Sophrosyne, Chapter 4
++ Emma ++
(11-6-12)
For two days now I’ve holed up in the apartment that still feels disturbingly foreign to me.
Sorta like this new body.
I’ve been practicing my coordination, unable to ignore my inner drill sergeant, who sounds like Mulan now, amusingly enough. I can almost feel that armored hand smacking me. I miss her.
Endless basic exercises keep away the cabin fever, pushups and crunches and situps teaching me where my body leaves off now. Slowly, my battered body has begun to heal, bruises and cuts fading a bit. There are a few that will take some time, the raw patch above my eyes where I rubbed it bloody on the bars of the cell, my poor hands mauled by my own clumsiness, the shallow sword slice in my arm. There are some nasty contusions all over my body doubtlessly from endless falls to the uneven forest floor. At least nothing is dangerously sore and I’m reasonably certain that I'm not in need of a doctor. I'd feel better if I could sleep without the memories and nightmares; zombies and giant beanstalks and enemies that dissolve into smoke to name a few.
It's weird to be alone here, no Mary Margaret underfoot, no Henry bugging me at all hours about the next Operation Cobra. David has called a couple times, but seems to understand that I still need some time to settle in. Though right now, I’m just feeling lonely and miserable.
A sharp knock at the door startles me and I raise my head up from my pathetic little huddle on the far end of the couch.
"You have about five seconds," Ruby laughs loudly through the slab of wood between us. "To make yourself decent before I come in."
Oh how I want to object, refuse, hide in a corner until the whole damn town leaves me the hell alone. Yet, I really am just piteously lonely without the people I've grown to adore. So I stay where I am, curiously watching the door, listening as a key fiddles with the lock and the door swings open.
"Oh, Em," she says sweetly, flashing those dimples at me. "You look like hell."
It's completely embarrassing and yet a relief that her sweetness makes me tear up like a baby, sniffling miserably. When she wraps her arms around my head, I bawl quietly into her long hair, completely indulging in the outlet. After a long couple of minutes, I mumble into her shoulder, "Missed you."
"Missed you, too. Now, quit sulking and come with me to the diner."
My look of horror as she stands up straight makes her raise a imperious hand.
"No arguments. Granny insists and she will come here with the crossbow and threaten your life if I don't show up with you in tow. Aren't you hungry?"
With my crap coordination I’ve had little but cold sandwiches since returning to Storybrooke and the cupboards here were already pretty bare even before my new man-sized appetite. My traitorous stomach snarls noisily at her suggestion and my mouth waters.
"I can hear that you are," she chortles in triumph and offers a hand to help me up. When I gingerly accept the gesture and unfold myself from the couch, I’m startled by her bold eyes raking over me. "Almost a shame you're such a looker, Swan."
"Almost?"
++ Ruby ++
It's a relief to have her... him banter back, even if it's a weak effort. That the effort was made is the important part. And I sure wasn't kidding about the looker part. At the well, there had been too much going on and he'd been such a mess and such a shock. Now, he looks disarmingly... normal, even if that normalcy is only skin deep. Pain and shock and panic are still bright in the eyes she... he shares with his mother.
"Get your shoes on," I encourage and Emma shrugs awkwardly, like a little kid.
"I... I don't have any."
Really, I could slap myself. Of course he doesn't have any damn shoes.
"Well, go steal David's slippers or something. He must have left half his stuff here after living here so long."
"Just let me throw on an extra pair of socks. I have those."
"Em, you can't walk all the way to the diner in socks."
When that familiar smile, in that wholly unfamiliar face, is fired over his shoulder at me, I nearly stagger back. How disorienting.
"Rubes, I tromped all over that damn Enchanted Forest and down the giant's frickin' beanstalk barefoot or wrapped in rags. I can handle walking to the diner in socks."
Jumpy with nerves, Emma nonetheless follows me into the autumn chill. There are a few odd glances, but word has gotten around and everyone is polite, bringing down Emma's stress a bit.
"You look different," Emma says uncomfortably and I grin... up at him. Also a new experience, as I had actually been the taller one before.
"This is more... me," I try to explain. "We all have both sets of memories now, like Snow. With some time, we've all started piecing all the parts of ourselves together. Regina's curse was very thorough."
Part of me is angry, pretty much like everybody in this town, but part of me just doesn't have the energy to hate her. And plenty of good has happened here in Storybrooke, leaving lots and lots of mixed feelings.
"I guess I really don't know you," Emma muses softly in the now baritone voice. "Guess there's a whole hell of a lot I don't know, period."
He stiffens when I take his arm, but slowly relaxes at the non-demanding contact as we continue on our way.
++ Emma ++
Stepping into Granny's is every bit as awkward as I imagined. But at least it's a best case scenario, what with the stares quickly diverted and the sharp lull in conversation slowly building back up again. No one ran screaming from the building, or pulled out pitchforks and torches. So, it's a win, I guess.
Like her granddaughter, now pushing at my back to make me move forward, Granny's eyes sweep over me, taking in the shocking change. Then she 'harrumphs' humorlessly and gestures to a seat at the counter. "Park it, sheriff. I hear the food back home wasn't to your liking."
There is a smattering of chuckles and I’m guessing the 'barbequed chimera' story has made the rounds. Great, someone will be yelling 'ogre' at me next.
As I gingerly press my oversized body to a stool at the counter, I muse about her calling me sheriff. Another reality I haven't dealt with yet.
"Give it some time," Ruby comments as she appears behind the counter and expertly gets a cup of coffee in front of me. "We've done okay with David so far. Though it will nice having you back where you belong. Let me know if you want any cream with that, hmmm?"
"Thanks, Ruby."
Hope no one heard the grateful lump in my throat at her taking such good care of me. Long minutes pass while I rest my forehead on my clasped hands, inhaling the scent of the hot coffee and this familiar meeting place, listening to the murmur of voices and the bell as someone goes through the door.
Then, the biggest, sloppiest mess of a cheeseburger appears under my nose with enough fries and onion rings to feed half the building. "Jeezus, Granny. I'm not that hungry."
She only smiles like she knows better and hustles off while my stomach informs me that my denial is bullshit. So I wrestle the drippy, painfully hot mess into my big ham hands and take a cautious bite. The burn of salty grease and half-rare beef hits my palate, turning me into a barracuda.
Sanity returns in time and I find myself licking my fingers and humming happily. My belly is as content as a sleepy kitten and I have a little corner to tuck a few fries and rings into. A very smug Granny returns to beam 'I told you so' all over me.
"Marry me?"
++ Regina ++
This is the longest I've been around my son since Charming nearly broke down my door weeks ago and took him from me. All of those long weeks of isolation both calmed me and broke my heart. Then to have to face my Daniel as a monster...
Once again, I push that pain down, a hard knot of devastation like seeing the mine caved in behind this son I love more than my own life. I will not taint my time with him with my own pain. He'd shown up of his own choice this afternoon, startling me beyond words. How glad I was to be sober and dressed like a productive member of society. Not always the case lately.
No one visits me at the house and I have no connections any longer, cooped up for my own safety as well as the town around me. So, the company has been so welcome, all the more so because it has been my Henry. When he had wanted to share a dinner with me, I had caved easily, even if the diner means that I have to share him once more.
In the days since Snow's triumphant return, it's been difficult to remember exactly what happened to Emma Swan. It impossible to forget now, as I follow Henry into the diner to watch the spectacle that is this new man and what appears to be the drippy remains of a cheeseburger.
Firstly, no one should make those sorts of noises in public... or outside of the bedroom. Secondly, the spectacle should not be nearly as fascinating as it is.
Scrubbed clean and dressed in sweats most likely straight from David's plebeian wardrobe, Emma is startlingly normal, in spite of the disquieting sex change. If one looks past the mass of scabs and contusions that litter his pale skin making him look like a survivor from a war that is.
Watching him noisily suckling his fingers clean makes me want to turn and escape the awkward situation, but I won't waste my rare time with Henry. The changed Emma says something to Widow Lucas that makes her laugh and lean over the counter to press a maternal kiss to his forehead.
Then that sweetly embarrassed grin swings our way, morphing into discomfort. That twisted expression cannot disguise his good looks, the handsome face with an expressive mouth, scruffy beard and the eyes that have not changed.
"That looks good," Henry says softly, hesitantly and I’m rocked by the familiar smile in that unfamiliar face. It is that quirk of wry humor that finally shows shades of the woman this was last we saw him.
It floors me.
But seems to reassure Henry, as he steps closer, once again away from me and off to Swan.
"It is," Emma says in an upper baritone that sounds a little rusty. Perhaps still getting used to it? The thought amuses me. "I cannot tell you the relief of eating something that I didn't have to kill first."
"Don't I know it," Widow Lucas chuckles and sets down two plates in front of myself and my son. "Meatloaf back home? What a bitch."
Why am I not surprised to see meatloaf on my plate?
++ Emma ++
The awkwardness is just about killing me, but at least Henry doesn't appear to want to bolt. He even smiles, once we talk a little, and puts a small hand on my arm, as though to prove that I’m real. The innocent touch somehow makes me feel more real.
"Hey, um... Emma. Why are you wearing wet socks?"
Oh, yeah, that.
"Yeah, hey, sorry about the muddy footprints, Granny. I need to get some shoes and probably a warm jacket of some kind. I can't keep wearing my dad's clothes all the time."
The lame stab at humor makes Henry and Granny chuckle, and a twinkle of something warm in Regina's eyes doesn't escape my notice either.
"Mom and I can help you with that."
When Regina and I both stare at the boy, he shrugs.
"Well, she always looks good, right? And makes sure I look okay, too."
"Yeah, okay," I hear myself agree, despite my shock in the offer. There's certainly no arguing that Regina does indeed always look gorgeous and well put together. The woman looks flummoxed, but softens when Henry looks up at her in question.
"Of course, dear," she agrees after a pause. "I'm sure we can be a great help to... Sheriff Swan."
Eager to spend time with my son, I am thrilled with the offer, despite the public nature of it and having to spend more time with Regina. Henry said she saved our bacon at the well and gave me a ride back to town, so it seems logical that making an effort to maintain the truce is worth the while.
I nurse at more coffee while they eat, but refuse a slice of pie. Granny's glower makes me cringe, and promise to come back later to indulge when my belly has room. Several townsfolk stop by to chat and welcome me home, making a real effort to not make me feel like a circus freak.
Granny makes me laugh when she orders me out of my wet socks and hands me a mop to clean up my slightly dirty footsteps on her floor. "At last," I drawl wryly. "A task I can do without endangering myself or others."
"It's a mop, not a sword."
"And my arms are so long now that I don't dare use a fork because I’ll stab myself in the face. There's a reason I’ve been living on sandwiches."
"That, and neither you nor David can cook."
"Yeah, well, there's that, too."
++ Regina ++
Watching the awkward way Swan holds the mop like its going to run away is rather amusing. As is the playful glower he flashes when Henry teasingly points out that he missed a spot. There are such unexpectedly similar things about them, things I would have thought fiction until bearing witness to them. There is clearly something to the nature versus nurture debate, but that still gives no one the right to just take him from me.
Some of that must show past my self-control, because Swan's gaze studies me closely for a long moment, expression shuttered. Then he nods faintly, as though we have come to some sort of secret agreement, and returns to his task.
I wish I knew what that secretive exchange was.
After banging the mop around noisily and with murmured apologies, then nearly tripping Dopey to a quick demise, Granny takes mercy and retrieves the mop turned weapon.
I lean over to stage-whisper near Henry's ear. "Rescue the local populace and bring him along, won't you, dear?"
He seems less startled at my unusual stab at humor than I am, a surprise echoed on Swan's face before he actually chuckles and gestures that we should precede him out.
The three of us get across the street with no incident, but Swan does manage to trip over the low curb with a curse that I can't stop my glare over. Sheepishly, he mutters an apology after a shift of eyes to Henry. When we reach Worthington's Haberdashery, he finally comments, reading off the sign above the door. "Suits, Hats, Ties. Seriously?"
"Just because you are not comfortable with this body, doesn't mean you can't dress the part," I tell him primly and sarcastically gesture at the door Henry patiently holds open.
"Don't look at me," Henry deadpans. "I wear a uniform to school."
Swan's eyebrows climb and I only chuckle. Inside, prissy old Grimsby's eyes look ready to pop out and Carlotta is torn between delight and shock. But they shake it off and usher in their new project, past racks of all manner of clothing and accessories any gentleman would need.
Henry wanders over to look over some colorful sweaters and ties with some small interest and I automatically note which colors attract him. Grimsby distastefully sets aside the battered sweat shirt and Carlotta advances on her quarry bearing the dreaded measuring tape. I know from past experiences with Henry that the pair can be very thorough with their measurements and have embarrassed every male in town.
"Surely, Carlotta, a seamstress of your skill can suffice with just a waist measurement and figuring out how tall he is?"
Why I'm helping out the person who tried to take away Henry is beyond me. The faint thrum of warning in my tone works and the woman makes Swan jump with the slide of the tape around his muscled waist. In only that thin undershirt, it's obvious that his physique is impressive, strongly muscled and firmly toned. The bruises are just as obvious, a riot of them shining darkly through the fabric. Despite my need to stay aloof, I can't help but wonder exactly what happened in our old homeland.
Grimsby uses his long arms to measure from floor to waist, making Swan jump from the touch, then from waist to crown.
"You are approximately five foot eleven, Sheriff. Was there anything in particular that attracts your eye in the shop?"
Shaking off my distraction, I move away. Until Henry volunteers me once again, Swan isn't my concern.
++ Emma ++
I've avoided mirrors. Oh sure, I’ve caught glances of myself, but look away every time. Just glimpses of hair too dark and too short, a scruffy face atop the big, nicely built body. But there's no avoiding the silvered glass in the classy men's clothing store and my reckoning with myself has finally come.
Sound fades away as I stare at my reflection and try to get my head around it. He's a bit more than average height with dark blonde hair, poker straight. It's just long enough to have some fluff and clearly needs a good brushing. The beard tweaks me out, the itchy tickle of it a constant sensation I haven't gotten used to. And it needs trimming again, dammit. Nicely proportioned shoulders and chest and a narrow waist taper down to strong legs and the lump in between I can still barely think about. Beneath the snug undershirt, powerful muscles shift with my movements and my right hand rests gingerly over the six pack beneath. At least this is an awesome new physique and the straight woman I so recently was admires this handsome fellow I’ve become.
"Well, between you and Gramps, at least I know I’ll grow up good looking."
Startled by the dry wit, I stare at a smirking Henry for a moment before my eyes are inadvertently drawn up to meet an equally startled gaze of one formerly Evil Queen.
She chokes on a snerk first and I can feel the humor bubbling up, lifting the corners of my mouth, the expression inexplicably echoed on her beautiful face.
Moments later, we are convulsing with laughter, the sound the best magic I’ve encountered yet. Winded and exhausted from the effort, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp for air before I can straighten up and grin wildly at a very happily smug Henry. Gently reaching out to ruffle his hair, I am suffused with adoration.
"Thanks kid, I needed that."
The couple of staff members have disappeared and I bet this story will make the gossip circles in record time. Regina is pretty much panting and I can hear the strangled noises of repressed humor deep in her throat. A glance reveals that she is even more beautiful now, her face alight with happiness, dark eyes bright with mirth, her smile sincere. It makes my own hilarity bubble up again and I wave a hand at her, turning away.
"Don't look at me! If I laugh any more, I’ll need clean pants. Or I’m gonna throw up and really piss Granny off."
Practically choking, Regina actually retreats and Henry and I share a triumphant moment. That glimpse to a side of Regina I would have never expected will stay with me, of that I have no doubt.
++ Regina ++
Heart racing and belly aching, I stare out the storefront window and feel the startling humor claw at my throat. It's a sensation I can barely name, something so long forgotten that am almost fully ignorant of how it feels. Oh, the last time I heard a laugh like that, low and warm, thrilling me from scalp to toes, my heart too full to contain...
Calmed by my bittersweet memories, I turn to watch the golden child of Snow White. He eyes a vest Henry holds out, but I can tell from here that the yellow highlights will look terrible on him.
"Try something in blue, dear."
Henry nods and goes looking while Carlotta reappears with several lengths of black over her arm and drags Swan to the back to the changing rooms. A moment later there is a yowl of masculine distress and a very flustered Carlotta bustles out.
"Henry, could you be a dear and give me a hand with the sheriff?"
Again, I choke on laughter, made all the more difficult to fight when Henry echoes the sound, his expression amused. Shooing him away, I focus on the rack of warm sweaters, pulling down several. My mind wanders over the recent memories of that physique, imagining details I do not have, colors against that pale canvass...
Clearing my throat a bit uncomfortably-- the laughter has left me parched-- I’m glad to see Henry reappear, still looking completely amused.
"The little zippers are really messing with him, so we had to go up a size so he could just pull them up and close the little metal tab. And he hit himself pretty hard... you know."
"Ouch," I sympathize as best I can and shake my head to cover my distraction and dark humor. Having raised this little man single-handedly, I know exactly what he means. "So he'll need a belt, correct? To keep his pants up? Maybe even suspenders."
"Hey, that's a good idea. How about those fun red ones? Since Emma can't wear that jacket she loves any more."
The hot color doesn't match two of the sweaters I have draped over my arm, but the silvery blue one that first caught my eye might be... jaunty with the red. So, I don't over-analyze for once and hand it to Henry. "Wait. He needs a shirt." My hand falls on a plastic wrapped large, but then I remember the breadth of those sculpted shoulders and that broad chest. "Have him try the extra large for comfort."
Laden down, Henry vanishes into the back again. It doesn't take long for his return, Swan in tow.
"Much better," I approve and he actually looks pleased under the expected embarrassment. The suspenders are indeed jaunty against the pale smoky blue cashmere and the black slacks are casually classy. "Do you want those tailored?"
Really, I have no idea where the sassy humor comes from, but Swan gives me a dry look.
"No, thank you, Miss Fashionista. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. At least I didn't break anything."
"Yet?"
Stepping over to him, my hands automatically adjust the collar and tug at the sweater to sit better over his big torso. And there it is, that sharp, electric tingle of a magic I've never felt before... before Emma Swan touched my arm and Jefferson's hat spun to life. Both of us are startled, I can see it in the green eyes, and I yank my hands away as though embarrassed. Really, me, embarrassed? It's absurd.
"You're still going to be cold."
"Yeah, well, the bare feet won't help that either. I'll be fine for now."
But my eye has already wandered over to where I've been avoiding a temptation.
"Humor me." His skepticism is rampant over his face and I tease, "It will amuse Henry."
We're both startled at the sleek kidskin jacket in a rich brown with highlights of a deep red I hold open. And once again my mouth is talking without input from the rest of my brain.
"You were wearing a similar color when you saved me from that wraith."
"Twice," he teases back and I fight down flustered irritation, feeling unbalanced by him.
"Yes, twice. Think of this as a thank you gift."
After studying me for a long, heavy moment that makes me unaccountably uncomfortable, he simply steps over and carefully threads his right arm into the sleeve, brushing against my elbow and ribs, the magic quiescent now. Shaking off the shiver of what almost feels like stymied expectations, I help get his left hand in position and smooth the leather up over his shoulders.
It's a perfect fit.
++ Henry ++
When this stranger crawled out of the wishing well, I know I didn't react well. But I’ve been through too much and kinda freaked. Luckily, Mary Margaret was there and took me with her when she went to go kiss David awake. When Mom'd shown up with the big guy I couldn't really believe was Emma, I had only been able to stare in disbelief.
But it's been a couple days now and David talked to me and let me talk about it yesterday before I'd asked him to take me home. It had been weird and kinda awkward to be around Mom again, but we'd gotten better with some time. She'd even let me drag her out to eat at the diner where I was glad to see... Emma. She... he looks better now, not so freaked out and messed up. Dragging him off to get dressed by Mom only made sense, because she always looks good.
Mom. I think I’m finally really starting to believe in her, especially after what she did at the well. I know I’ve been angry at her for a long time, and more than a little scared, but watching her thrash around had really shaken me.
Turns out I don't really hate her at all.
Turns out I've really missed her.
Yeah, I’d been clinging to Emma a lot, I know, and then left to stay with Gramps after the curse broke, but it's not the same. She was all I had my whole life and that can't be replaced. And if I can help her be good now, then I’m gonna do it.
Emma's moved ahead of us as we walk down the street, but I stick with Mom and we both watch the stranger that really isn't a stranger at all. There are mannerisms that I recognize, a certain bounce in the way he walks and how he tilts his head curiously when something catches his attention. It's weird, but it makes me feel better, too.
When we step into the shoe shop, I see that Emma is holding his face and Mr. Cobbler is offering a wad of tissue. "Terry, relax, I’ve bashed my face way harder than that since this damn change happened. It's just a little bloody nose. See, already stopping. But thanks." Mopping off the small trickle of blood on nose and fingertips, he grins sheepishly at me and mom. "One of these days, I’ll get used to being so... long."
It seems kinda rude to laugh, but it is sorta funny.
"How big are your feet?"
"No idea. Terry here is going to have to figure that out."
After a few minutes with the foot-measuring doohicky with all of its numbers, Mr. Cobbler comes up with a size twelve. So I grab a plastic bag of men's athletic socks and hand them over.
"Thanks, kid."
When Emma starts trying on sneakers that don't match the new clothes, Mom clearly wants to say something, but holds back. Another point in her favor as a change for the better. Emma catches the expression as he laces up the light shoes. "Sorry to mess up your ensemble, Regina, but the idea of pinchy dress shoes right now gives me hives. Besides, I need decent traction to keep myself on my feet."
"Yes, I can see that," Mom comments a little sarcastically as Emma stands and sways, grabbing Mom's hand when she automatically reaches out. They're acting a little weird, but everyone's acting a little weird around Emma right now. That makes me doubly glad for this nice, normal shopping trip.
If you read this and are enjoying it? Marvelous! The rest of the tale is at http://archiveofourown.org/works/1368154/chapters/2860039
Enjoy!
(11-6-12)
For two days now I’ve holed up in the apartment that still feels disturbingly foreign to me.
Sorta like this new body.
I’ve been practicing my coordination, unable to ignore my inner drill sergeant, who sounds like Mulan now, amusingly enough. I can almost feel that armored hand smacking me. I miss her.
Endless basic exercises keep away the cabin fever, pushups and crunches and situps teaching me where my body leaves off now. Slowly, my battered body has begun to heal, bruises and cuts fading a bit. There are a few that will take some time, the raw patch above my eyes where I rubbed it bloody on the bars of the cell, my poor hands mauled by my own clumsiness, the shallow sword slice in my arm. There are some nasty contusions all over my body doubtlessly from endless falls to the uneven forest floor. At least nothing is dangerously sore and I’m reasonably certain that I'm not in need of a doctor. I'd feel better if I could sleep without the memories and nightmares; zombies and giant beanstalks and enemies that dissolve into smoke to name a few.
It's weird to be alone here, no Mary Margaret underfoot, no Henry bugging me at all hours about the next Operation Cobra. David has called a couple times, but seems to understand that I still need some time to settle in. Though right now, I’m just feeling lonely and miserable.
A sharp knock at the door startles me and I raise my head up from my pathetic little huddle on the far end of the couch.
"You have about five seconds," Ruby laughs loudly through the slab of wood between us. "To make yourself decent before I come in."
Oh how I want to object, refuse, hide in a corner until the whole damn town leaves me the hell alone. Yet, I really am just piteously lonely without the people I've grown to adore. So I stay where I am, curiously watching the door, listening as a key fiddles with the lock and the door swings open.
"Oh, Em," she says sweetly, flashing those dimples at me. "You look like hell."
It's completely embarrassing and yet a relief that her sweetness makes me tear up like a baby, sniffling miserably. When she wraps her arms around my head, I bawl quietly into her long hair, completely indulging in the outlet. After a long couple of minutes, I mumble into her shoulder, "Missed you."
"Missed you, too. Now, quit sulking and come with me to the diner."
My look of horror as she stands up straight makes her raise a imperious hand.
"No arguments. Granny insists and she will come here with the crossbow and threaten your life if I don't show up with you in tow. Aren't you hungry?"
With my crap coordination I’ve had little but cold sandwiches since returning to Storybrooke and the cupboards here were already pretty bare even before my new man-sized appetite. My traitorous stomach snarls noisily at her suggestion and my mouth waters.
"I can hear that you are," she chortles in triumph and offers a hand to help me up. When I gingerly accept the gesture and unfold myself from the couch, I’m startled by her bold eyes raking over me. "Almost a shame you're such a looker, Swan."
"Almost?"
++ Ruby ++
It's a relief to have her... him banter back, even if it's a weak effort. That the effort was made is the important part. And I sure wasn't kidding about the looker part. At the well, there had been too much going on and he'd been such a mess and such a shock. Now, he looks disarmingly... normal, even if that normalcy is only skin deep. Pain and shock and panic are still bright in the eyes she... he shares with his mother.
"Get your shoes on," I encourage and Emma shrugs awkwardly, like a little kid.
"I... I don't have any."
Really, I could slap myself. Of course he doesn't have any damn shoes.
"Well, go steal David's slippers or something. He must have left half his stuff here after living here so long."
"Just let me throw on an extra pair of socks. I have those."
"Em, you can't walk all the way to the diner in socks."
When that familiar smile, in that wholly unfamiliar face, is fired over his shoulder at me, I nearly stagger back. How disorienting.
"Rubes, I tromped all over that damn Enchanted Forest and down the giant's frickin' beanstalk barefoot or wrapped in rags. I can handle walking to the diner in socks."
Jumpy with nerves, Emma nonetheless follows me into the autumn chill. There are a few odd glances, but word has gotten around and everyone is polite, bringing down Emma's stress a bit.
"You look different," Emma says uncomfortably and I grin... up at him. Also a new experience, as I had actually been the taller one before.
"This is more... me," I try to explain. "We all have both sets of memories now, like Snow. With some time, we've all started piecing all the parts of ourselves together. Regina's curse was very thorough."
Part of me is angry, pretty much like everybody in this town, but part of me just doesn't have the energy to hate her. And plenty of good has happened here in Storybrooke, leaving lots and lots of mixed feelings.
"I guess I really don't know you," Emma muses softly in the now baritone voice. "Guess there's a whole hell of a lot I don't know, period."
He stiffens when I take his arm, but slowly relaxes at the non-demanding contact as we continue on our way.
++ Emma ++
Stepping into Granny's is every bit as awkward as I imagined. But at least it's a best case scenario, what with the stares quickly diverted and the sharp lull in conversation slowly building back up again. No one ran screaming from the building, or pulled out pitchforks and torches. So, it's a win, I guess.
Like her granddaughter, now pushing at my back to make me move forward, Granny's eyes sweep over me, taking in the shocking change. Then she 'harrumphs' humorlessly and gestures to a seat at the counter. "Park it, sheriff. I hear the food back home wasn't to your liking."
There is a smattering of chuckles and I’m guessing the 'barbequed chimera' story has made the rounds. Great, someone will be yelling 'ogre' at me next.
As I gingerly press my oversized body to a stool at the counter, I muse about her calling me sheriff. Another reality I haven't dealt with yet.
"Give it some time," Ruby comments as she appears behind the counter and expertly gets a cup of coffee in front of me. "We've done okay with David so far. Though it will nice having you back where you belong. Let me know if you want any cream with that, hmmm?"
"Thanks, Ruby."
Hope no one heard the grateful lump in my throat at her taking such good care of me. Long minutes pass while I rest my forehead on my clasped hands, inhaling the scent of the hot coffee and this familiar meeting place, listening to the murmur of voices and the bell as someone goes through the door.
Then, the biggest, sloppiest mess of a cheeseburger appears under my nose with enough fries and onion rings to feed half the building. "Jeezus, Granny. I'm not that hungry."
She only smiles like she knows better and hustles off while my stomach informs me that my denial is bullshit. So I wrestle the drippy, painfully hot mess into my big ham hands and take a cautious bite. The burn of salty grease and half-rare beef hits my palate, turning me into a barracuda.
Sanity returns in time and I find myself licking my fingers and humming happily. My belly is as content as a sleepy kitten and I have a little corner to tuck a few fries and rings into. A very smug Granny returns to beam 'I told you so' all over me.
"Marry me?"
++ Regina ++
This is the longest I've been around my son since Charming nearly broke down my door weeks ago and took him from me. All of those long weeks of isolation both calmed me and broke my heart. Then to have to face my Daniel as a monster...
Once again, I push that pain down, a hard knot of devastation like seeing the mine caved in behind this son I love more than my own life. I will not taint my time with him with my own pain. He'd shown up of his own choice this afternoon, startling me beyond words. How glad I was to be sober and dressed like a productive member of society. Not always the case lately.
No one visits me at the house and I have no connections any longer, cooped up for my own safety as well as the town around me. So, the company has been so welcome, all the more so because it has been my Henry. When he had wanted to share a dinner with me, I had caved easily, even if the diner means that I have to share him once more.
In the days since Snow's triumphant return, it's been difficult to remember exactly what happened to Emma Swan. It impossible to forget now, as I follow Henry into the diner to watch the spectacle that is this new man and what appears to be the drippy remains of a cheeseburger.
Firstly, no one should make those sorts of noises in public... or outside of the bedroom. Secondly, the spectacle should not be nearly as fascinating as it is.
Scrubbed clean and dressed in sweats most likely straight from David's plebeian wardrobe, Emma is startlingly normal, in spite of the disquieting sex change. If one looks past the mass of scabs and contusions that litter his pale skin making him look like a survivor from a war that is.
Watching him noisily suckling his fingers clean makes me want to turn and escape the awkward situation, but I won't waste my rare time with Henry. The changed Emma says something to Widow Lucas that makes her laugh and lean over the counter to press a maternal kiss to his forehead.
Then that sweetly embarrassed grin swings our way, morphing into discomfort. That twisted expression cannot disguise his good looks, the handsome face with an expressive mouth, scruffy beard and the eyes that have not changed.
"That looks good," Henry says softly, hesitantly and I’m rocked by the familiar smile in that unfamiliar face. It is that quirk of wry humor that finally shows shades of the woman this was last we saw him.
It floors me.
But seems to reassure Henry, as he steps closer, once again away from me and off to Swan.
"It is," Emma says in an upper baritone that sounds a little rusty. Perhaps still getting used to it? The thought amuses me. "I cannot tell you the relief of eating something that I didn't have to kill first."
"Don't I know it," Widow Lucas chuckles and sets down two plates in front of myself and my son. "Meatloaf back home? What a bitch."
Why am I not surprised to see meatloaf on my plate?
++ Emma ++
The awkwardness is just about killing me, but at least Henry doesn't appear to want to bolt. He even smiles, once we talk a little, and puts a small hand on my arm, as though to prove that I’m real. The innocent touch somehow makes me feel more real.
"Hey, um... Emma. Why are you wearing wet socks?"
Oh, yeah, that.
"Yeah, hey, sorry about the muddy footprints, Granny. I need to get some shoes and probably a warm jacket of some kind. I can't keep wearing my dad's clothes all the time."
The lame stab at humor makes Henry and Granny chuckle, and a twinkle of something warm in Regina's eyes doesn't escape my notice either.
"Mom and I can help you with that."
When Regina and I both stare at the boy, he shrugs.
"Well, she always looks good, right? And makes sure I look okay, too."
"Yeah, okay," I hear myself agree, despite my shock in the offer. There's certainly no arguing that Regina does indeed always look gorgeous and well put together. The woman looks flummoxed, but softens when Henry looks up at her in question.
"Of course, dear," she agrees after a pause. "I'm sure we can be a great help to... Sheriff Swan."
Eager to spend time with my son, I am thrilled with the offer, despite the public nature of it and having to spend more time with Regina. Henry said she saved our bacon at the well and gave me a ride back to town, so it seems logical that making an effort to maintain the truce is worth the while.
I nurse at more coffee while they eat, but refuse a slice of pie. Granny's glower makes me cringe, and promise to come back later to indulge when my belly has room. Several townsfolk stop by to chat and welcome me home, making a real effort to not make me feel like a circus freak.
Granny makes me laugh when she orders me out of my wet socks and hands me a mop to clean up my slightly dirty footsteps on her floor. "At last," I drawl wryly. "A task I can do without endangering myself or others."
"It's a mop, not a sword."
"And my arms are so long now that I don't dare use a fork because I’ll stab myself in the face. There's a reason I’ve been living on sandwiches."
"That, and neither you nor David can cook."
"Yeah, well, there's that, too."
++ Regina ++
Watching the awkward way Swan holds the mop like its going to run away is rather amusing. As is the playful glower he flashes when Henry teasingly points out that he missed a spot. There are such unexpectedly similar things about them, things I would have thought fiction until bearing witness to them. There is clearly something to the nature versus nurture debate, but that still gives no one the right to just take him from me.
Some of that must show past my self-control, because Swan's gaze studies me closely for a long moment, expression shuttered. Then he nods faintly, as though we have come to some sort of secret agreement, and returns to his task.
I wish I knew what that secretive exchange was.
After banging the mop around noisily and with murmured apologies, then nearly tripping Dopey to a quick demise, Granny takes mercy and retrieves the mop turned weapon.
I lean over to stage-whisper near Henry's ear. "Rescue the local populace and bring him along, won't you, dear?"
He seems less startled at my unusual stab at humor than I am, a surprise echoed on Swan's face before he actually chuckles and gestures that we should precede him out.
The three of us get across the street with no incident, but Swan does manage to trip over the low curb with a curse that I can't stop my glare over. Sheepishly, he mutters an apology after a shift of eyes to Henry. When we reach Worthington's Haberdashery, he finally comments, reading off the sign above the door. "Suits, Hats, Ties. Seriously?"
"Just because you are not comfortable with this body, doesn't mean you can't dress the part," I tell him primly and sarcastically gesture at the door Henry patiently holds open.
"Don't look at me," Henry deadpans. "I wear a uniform to school."
Swan's eyebrows climb and I only chuckle. Inside, prissy old Grimsby's eyes look ready to pop out and Carlotta is torn between delight and shock. But they shake it off and usher in their new project, past racks of all manner of clothing and accessories any gentleman would need.
Henry wanders over to look over some colorful sweaters and ties with some small interest and I automatically note which colors attract him. Grimsby distastefully sets aside the battered sweat shirt and Carlotta advances on her quarry bearing the dreaded measuring tape. I know from past experiences with Henry that the pair can be very thorough with their measurements and have embarrassed every male in town.
"Surely, Carlotta, a seamstress of your skill can suffice with just a waist measurement and figuring out how tall he is?"
Why I'm helping out the person who tried to take away Henry is beyond me. The faint thrum of warning in my tone works and the woman makes Swan jump with the slide of the tape around his muscled waist. In only that thin undershirt, it's obvious that his physique is impressive, strongly muscled and firmly toned. The bruises are just as obvious, a riot of them shining darkly through the fabric. Despite my need to stay aloof, I can't help but wonder exactly what happened in our old homeland.
Grimsby uses his long arms to measure from floor to waist, making Swan jump from the touch, then from waist to crown.
"You are approximately five foot eleven, Sheriff. Was there anything in particular that attracts your eye in the shop?"
Shaking off my distraction, I move away. Until Henry volunteers me once again, Swan isn't my concern.
++ Emma ++
I've avoided mirrors. Oh sure, I’ve caught glances of myself, but look away every time. Just glimpses of hair too dark and too short, a scruffy face atop the big, nicely built body. But there's no avoiding the silvered glass in the classy men's clothing store and my reckoning with myself has finally come.
Sound fades away as I stare at my reflection and try to get my head around it. He's a bit more than average height with dark blonde hair, poker straight. It's just long enough to have some fluff and clearly needs a good brushing. The beard tweaks me out, the itchy tickle of it a constant sensation I haven't gotten used to. And it needs trimming again, dammit. Nicely proportioned shoulders and chest and a narrow waist taper down to strong legs and the lump in between I can still barely think about. Beneath the snug undershirt, powerful muscles shift with my movements and my right hand rests gingerly over the six pack beneath. At least this is an awesome new physique and the straight woman I so recently was admires this handsome fellow I’ve become.
"Well, between you and Gramps, at least I know I’ll grow up good looking."
Startled by the dry wit, I stare at a smirking Henry for a moment before my eyes are inadvertently drawn up to meet an equally startled gaze of one formerly Evil Queen.
She chokes on a snerk first and I can feel the humor bubbling up, lifting the corners of my mouth, the expression inexplicably echoed on her beautiful face.
Moments later, we are convulsing with laughter, the sound the best magic I’ve encountered yet. Winded and exhausted from the effort, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp for air before I can straighten up and grin wildly at a very happily smug Henry. Gently reaching out to ruffle his hair, I am suffused with adoration.
"Thanks kid, I needed that."
The couple of staff members have disappeared and I bet this story will make the gossip circles in record time. Regina is pretty much panting and I can hear the strangled noises of repressed humor deep in her throat. A glance reveals that she is even more beautiful now, her face alight with happiness, dark eyes bright with mirth, her smile sincere. It makes my own hilarity bubble up again and I wave a hand at her, turning away.
"Don't look at me! If I laugh any more, I’ll need clean pants. Or I’m gonna throw up and really piss Granny off."
Practically choking, Regina actually retreats and Henry and I share a triumphant moment. That glimpse to a side of Regina I would have never expected will stay with me, of that I have no doubt.
++ Regina ++
Heart racing and belly aching, I stare out the storefront window and feel the startling humor claw at my throat. It's a sensation I can barely name, something so long forgotten that am almost fully ignorant of how it feels. Oh, the last time I heard a laugh like that, low and warm, thrilling me from scalp to toes, my heart too full to contain...
Calmed by my bittersweet memories, I turn to watch the golden child of Snow White. He eyes a vest Henry holds out, but I can tell from here that the yellow highlights will look terrible on him.
"Try something in blue, dear."
Henry nods and goes looking while Carlotta reappears with several lengths of black over her arm and drags Swan to the back to the changing rooms. A moment later there is a yowl of masculine distress and a very flustered Carlotta bustles out.
"Henry, could you be a dear and give me a hand with the sheriff?"
Again, I choke on laughter, made all the more difficult to fight when Henry echoes the sound, his expression amused. Shooing him away, I focus on the rack of warm sweaters, pulling down several. My mind wanders over the recent memories of that physique, imagining details I do not have, colors against that pale canvass...
Clearing my throat a bit uncomfortably-- the laughter has left me parched-- I’m glad to see Henry reappear, still looking completely amused.
"The little zippers are really messing with him, so we had to go up a size so he could just pull them up and close the little metal tab. And he hit himself pretty hard... you know."
"Ouch," I sympathize as best I can and shake my head to cover my distraction and dark humor. Having raised this little man single-handedly, I know exactly what he means. "So he'll need a belt, correct? To keep his pants up? Maybe even suspenders."
"Hey, that's a good idea. How about those fun red ones? Since Emma can't wear that jacket she loves any more."
The hot color doesn't match two of the sweaters I have draped over my arm, but the silvery blue one that first caught my eye might be... jaunty with the red. So, I don't over-analyze for once and hand it to Henry. "Wait. He needs a shirt." My hand falls on a plastic wrapped large, but then I remember the breadth of those sculpted shoulders and that broad chest. "Have him try the extra large for comfort."
Laden down, Henry vanishes into the back again. It doesn't take long for his return, Swan in tow.
"Much better," I approve and he actually looks pleased under the expected embarrassment. The suspenders are indeed jaunty against the pale smoky blue cashmere and the black slacks are casually classy. "Do you want those tailored?"
Really, I have no idea where the sassy humor comes from, but Swan gives me a dry look.
"No, thank you, Miss Fashionista. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. At least I didn't break anything."
"Yet?"
Stepping over to him, my hands automatically adjust the collar and tug at the sweater to sit better over his big torso. And there it is, that sharp, electric tingle of a magic I've never felt before... before Emma Swan touched my arm and Jefferson's hat spun to life. Both of us are startled, I can see it in the green eyes, and I yank my hands away as though embarrassed. Really, me, embarrassed? It's absurd.
"You're still going to be cold."
"Yeah, well, the bare feet won't help that either. I'll be fine for now."
But my eye has already wandered over to where I've been avoiding a temptation.
"Humor me." His skepticism is rampant over his face and I tease, "It will amuse Henry."
We're both startled at the sleek kidskin jacket in a rich brown with highlights of a deep red I hold open. And once again my mouth is talking without input from the rest of my brain.
"You were wearing a similar color when you saved me from that wraith."
"Twice," he teases back and I fight down flustered irritation, feeling unbalanced by him.
"Yes, twice. Think of this as a thank you gift."
After studying me for a long, heavy moment that makes me unaccountably uncomfortable, he simply steps over and carefully threads his right arm into the sleeve, brushing against my elbow and ribs, the magic quiescent now. Shaking off the shiver of what almost feels like stymied expectations, I help get his left hand in position and smooth the leather up over his shoulders.
It's a perfect fit.
++ Henry ++
When this stranger crawled out of the wishing well, I know I didn't react well. But I’ve been through too much and kinda freaked. Luckily, Mary Margaret was there and took me with her when she went to go kiss David awake. When Mom'd shown up with the big guy I couldn't really believe was Emma, I had only been able to stare in disbelief.
But it's been a couple days now and David talked to me and let me talk about it yesterday before I'd asked him to take me home. It had been weird and kinda awkward to be around Mom again, but we'd gotten better with some time. She'd even let me drag her out to eat at the diner where I was glad to see... Emma. She... he looks better now, not so freaked out and messed up. Dragging him off to get dressed by Mom only made sense, because she always looks good.
Mom. I think I’m finally really starting to believe in her, especially after what she did at the well. I know I’ve been angry at her for a long time, and more than a little scared, but watching her thrash around had really shaken me.
Turns out I don't really hate her at all.
Turns out I've really missed her.
Yeah, I’d been clinging to Emma a lot, I know, and then left to stay with Gramps after the curse broke, but it's not the same. She was all I had my whole life and that can't be replaced. And if I can help her be good now, then I’m gonna do it.
Emma's moved ahead of us as we walk down the street, but I stick with Mom and we both watch the stranger that really isn't a stranger at all. There are mannerisms that I recognize, a certain bounce in the way he walks and how he tilts his head curiously when something catches his attention. It's weird, but it makes me feel better, too.
When we step into the shoe shop, I see that Emma is holding his face and Mr. Cobbler is offering a wad of tissue. "Terry, relax, I’ve bashed my face way harder than that since this damn change happened. It's just a little bloody nose. See, already stopping. But thanks." Mopping off the small trickle of blood on nose and fingertips, he grins sheepishly at me and mom. "One of these days, I’ll get used to being so... long."
It seems kinda rude to laugh, but it is sorta funny.
"How big are your feet?"
"No idea. Terry here is going to have to figure that out."
After a few minutes with the foot-measuring doohicky with all of its numbers, Mr. Cobbler comes up with a size twelve. So I grab a plastic bag of men's athletic socks and hand them over.
"Thanks, kid."
When Emma starts trying on sneakers that don't match the new clothes, Mom clearly wants to say something, but holds back. Another point in her favor as a change for the better. Emma catches the expression as he laces up the light shoes. "Sorry to mess up your ensemble, Regina, but the idea of pinchy dress shoes right now gives me hives. Besides, I need decent traction to keep myself on my feet."
"Yes, I can see that," Mom comments a little sarcastically as Emma stands and sways, grabbing Mom's hand when she automatically reaches out. They're acting a little weird, but everyone's acting a little weird around Emma right now. That makes me doubly glad for this nice, normal shopping trip.
If you read this and are enjoying it? Marvelous! The rest of the tale is at http://archiveofourown.org/works/1368154/chapters/2860039
Enjoy!