A oneshot that was supposed to be a follow-up drabble to my CS Drabble (about Ariel coming back to Storybrooke and confronting Killian and Emma defending him). This is the much requested talk between Emma and Snow about Neal and the naming of baby Neal and what Emma (actually, just me, if I'd been in her shoes) really feels about Snow's attitude about the whole thing.
This is crap, btw. Might be the flu talking, but I'm not sure it's that good at all...
I'll post it anyway.
Written with a flu-addled brain, so blame any and all mistakes on that.
Taking place somewhere in 4B.
PS. To my loyal SOT readers, I promise I'm working on the next update, but I've got a lot going on in RL right now, not to mention a bad case of writer's block. I promise I am working on it though. It's not abandoned, and it will be continued soon.
UPDATE 4/02/2015: So, a few guests commented that this is OOC for both Emma and Snow and that I am reading the situation wrong and all that... I really just have one thing to say: I'm not excusing ANY of the bad things Killian has done in the past-none. Not leaving Emma and Snow locked up in Rumple's cell, not shooting Belle, not taking off with the bean. But what makes Killian different from every other villain on the show (with the exception of Ingrid) is that he is trying to attone for what he has done.
He's recognized and apologized for what he's done and he has made up for it over a hundred times-he's saved ALL of their lives, he's gotten his ass kicked more than once trying to protect the entire Charming family (not just Emma) and no, Snow does NOT have a reason to be wary of him anymore.
At least, not if she's readily accepting the woman who spent most of her life trying to kill her back in their lives like it never happens.
And like I said in the first A/N, what Emma says here are MY frustrations over the show-what I think Snow needs to hear. It has nothing to do with Snow, because I love her character, but I do NOT like what the writers have been doing to her character in the past few episodes, and that's what this is about. Snow comes off like this to me-and even if you do not agree, that doesn't mean you get to trash my opinion.
This is MY personal opinion, and I have the right to write about what I want.
If you don't like it, please, feel free to click this away and not read it.
Thank you to all you sweethearts who left positive critisism and encouragement :)
A Place To Put My Head
I'm sick of the tension…
Find another place to feed your needs
While I find a place to rest
I want to be in another place
I hate when you say you don't understand
A place for my head
You used to be calm, used to be strong
Used to be generous but you should've known
That you'd wear out your welcome
And now you see how quiet it is, all alone
—A Place To Put My Head, Linkin Park
She's really comfortable.
She hasn't been this comfortable in… Ever.
She usually isn't a cuddler, but there is something so inherently comfortable about sleeping next to—or half on top of, according to him—Killian, to falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart, to the way he holds her tightly against him.
She hums a little when Killian moves her, tugging her deeper into his embrace. "Good morning," she whispers hoarsely, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, sliding her leg up over his—she barely suppresses a giggle when he groans and curses under his breath as she presses her body tightly against his.
His voice is gruff and low, the way it always is when he's barely awake—the way it is after they've spent a very long, satisfying night together.
(And it was. Very, very satisfying.)
She sighs happily when he leans down to kiss her, whining a little when he pulls back. "Go back to sleep, darling," he whispers, sliding his arm around her waist, " 't is early still." She glances at the clock and sighs, snuggling into his chest again, promptly falling asleep again to the sound of his steady breathing.
She's woken up hours later—and not in the good way.
"Hey Emma, are you u—oh!"
Emma bolts upright, pulling her sheets up to cover her chest as she stares incredulously at her mother—for God's sake, doesn't anyone in this loft know how to knock? They stare at each other for a long, terribly awkward moment—and Emma is more pissed off than embarrassed, because who gave her mother the right to look scandalized and disapproving about Killian sleeping in her bed?—before Mary-Margret mutters a quick apology and slams the door shut on her way out.
Killian shifts next to her at the loud noise, blinking lazily at her until the situation seems to register, and a devilish grin spreads on his lips. "Ah… I suppose the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it, love?"
Emma groans quietly, flopping back onto her pillow with a slightly dramatic groan as she throws her arm over her eyes. "This is a disaster," she grumbles, allowing him to tug her back into his arms nonetheless. "She's going to want to talk now and … ugh."
Killian merely chuckles and presses a few comforting kisses all over her face before gently suggesting, "Perhaps talking about our developing relationship with your mother is not the horrid affair you have in mind, darling—it will undoubtedly help her understand you more as well."
Emma pouts—because he's right and she hates that because she doesn't do feelings and girl-talk—and buries her nose against his neck, breathing him in as she tries to think of a valid excuse to avoid talking to her mother about what she walked in on (not that anything was happening… They were just sleeping, honestly). It's not that she doesn't want to talk to anyone about her relationship with Killian—she loves the progress they've made, the ease they'd found after a few weeks of uninterrupted, pure, honest fun—she just…
She knows her mother doesn't like Killian—that had been all too obvious after the Ariel-incident at Granny's—and she is just so tired of being judged.
It will probably ruin her relationship with her parents (because she knows that her father will pick her mother's side when pressed and she doesn't want to let it come to that) and she doesn't want that, so she let it slide.
She just doesn't talk to her mother—not like she used to talk to Mary-Margret (and sometimes, though she'd rather not admit it, she wishes she could have her friend back rather than her mother)—and it's put a strain on a lot of their interactions.
Especially after her parents decided to name their son (her baby brother) after the bastard that left her in jail, pregnant with his kid.
Neal sure was a hero.
Killian draws her from her thoughts by pressing a sweet kiss to her lips, before he sits up and tosses the sheets from his body, wandering around the room to collect his scattered clothes—she bites her lip and grins, stretching lazily as she enjoys the view provided by her pirate wiggling into his tight, tight leather pants.
"Come love," he grins at her as he shrugs his shirt on before crawling back onto bed with her—she grins and playfully tugs on his lapels, because he's hot and he's hers and she really doesn't want to get up and deal with her mother. He chuckles against her lips, allowing her one more moment of reprieve before he wiggles his way out of her grasp—he's even grinning at her.
Stupid, handsome bastard.
"Do I have to?" She whines, letting him drag her off her bed—yes, she is an acutal five-year-old when it comes to confrontations and awkward emotional shit, and she doesn't give a damn—and into his arms.
"Aye, love," he grins, "much as I loathe to say this—you should put some clothes on."
She grumbles under her breath, but decides—albeit reluctantly—that she's enough of an adult to face her mother and talk about her relationship with a certain pirate captain. She shimmies into a pair of PJ shorts and a tank, completely forgoing underwear, and runs her fingers through her hair, attempting to make it look a little less like Killian had been running his hand through it all night.
She sighs and helps Killian button his shirt and get the rest of his stuff before she walks him to the door—blatantly ignoring the fact that she can feel her mother's eyes drilling holes in her back—, promising to meet him for dinner with Henry.
As she closes the door behind him, she takes a short moment to collect herself before turning around and smiling tightly at her mom as she joins her at the kitchen counter. "Thanks," she offers when Snow hands her a large mug with hot chocolate with cinnamon, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of Snow's obvious disapproval of Emma's boyfriend.
She's saved the trouble when her mother speaks up.
"I didn't hear Killian come in last night," Snow says slowly, trying to sound casual—and not being very successful at it.
Emma swallows thickly and forces herself to not freak or get angry—she's been prone to losing her temper lately, and she really doesn't want to lose it with her baby brother and her son in the loft—before she responds. "Yeah, it was a little late—I couldn't sleep so I asked him to come over for a movie and he ended up staying the night."
Snow nods and they fall silent for a short moment before Snow asks, "So… The two of you are getting pretty serious then?" Emma knows her mother doesn't mean to sound disapproving and condescending, but the implication is there and Emma hates that.
"Yeah," she nods, setting down her mug a little forcefully and turning her head to glare at her mother, "We are—I mean… I love him, and he loves me. Is that a problem?"
Snow fidgets a little, clearly uncomfortable at being called out on her disapproval, but Emma refuses to avoid this any longer—he may not say it, but Emma knows it hurts Killian to know that even after everything he's done for her family, her mother doesn't trust him, and it hurts her too, to know that her mother knows so little about her, she still thinks that Neal could've been her True Love.
"No," Snow finally replies, "It's not a problem… I'm just—" She looks down at her hands for a moment and twists her ring nervously, "Are you sure about him, Emma? I know you're a grown woman," she adds hastily when she sees Emma's furious expression, "but I worry—I'm your mother, I worry. And it's only been a few months since you lost Neal—"
Emma groans, interrupting her mother with a shake of the head and a raised hand. "Okay, you have to stop that." She glares at Snow desperately, clenching a fist against her thigh, digging her nails into her skin. "Please—I didn't lose Neal. There was nothing going on between him and me anymore. There hadn't been for over a decade."
Snow wrinkles her nose and reaches for Emma's hand, pleading, "But he was your first love, Emma—your True Love. You must miss him so much."
"But I don't," Emma exclaims, pulling her hand from Snow's and jumping off her stool, pacing across the kitchen angrily, "You're not listening. I don't love Neal—just because he was my first love doesn't mean he was my True Love. It doesn't always work like that. Why can't you see that? Even Dad sees it—why can't you?"
She doesn't really realize she's shouting until her mother hushes her frantically. "You'll wake up your brother," she hisses, and Emma's not sure what happened, but something just… snaps.
"You know what?" She exclaims, "While we're on the subject—what the fuck were you thinking when you named my baby brother after my ex?" Her breathing is harsh and heavy, and she hates that she's so worked up about this, but she's been keeping it in for months and she can hardly control it now that she's started. "You were so insistent on naming him right, naming him after a hero, and you named him Neal! Do you have any idea how weird that is?"
Snow gapes at her, and Emma knows she hit a nerve when Snow sputters, "We did that for you—we thought it would make you happy to have a tribute to him."
"Because that's what I needed," Emma chokes, tears burning in her eyes because why can't Snow understand? "A reminder of the bastard who had unprotected sex with me, knocked me up at seventeen and then sent me to prison for his crime—because Pinocchio told him to. I had Henry in jail because of him—I ended up with so much trust issues I couldn't stand to stay with a man longer than four hours because of him. Yes, mom," she spits sarcastically, her breath wheezing in her lungs, "that is exactly the kind of man you needed to name your son after."
"Emma," Snow whispers, tears welling up in her eyes, "sweetheart, I didn't know…"
Emma chokes a little as she snorts, running her hand through her messy hair before sending another glare at her mother. "When have you ever bothered to ask? When he came to town, all of you just assumed I was jealous—you didn't trust me when I said something was wrong with Tamara… Why should I have told you?"
She hates that she made her mother cry, but she needed to get this off her chest, and she's so tired of having to defend Killian all the time, of having to tell her mother over and over again that even if Neal had lived, she would've chosen Killian—it wasn't a choice at all.
"Emma," Snow whispers, "I just… We just wanted to name him after a hero—someone we'd all known and loved."
"Yeah," Emma snorts, shaking her head and swallowing back more tears, "If that was what you wanted to do, you should've named him Graham." Before Snow can say anything else, Emma closes her eyes and focuses on clothes and being dressed and with a soft swirl of magic, she's suddenly dressed in jeans and boots and a shirt, and she can leave.
"I'm going to go for a walk," she tells Snow, "I'll be back later."
She ignores Snow as she storms out the door and stomps down the stairs—she just needs some air to calm down—she just needs to find her pirate and let him talk her down before she goes back in and loses control over her magic because she's upset.
She just needs a minute.
She sits at the kitchen counter with her head in her hands, desperately attempting to control the near-hysterical tears that keep running down her cheeks—she can't breathe, she can't think and all she realizes is that she was so caught up in what she believed, in what she had decided was the truth, that she completely forgot to consider what Emma wanted.
She named her baby boy after the asshole that put her daughter in jail for something she didn't do.
What the hell is wrong with her?
She sobs quietly as she considerers how to fix this, how to apologize to her daughter, to her beautiful girl for hurting her without even realizing it—and she realizes she has to let go of the idea that Neal was her daughter's True Love because he was her first love (because he's Henry's father). She needs to accept that not everyone has a love story like her and Charming—and not everybody is lucky enough to find True Love in first love.
And second, she'd gotten so caught up in her new life, her second chance at having a family, that she briefly forgot Emma and Emma's feelings about the whole thing, and she needs to apologize for that—not only to Emma, but also to Killian, who she's undoubtedly hurt too by blatantly disapproving of him and his relationship with Emma every time she'd seen him.
She looks up, her breath catching when Emma walks in, clearly windswept from her walk (by the docks, undoubtedly), followed closely by Killian, who looks mildly troubled when he sees her—she supposes she can't blame him either.
The pirate had never really taken Emma being upset very well.
"Emma," she whispers, stumbling in her haste to get to her daughter, "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—I… I'm so sorry."
Emma stiffens when she throws her arms around her to hug her daughter tightly, and Snow doesn't need to look to know that Emma looked at Killian before relaxing slightly and hugging her back, whispering that it's okay, that they'll be okay.
Snow knows it's not okay, not yet.
But when she pulls back from her daughter and apologizes to Killian as well, taking in his pleased, self-deprecating smile and Emma's grateful one, she knows that it can be.
And it will be.
She'd lost her way for a while—but she'll be working on finding it again.
She'll work on finding her way back to her family—all of it.
After all, they do always find each other.