Best Chances (fic, Once Upon a Time)
Best Chances
Once Upon a Time
Snow White and Emma Swan
A mother-daughter moment
~600 words
“You ever play the lottery?” Emma blew away the steam that rose from the thick white ceramic mug. A wave of ripples crossed the foamy surface of the cocoa.
“Oh, I never gamble,” replied Mary Margaret seriously. “The odds are simply too high against winning. I mean, they are, aren't they?” She smiled quizzically at the other woman's look of astonishment. “That's what I've heard anyway.”
Emma laughed, almost choking on her first swallow of cocoa. “That's rich!”
“Is it?” replied Mary Margaret, staring into her own cup. “I've already had breakfast. It might be too much.” She pushed her cup away.
Granny wandered by and scowled at the full cup. “Something wrong, Snow? It's the same recipe I always make, down to the that dratted cinnamon on top.”
“Oh no,” Mary Margaret assured her. “I'm just feeling a little full this morning.”
Granny snorted and picked up the cup, placing it on her tray. “No problem. I'll just dump it out.” She muttered as she stalked away, rigid disapproval evident in the set of her arms, “You shouldn't order food if you don't want it.”
Emma put a hand on Mary Margaret's arm, “No, don't. Leave her alone, she'll get over it.” Shaking her head, she smiled at her mother. “What I meant was that's rich coming from you. You and Dad take more gambles than anyone I know.”
Mary Margaret tilted her head to one side, as if considering the statement. “I don't think so. What do you mean by gambling?”
“On me. On each other.” Emma sighed deeply. “On love.” Cutting off Mary Margaret's return exclamation, she continued. “How about the risk you took sending me off when I was a baby? In a tree, no less.”
Mary Margaret shook her head. “Sometimes you have to take your best chance, or there's no chance at all.” She continued softly, “You know what it's like. Facing that awful...pull, in two opposite directions, tearing you in half. When you have to make a choice that's impossible. And yet it has to be made.”
Emma nodded, her eyes blinking rapidly as they shifted from Mary Margaret's face to her own hands, tightly clutching the half empty mug. Clearing her throat, she muttered agreement. After a brief moment of struggle, she added in husky overtones. “Yeah, I know.”
Their eyes met. Pain reflected, mother to daughter to mother, an endless circle of sacrifice and hope which bound them together.
Emma sat back, turning her head to look out the front windows of the cafe. A group of children rushed by, cheeks pink with exertion and the wind whipping open their coats and sending their scarves flying. Two or three of them spied Mary Margaret through the window and waved wildly, flashing smiles punctuated with laughter silent behind the glass. She waved back, and Emma hesitated, then joined her. The kids moved on, liquid motion coalescing and splitting apart as they moved towards the school.
“Do you miss teaching?” asked Emma.
“I miss the children,” admitted Mary Margaret. “But not the endless reiteration of days. Not the false overlay of memory. Not the constant yearning for something I didn't even know I missed.”
Emma looked as if she'd been struck. “That's just what it was like,” she said. “When I first met Henry. I was so young when I gave him up. I didn't realize you could miss someone you never knew.”
“Oh, you can.” Mary Margaret also looked stricken, just for a moment, then shook her head and added firmly, “You gave him his best chance.” Leaning forward, she took Emma's hands between her own. “And he brought you home to me. What are the odds on that happening?”
Emma squeezed her mother's hands. “There's a gamble I'll always bet on. I was bound to find you. Somehow.” Her smile was now as bright as the winter sunshine. “People in this family always find each other.”
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