Unanswered Quetions (Henry, Emma)
Title: Unanswered Questions
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Characters/Pairing: Henry, Emma, also mentions Charming/Snow, Neal/Emma, and Hook/Emma but very lightly
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: Just a challenge to write a gen fic for The Universe land comm
Word Count: 1,522
SPOILERS!: Going Home
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
I rarely talk to other kids my age. They're all involved in things that hold my interest for so little, from sports to television shows to video games, and laugh at me for reading. I've always enjoyed a good book more than chatting with anybody at school, but still, there are times I'm tempted to talk to some one.
Sometimes I just want to pretend I'm a normal kid, but I know I'm not. I never have been, never will be. My life isn't normal, and if I told any one, even Mom, about some of the ways it's crazy, they'd be worried for my sanity. I'm sane. I've got my feet on the ground, as Mom would say, more than almost anybody I know. Sometimes I think I may even be wiser than she is.
This morning was one of those times. She thinks I don't know what happened, but it took her a little too long to get rid of that stranger. I know what kissing sounds like, too. Who kisses a stranger, or lets them kiss them? I know she's lonely, but she doesn't need some crazy person on her doorstep.
I'd like to think she needs my Dad, but I've done the research. I know he wasn't good. I know she didn't end up in jail because of herself. He did something horrible to have her put there. Mom's a good person. She wouldn't have stolen things by herself. She was using poor judgment. I hope I never fall for anybody like that.
I think, sometimes, about finding somebody to set her up with, but nobody seems right. Nobody's good enough for my Mom. That's true, but still, none of the teachers or my guidance counselor would even make a good one-time date for her. She needs somebody smarter, funnier, and gentler. She deserves somebody better.
Sometimes I wonder if such a person exists. I'm sorry to say it. It makes me sound really bad, like I've got my nose high enough in the air to touch the sky or something, but I don't like anybody at school. None of them seem right or honest. They all look at Mom and me and pretend we're normal, but I know better.
She does, too, but she never talks about it. I've tried, at times, to get her to open up, but she always finds a way to change the subject. I've got these weird gaps in my memory and even weirder dreams. I know she does, too, because I see the look on her face when she tries to remember something from our past and can't, like when I ask her about her parents or about one of my previous birthday parties.
I can't remember a single party before this year's, not for her or for me, but I know I must've had them. Even if I didn't have a party, we would've done something to celebrate me getting older, I'm sure. She would've tried to bake me a cake, or maybe just bought one (she's not the best of cooks although she tries), and would've given me presents.
My room is full of toys and books. The toys don't interest me, and except for one special book that I've had since I was born, I can't remember when I got any of the books. There are no dates inside of them, either, nothing to help me remember when or how they were given to me.
I know she has stuff that she tries to remember, too. Her favorite unicorn statue is one of them. I see her pick it up a lot and caress the glass. Her face always scrunches up when she's holding it, and I know she must be trying to remember. I've asked her, too, how she got it, and she can't tell me.
Mom loves unicorns. It's one of the few fantasy creatures she's honest with me about. I've bought her a few, but she has so many more. I know I didn't give them all to her. Did Dad? Did somebody else? I fear I'll never know.
I'd like to ask her more often about this stuff, but I don't want to upset her. She works so hard to keep our apartment and our bills paid. She works so hard to take care of me. I can't hurt her, and I have to take care of her.
How many other kids come home to find their mother asleep on the couch? These are the kind of things I wonder about when I find her like this, passed out from working way too hard. I've gotten rid of her glass already. I'm not sure what she was drinking, but it didn't smell like alcohol. She thinks I think she doesn't drink, but I know she has one every now and then.
I don't blame her. I don't blame her for anything, and I won't, no matter how weird things get. She does everything she can to make life better for me. She's told me before that I am her life, and I see that fact every day in the way she pushes herself so hard to take care of me, so hard until she can't push herself any longer and falls asleep.
Gently, I pull a blanket over her. She turns on the couch, and a small book slips out from underneath her body and falls onto the floor. I bend, pick it up, and look at its cover in surprise. It's a child's book. My breath quickens. It's another telling of the Snow White fairy tale.
I love that story, but then, I love all fairy tales. I know that's one of the weird things about me. Kids my age don't generally read a lot, and if they do, it's not fairy tales. They don't believe in them. I've tried not to, but I can't seem to help myself. Snow White and Prince Charming were real once upon a time. No matter how hard I try to convince myself differently, I can't stop thinking that.
My favorite book, the one I've had since forever or at least as long as I can remember, is full of fairy tales. Mom's told me many times it's time for me to put it away, but here she is reading one, too. I dream at night of fairy tales, too, and Snow White and Prince Charming are almost always there in my dreams. Mom is, too. There's some kind of special connection the three of them seem to have, but I can never remember my dreams well enough to recall what it is.
I sit down, heavily, on the living room table. Mom would yell at me to get off of it, but she's not waking up any time soon. Besides, I have this funny feeling that if I don't sit down I'll fall down. I stare at the book my hand is still clutching and slowly look back over at Mom as she snores.
What is her connection to Prince Charming and Snow White? Is it just in my dreams, or is there something more, something bigger going on here? Why can't we leave fairy tales behind? What is wrong with us? What is right with us?
I sigh. There are so many questions, and I can't find the answers for any of them. "Henry," Mom murmurs in her sleep.
"It's okay, Mom," I reassure her immediately as I always do when she talks in her sleep. "I'm right here." I reach out and stroke her blonde hair like a parent would do to a child, like she has done to me when I'm sick or sleepy and she's tucking me in.
Our relationship is weird. I know that. I know it's not normal for a child to take care of his mother, and as much as she does take care of me, there are times like now when I still have to take care of her. I don't mind. I don't really want our life to be different, but I would like for it be happier and not have so many unanswered questions.
I watch her settle down and sleep some more and know one thing in my heart: No matter how many questions we have no answers to, no matter how weird we are or our lives become, no matter what anybody else thinks about us, we'll always be there for each other. She'll always strive to give me everything she can, and I'll always be here for her, too, picking up her pieces on those rare moments she slips up and lets me catch her crying and taking care of her however and whenever I can. We'll always have each other, and we'll always love one another.
"I love you, Mom," I whisper. My voice seems to echo in the stillness of our apartment, and for a moment, I'm afraid I'll wake her. But then she smiles and keeps sleeping. Her smile makes me smile, and I sit there watching her, my homework forgotten and a fairy tale book still in my hand.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Characters/Pairing: Henry, Emma, also mentions Charming/Snow, Neal/Emma, and Hook/Emma but very lightly
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: Just a challenge to write a gen fic for The Universe land comm
Word Count: 1,522
SPOILERS!: Going Home
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
I rarely talk to other kids my age. They're all involved in things that hold my interest for so little, from sports to television shows to video games, and laugh at me for reading. I've always enjoyed a good book more than chatting with anybody at school, but still, there are times I'm tempted to talk to some one.
Sometimes I just want to pretend I'm a normal kid, but I know I'm not. I never have been, never will be. My life isn't normal, and if I told any one, even Mom, about some of the ways it's crazy, they'd be worried for my sanity. I'm sane. I've got my feet on the ground, as Mom would say, more than almost anybody I know. Sometimes I think I may even be wiser than she is.
This morning was one of those times. She thinks I don't know what happened, but it took her a little too long to get rid of that stranger. I know what kissing sounds like, too. Who kisses a stranger, or lets them kiss them? I know she's lonely, but she doesn't need some crazy person on her doorstep.
I'd like to think she needs my Dad, but I've done the research. I know he wasn't good. I know she didn't end up in jail because of herself. He did something horrible to have her put there. Mom's a good person. She wouldn't have stolen things by herself. She was using poor judgment. I hope I never fall for anybody like that.
I think, sometimes, about finding somebody to set her up with, but nobody seems right. Nobody's good enough for my Mom. That's true, but still, none of the teachers or my guidance counselor would even make a good one-time date for her. She needs somebody smarter, funnier, and gentler. She deserves somebody better.
Sometimes I wonder if such a person exists. I'm sorry to say it. It makes me sound really bad, like I've got my nose high enough in the air to touch the sky or something, but I don't like anybody at school. None of them seem right or honest. They all look at Mom and me and pretend we're normal, but I know better.
She does, too, but she never talks about it. I've tried, at times, to get her to open up, but she always finds a way to change the subject. I've got these weird gaps in my memory and even weirder dreams. I know she does, too, because I see the look on her face when she tries to remember something from our past and can't, like when I ask her about her parents or about one of my previous birthday parties.
I can't remember a single party before this year's, not for her or for me, but I know I must've had them. Even if I didn't have a party, we would've done something to celebrate me getting older, I'm sure. She would've tried to bake me a cake, or maybe just bought one (she's not the best of cooks although she tries), and would've given me presents.
My room is full of toys and books. The toys don't interest me, and except for one special book that I've had since I was born, I can't remember when I got any of the books. There are no dates inside of them, either, nothing to help me remember when or how they were given to me.
I know she has stuff that she tries to remember, too. Her favorite unicorn statue is one of them. I see her pick it up a lot and caress the glass. Her face always scrunches up when she's holding it, and I know she must be trying to remember. I've asked her, too, how she got it, and she can't tell me.
Mom loves unicorns. It's one of the few fantasy creatures she's honest with me about. I've bought her a few, but she has so many more. I know I didn't give them all to her. Did Dad? Did somebody else? I fear I'll never know.
I'd like to ask her more often about this stuff, but I don't want to upset her. She works so hard to keep our apartment and our bills paid. She works so hard to take care of me. I can't hurt her, and I have to take care of her.
How many other kids come home to find their mother asleep on the couch? These are the kind of things I wonder about when I find her like this, passed out from working way too hard. I've gotten rid of her glass already. I'm not sure what she was drinking, but it didn't smell like alcohol. She thinks I think she doesn't drink, but I know she has one every now and then.
I don't blame her. I don't blame her for anything, and I won't, no matter how weird things get. She does everything she can to make life better for me. She's told me before that I am her life, and I see that fact every day in the way she pushes herself so hard to take care of me, so hard until she can't push herself any longer and falls asleep.
Gently, I pull a blanket over her. She turns on the couch, and a small book slips out from underneath her body and falls onto the floor. I bend, pick it up, and look at its cover in surprise. It's a child's book. My breath quickens. It's another telling of the Snow White fairy tale.
I love that story, but then, I love all fairy tales. I know that's one of the weird things about me. Kids my age don't generally read a lot, and if they do, it's not fairy tales. They don't believe in them. I've tried not to, but I can't seem to help myself. Snow White and Prince Charming were real once upon a time. No matter how hard I try to convince myself differently, I can't stop thinking that.
My favorite book, the one I've had since forever or at least as long as I can remember, is full of fairy tales. Mom's told me many times it's time for me to put it away, but here she is reading one, too. I dream at night of fairy tales, too, and Snow White and Prince Charming are almost always there in my dreams. Mom is, too. There's some kind of special connection the three of them seem to have, but I can never remember my dreams well enough to recall what it is.
I sit down, heavily, on the living room table. Mom would yell at me to get off of it, but she's not waking up any time soon. Besides, I have this funny feeling that if I don't sit down I'll fall down. I stare at the book my hand is still clutching and slowly look back over at Mom as she snores.
What is her connection to Prince Charming and Snow White? Is it just in my dreams, or is there something more, something bigger going on here? Why can't we leave fairy tales behind? What is wrong with us? What is right with us?
I sigh. There are so many questions, and I can't find the answers for any of them. "Henry," Mom murmurs in her sleep.
"It's okay, Mom," I reassure her immediately as I always do when she talks in her sleep. "I'm right here." I reach out and stroke her blonde hair like a parent would do to a child, like she has done to me when I'm sick or sleepy and she's tucking me in.
Our relationship is weird. I know that. I know it's not normal for a child to take care of his mother, and as much as she does take care of me, there are times like now when I still have to take care of her. I don't mind. I don't really want our life to be different, but I would like for it be happier and not have so many unanswered questions.
I watch her settle down and sleep some more and know one thing in my heart: No matter how many questions we have no answers to, no matter how weird we are or our lives become, no matter what anybody else thinks about us, we'll always be there for each other. She'll always strive to give me everything she can, and I'll always be here for her, too, picking up her pieces on those rare moments she slips up and lets me catch her crying and taking care of her however and whenever I can. We'll always have each other, and we'll always love one another.
"I love you, Mom," I whisper. My voice seems to echo in the stillness of our apartment, and for a moment, I'm afraid I'll wake her. But then she smiles and keeps sleeping. Her smile makes me smile, and I sit there watching her, my homework forgotten and a fairy tale book still in my hand.
The End