they wouldn’t even have had the chance to run to David!’
‘You’re right,’ the sorceress agreed, her hands coming up to rest above Emma’s breasts, placing some distance between them. ‘I would have incinerated them instantly, but I’m not you and you’re not me, and you’re not going to hurt those boys.’
Emma growled, opening her mouth to argue, but she snapped it shut just as quickly when Regina gave her a look of warning.
She might be a witcher; unafraid of monsters and other vile creatures, but she knew better than to challenge Regina’s authority or to disrespect her.
At least, she did so now.
‘You are going to take our son, and you are going to put him back to bed,’ Regina ordered. ‘And I will deal with this situation. Am I understood?’
The blonde glanced to where Henry had now maneuvered himself flush against his mother. He was peaking out from behind her petite form, clutching tightly onto her silk blouse. The brunet stared up at her with wide eyes, but he didn’t seem to be afraid of her or what had just happened. Emma suspected if she were scared awake like he had just been she would look like that, too.
She clenched her jaw as she stared down at Henry. This was always exactly why she needed to be in control of her emotions.
Back in the Enchanted Forest, noblemen and -women were a different story. She could be an immoral brute and the consequences would merely be a bounty on her head. If she ever scared, or hurt Henry, she would never be able to forgive herself.
‘I said,’ Regina annunciated, drawing Emma’s attention back to her russet eyes. ‘Am I understood?’
Emma huffed out a breath, releasing the remaining tension into it before she bent down and lifted Henry onto her hip. He was by no means a toddler anymore, but he didn’t seem to complain about being picked up like a sack of potatoes. Henry even seemed to enjoy sharing this special thing with Emma.
Regina turned to David as mother and son stalked away. She placed her hands on her hips menacingly. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quick to interrupt him.
‘Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it,’ she hissed. ‘Just know, if any one of those lost boys try something as idiotic as this they won’t have to worry about Emma.’
David sighed, scratching the back of his neck ashamedly. ‘We’ll keep a better eye on them.’
‘See to it that you do.’ The sorceress sent the man one last glare before she turned on her heels to follow Emma and Henry.
The prince looked up to where Mary Margaret stood one the upper deck, arms crossed over her chest. He could see the look of concern from where he stood, and he knew her mind must be racing with thoughts.
It killed David to know there was ten years separating them; heart, body, mind and soul, but the one thing that brought him comfort was the fact that he still knew how to read her like a book.
He often barreled into things with brute force and a temper, but he knew that sometimes what was needed was a delicate touch. Her delicate touch.
Emma looked up from the blade she was cleaning; polishing the sword to the point where she could see her reflection staring back.
She had been alone for almost an hour now. Henry and Regina had gone down to the dining hall for breakfast whilst she had opted to remain alone in the quarters seated by Killian’s enormously overcompensating desk.
A witcher in a foul mood wasn’t someone one would want to be around. Everyone knew it was better if she was allowed just a small amount of time for herself to prevent catastrophic incidents, mainly involving her swords. However, there was only one person either foolish enough to disturb her or brave enough to.
Her mother.
Emma was always on guard. A witcher needed to be vigilant or they could end up getting themselves killed.
Hence why there was one nasty scar across her left eye. That was precisely what happened when she managed to be caught off guard.
‘I told Regina I wanted to be left alone.’
She could practically see Mary Margaret shifting nervously from one foot to the other, mostly because she could hear it. Despite practically knowing the woman for practically eleven years, little had changed in that time. She was still the same meek, entitled princess she had always been.
The only difference was, Emma understood her now.
Emma knew that Mary Margaret wasn’t going to take a no for an answer even if she tattooed it on her forehead. The only way she was going to get out of this and remain sane is if she listened to whatever rested on her mother’s heart.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to let her win so easily.
The blonde angled her body towards the woman and turned her head the rest of the way. She could scoff at the way the pixie haired woman tried her best to appear nonchalant, sticking her hands into the back of her pockets in a vain effort to keep herself from breaking out into a sprint and gathering Emma into her arms.
‘You’re killing me here, ma,’ Emma groaned in annoyance. ‘I can’t with all the emotions right now. It’s too much.’
Mary Margaret stepped forward, ignoring her daughter’s warnings. ‘David told me what happened.’
The witcher turned back towards her the sword lain out on the table and returned to the task she’d been occupied with before hand.
‘Yeah, well, I’m fine,’ she assured, her voice more forced than she had intended it to be. ‘As you can see, I’m very busy. I gotta get these swords cleaned and then I have some meditation I’d like to catch up on. I don’t have time to be coddled.’
The wooden planks creaked under Mary Margaret’s feet as she walked, and Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling as a result. She turned her head to see the pixie haired woman beginning to kneel next to her on the floor, grabbing onto her bicep.
‘I think a few minutes just opened up in your schedule.’ Mary Margaret emphasized the word in a singsong like voice. She smiled brightly at Emma, and the blonde wondered if it were to broaden even more would it actually managed to blind her. ‘So, you have just enough time to tell me what’s been bothering you for the last few months we’ve been home.’
Emma growled.
If any enemy had been able to read, her that easily then she would have been long since deceased.
‘I hate it when you do that,’ she reminded monotonously. ‘Especially when it’s something I don’t want to talk about.’
‘I recall, yes. I also know that talking is going to make you feel better,’ Mary Margaret reminded gently, moving her hand to Emma’s. ‘You’re not talking to anyone, Emma. You need to let these things out.’
‘I talk to Ruby.’
‘The two of you wouldn’t know how to even begin a meaningful conversation,’ Mary Margaret scoffed. ‘All you two ever do is drink and make comments about some girl's ass.’
Emma rolled her eyes but knew she couldn’t disagree. In fact, she felt personally attacked for her perfectly healthy coping mechanisms.
‘It’s harder than I expected it to be,’ she finally muttered, her eyes trained downwards in refusal to meet Mary Margaret’s eyes. ‘I thought I could handle it; David’s cold shoulder, the way everyone keeps staring at me like I’m going to eat a baby...’
‘But...’ prompted Mary Margaret, her hand squeezing Emma’s bicep.
‘I just want everything to go back to normal.’
She wanted to forget the past ten years of her life; forget everything that she has been through. The feeling of being singled out by those who had placed her high on a pedestal was devastating. In the Enchanted Forest it had been easy to endure. Now, however, it felt like she was constantly drowning in shame, incapable of living up to the expectations which so many had placed upon her shoulders.
Mary Margaret reached up to stroke Emma’s cheek, moving some of the few strays of hair out of her face. Like always, she was smiling reassuring, her positivity having somehow managed to stay intact over the past few years. The adoration in her green orbs made Emma’s heart ache and swell at the same time.
‘I think we both wished that things could return to what the had once been,’ she said, a sad smile now gracing her soft lips. ‘Though I think we both know that to be impossible. We’re here now and I think it best if we try to move forward, ignore what everyone else thinks.’
Ten years ago, Emma was certain that the woman would never have thought of such a sentence, let alone said it aloud. It made the reality of what different people they’ve become so much more surreal.
‘How do we do that?’ Emma grunted, her jaw clenching to work out the turmoil raging inside her.
Mary Margaret reached for Emma’s bare hand, lifting it to her mouth and peppering it with loving kisses.
‘Baby steps, I suppose,’ she murmured against Emma’s knuckles. ‘Baby steps.’