dazzling starlight

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

The rhythm of the hoofbeats keeps steady time with the lively music coming from the saloon.  It’s the most popular gathering place in town, and as the rider dismounts at the entrance and ties his horse to the hitching post, he can tell there’s already a pretty good crowd inside.

He makes sure to take an extra moment to straighten the classic Stetson on his head and secure the shiny sheriff’s star on his shirt – and then he swings open the wooden doors to the saloon with enough force to bang them loudly against the wall, startling the other guests inside.

Much of the laughter and conversation ceases as the other customers set down their drinks and their attention is instantly drawn to the newcomer.  Even the small band on stage is slightly stunned – there are a few musicians on the piano, guitar, and fiddle – and they just barely manage to finish their number.  The guitar player quickly strums a few final chords and then he hands off his guitar and makes his way over to the entrance.

“Evening, Sheriff,” he says.  “You, uh…you almost took my doors off their hinges.”

“What can I say?  I like to make a big entrance,” the sheriff replies.  He has a bit of a cocky lilt to his voice, and he gives a wink that’s well-practiced and clearly never fails to get him what he wants.

“Sheriff Nestor Vertiz,” he says, extending his hand for a courteous shake.

“Jubal Valentine,” the other man introduces himself, firmly grasping Nestor’s hand.  “Welcome to Castille’s.”

“Heard this is the best place in town,” Nestor comments as he surveys the room, but his tone is a bit harsh, as if he’s challenging Jubal to prove it.

“Well, you heard right,” Jubal replies, never one to back down from that kind of challenge.  “It’s been in the Castille family for generations.  Their daughter Isobel owns it now, and I just keep the place running.”

“Mr. and Mrs.?” Nestor guesses.

Jubal laughs good-naturedly.  “Don’t go spreading those rumors around town, Sheriff.  It’s just a business arrangement.”

“Understood,” Nestor says with a knowing smile.  “In fact, I’ve got a little business arrangement to take care of myself tonight.”

“Well, we always keep your glass full,” Jubal assures him.  “Hey, Tiff?”  He calls out to the woman tending the bar.  “Tiff, take good care of Sheriff Vertiz here…a full mug on the house, okay?”

The woman behind the counter nods, and Jubal gives Nestor a friendly clap on the shoulder as he motions towards an open seat at the bar.

“Evening, Sheriff,” Tiffany says kindly, taking a large mug and filling it with frothy, coppery beer.

“Better make that two," Nestor tells her.  “I’ve got a friend meeting me here tonight.”

Tiffany nods agreeably and reaches for another mug.

“Make it a shot of tequila, Tiff.  The extra strong stuff.”

The voice belongs to another customer, and Tiffany can tell that he’s come directly from the office, as he’s dressed in a formal three-piece suit and matching fedora.  When he approaches the bar, she gives him a welcoming smile and Nestor doesn’t miss the man’s easy familiarity with the bar menu – and with the bartender.

“Evening, Mr. Scola,” Tiffany says.  “You sure you can handle tequila tonight?”

“Tiff, I told you to call me Stuart,” the man grumbles as he lays his hat on the counter.  “And I’m gonna need the strongest tequila you’ve got.  The sheriff and I have business to discuss tonight.”

“I’ll make it two shots then.”  Tiffany hides her smile because she knows him just a little too well.  “Coming right up, Mr.—oh, um, Stuart.”

“Stuart Scola,” Nestor says, rising to his feet to shake the other man’s hand.  “Thanks for meeting me here tonight.  I thought a drink might make the town’s, uh, problem…a little easier to swallow.”

“Not sure anything’s gonna make that much money easy to swallow, Vertiz,” Scola replies coldly.  “You want me to fund your little witch hunt, you better guarantee me some results.”

“Not a problem,” Nestor assures him.  “I always get results.”

Scola doesn’t look convinced.  His mouth sets in a tight line, even as Tiffany slides the drinks over the counter and he takes a shot and swallows slowly, letting the tequila burn his throat on the way down.

“Look, Scola,” Nestor says, and he takes a large swig of his own drink.  “I’ve chased a lot of outlaws in my time, and all it takes is a hefty sum of money to lure them out of hiding.  You’re the wealthiest man in town.  You offer this guy something he can’t resist, and I guarantee you that I’ll be there to put him behind bars.”

Scola shakes his head.  “Nah, this one’s different, Vertiz.  She’s too smart for that.”

“She?” Nestor repeats in surprise.

“He’s talking about Miss Maggie.”  Tiffany can’t help but chime in on the conversation.  She’s been running a clean cloth over the counter, pretending to wipe up spilled liquor, but of course she’s really eavesdropping on the latest plan to catch their town’s craftiest thief.

“And she just keeps on getting smarter,” Scola continues.  “Last week she ran off a herd of twenty horses from Lady Trenholm’s ranch in the hills, and at the same time, twenty gold bars were stolen out of the bank downtown.  It’s like she was in two places at once and no one knows how she managed to do it.”

Nestor shrugs, as if the answer is completely obvious.  “Sounds like Miss Maggie has got herself a partner.”

Scola snorts at the idea.  “Not so sure about that, Vertiz.  Miss Maggie has always worked alone.”

Tiffany agrees.  “If Miss Maggie ever took on a partner, he’d have to be just as smart as she is.  He’d have to be able to handle himself under fire.  You know, a real sharpshooter.  And he’d have to be someone she can trust.”

“No other explanation for being in two places at once,” Nestor insists.  Then he gives Scola a pointed look.  “But if there are two of them, then my price increases.”

“If there are two of them, any chance of you arresting Miss Maggie decreases,” Scola counters.

He shares a sideways glance with Tiffany, and they both seem to know what the other is thinking.

“Miss Maggie doesn’t trust just anyone to have her back,” Tiffany finally says.  “If she has a partner, he’s not gonna let you anywhere near her.  She’s damn good at her job, Sheriff.”

But Nestor’s confidence – or maybe cockiness – still isn’t swayed.

“Well, lucky for her, I’m damn good at mine.”

They make their way down the main street of Storybrooke, and Hope tosses her little head, black waves of hair flying around her shoulders, her blue eyes alight with awe, and she’s practically bouncing on her toes.  Her excitement is contagious, and Smee feels like he’s a little boy again, filled with anticipation as they approach the newest shop in Storybrooke.

Sonia’s Sweets is printed in bold lettering across a huge grand opening sign adorned with bunches of bright, colorful balloons.  There’s already a fairly large crowd gathered around the front door, and Smee and Hope wave to the dwarves as all seven of them chatter loudly while munching on some freshly baked cookies.

As the crowd disperses enough to allow them through, Smee grabs hold of the front door and sweeps his arm in a silly mock bow.  “After you, milady,” he says.

“Thank you, Mr. Smee,” Hope replies politely as she bounds through the door with a grin on her face.

The delicious aroma of all kinds of sweet treats is nearly overwhelming.  There are more customers waiting in line, and when Smee and Hope take their place at the end, Hope can’t resist pressing a small hand against the display glass and peering at the large selection of caramel apples covered in candy and sprinkles.

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

The woman behind the counter gives them a friendly smile, and Smee’s breath catches as her soft, gentle brown eyes make contact with his.  She’s very pretty, with long brown hair that matches her eyes, and Smee notes her light blue apron and the name Sonia printed on her name tag.

Suddenly, his knees feel a bit weak.

Smee has flirted with his share of women over the years – after all, he’s a pirate – but it was never anything serious, as they usually spent more time swooning over his captain.  But now that his captain is happily married to his true love, Smee wonders if he might find his own chance at love.

“There’s so much stuff here!” Hope exclaims.

Sonia laughs and bends down a little to meet Hope’s awestruck gaze.  “We’re very well-stocked,” she says assuredly.  “All kinds of candied apples, freshly made fudge, cakes and cupcakes, and lots of different cookies.”  As she speaks, Sonia points out the various treats located around the store, and Hope’s eyes grow larger at each one.  “And we even have a full selection of frozen desserts over there.”

Hope’s jaw drops and she hurries to the far side of the counter to get a better look.

“Your daughter is adorable,” Sonia tells Smee, watching Hope with amusement.

“Oh, she—she’s not my daughter,” Smee explains quickly.  “Her parents are just away for the weekend.  Her father replaced one of the masts on his ship last week, so they sailed down the coast to make sure it’ll hold up to the north winds this winter, but I think it was more so the two of them could have some time to themselves.  You know, they both have such a hard time getting away from Storybrooke…”

Smee realizes that he’s babbling a little bit, but he’s never been the most eloquent speaker in front of a pretty woman.  “And since David is on call at the sheriff’s station this weekend, they thought it would be a good time, and I’m just, uh, well…”

“The babysitter?”

Smee frowns, as it’s not the cutthroat pirate image he tries hard for, but he finally gives a sheepish nod.  “Yeah, that’s what I would call it.”

He’s surprised but delighted when Sonia hides a shy smile behind her hand, and he wonders if she’s not as turned off by meeting the babysitter as he would have thought.

“Mr. Smee!” Hope interrupts excitedly.  “Can we get some frozen yogurt?”

Frozen yogurt.

Well, Smee is completely smitten now.

“Just don’t tell your parents.”  Smee speaks in a mock stern voice, as if he’s sharing a secret with the little girl, but the delighted grin on his face gives away his own excitement.  “Two waffle cones with two scoops of chocolate, please,” he says eagerly.

“Excellent choice,” Sonia concurs with a lighthearted laugh as she reaches for two waffle cones.  “I love chocolate.”

So does Smee, and because he’s so enraptured by this beautiful woman, he fidgets nervously and tugs his red hat further down around his ears because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

“I like your hat, Mr. Smee,” Sonia says shyly.

“Oh, uh…William.  My name is William.”  Smee feels the tips of his ears growing warm enough to match the color of his hat.  “And my grandmother made it for me when I was a boy.  It’s always brought me good fortune.”

“Like maybe an extra scoop of frozen yogurt on the house?” she asks with a wink.

The modern frozen yogurt machine will forever be a marvel to Smee, and the fact that Sonia is so adept at using it to fill waffle cones with thick swirls of chocolate frozen yogurt means that he simply can’t take his eyes off her.

Hope takes her cone eagerly and politely thanks Sonia with a big smile, and Sonia’s appreciative smile in return makes Smee’s heart skip a beat.

And when she hands him his own cone – complete with an extra scoop of chocolatey goodness – Smee wonders if she brushes her fingers against his on purpose.

“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Smee…William,” she corrects herself quickly.  “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

The frozen yogurt is creamy and delightful, and Smee doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything quite so good.  Hope is happily devouring her own cone, and Smee is able to sneak a quick glance over his shoulder as they head out the door.  Sonia is already preparing an order for the next customer, still wearing that smile that makes Smee’s heart thud inside his chest, and he wonders if Hope can hear the soft, lovesick sigh that escapes his lips.

“It’s a boy, Emma.”

The doctor’s voice barely even registers in Emma’s mind because she’s still trembling, the blood still pounding in her ears, her hair messily matted with sweat as she tries to catch her breath from the physical strain of the birth and the emotional struggle of the entire pregnancy.

From the moment the prison infirmary had allowed her a pregnancy test, she’s wrestled with her doubts about having this baby.  It’s not that she’s afraid of doing it alone.  After all, she’s been alone for her entire life and gotten used to it.

But if this kid is going to have his best chance, it’s not going to be with her.

She had kept the pregnancy to herself until she no longer could because it was easier to avoid the cruel whispers from the other women when they’re gathered in the cafeteria for assigned meal times.

~*~

“She looks like she’s about to pop at any moment.”

“Yeah, I heard she got herself knocked up by some deadbeat who’s letting her do the time for his crimes.”

“Or maybe she’s been secretly banging one of the guards.”

“Or maybe I just need to punch you in the face,” Emma snaps, giving the rude loudmouth a hard shove.

“What the hell, Swan?” the other woman growls, returning the shove.

“Watch it, ladies.”  The guards call out a warning from across the cafeteria.

They both exchange angry glares but have enough sense to walk away, and Emma barely makes it a few steps when she suddenly clutches her stomach with a gasp.

“Swan?”

The guards rush to make sure she’s all right, but she thinks it's more to make sure she doesn’t pass out on the floor rather than any actual concern for her condition.

It’s a sharp but short contraction, and the pain fades quickly, but it only affirms the remaining doubts in her mind.

~*~

“Emma, just so you know, you can change your mind.”

No, she can’t.  She’s eighteen years old. Incarcerated and alone.  She can’t be a mother.

She’s already signed away that title anyway.  They did the paperwork long before her labor even started, and she doesn’t know why the doctor keeps insisting that there’s another choice.

The baby is crying, and Emma refuses to look at him, instead gripping the side of the hospital bed until her knuckles are white, trying hard to calm her breathing and blink back tears.

The doctor cradles the little boy in his arms, and his face falls a bit when Emma shakes her head, adamant that she doesn’t want to hold him.  He leans over to whisper something in the nurse’s ear, quietly handing the little boy over and giving a subtle nod towards the door.

They both step out of the room…and then her baby is gone.

The room is dark and instantly feels cold and empty, the familiar pang of loneliness stabbing her in the gut.  Emma tries a couple of deep breaths, but she can’t hold back the emotion any longer, and with no one else around to see, she finally lets herself break down into strangled sobs.

~*~o~*~

“It’s a girl, Emma.”

The doctor has a gentle manner and a friendly smile as he places the little pink bundle into Emma’s arms, and Emma’s heart feels like it’s going to burst.  Her eyes glisten with happy tears as she wraps both arms around her baby, and then she sneaks a glance at her husband.

Killian hasn’t moved from her side since the labor began, and now he brushes sweaty tendrils of long hair behind his wife’s ear.

“You’re amazing, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the side of her head.

“Congratulations, Dad,” Emma tells him.

She’s exhausted and her voice is a little hoarse, as the birth has taken its toll, but her heart is filled with joy.  It’s a bright Christmas morning, with sunlight sparkling on fresh snow, and while her first pregnancy eventually gave her Henry and all the love that came along with him, she’ll always be haunted by the darkness of that night.

Sometimes she still has to remind herself that she’s not alone anymore.

There’s one thing I want you to be certain of…that I will always, always be by your side.

It wasn’t so long ago that Killian had made that promise to her, and he fulfills it every day as a husband and now a father.  And this time, rather than trying to bear the pain by squeezing the cold plastic bars on the hospital bed, her hand had been encased in his warm, reassuring grip the entire time.

It’s a little while later when two figures appear in the doorway, and it takes both Emma and Killian longer than usual to notice them because they can’t tear their eyes away from their little girl.

“Mom, Dad,” Emma finally acknowledges softly, and the baby squirms a little against her chest.

“Oh, Emma, Killian,” Snow breathes.  “She’s precious.”

“Are you sure you’re not upset about having another grandchild at your age?”  Emma isn’t so tired that she can’t still be a little bit cheeky.

“Of course not,” David huffs.  “In fact, we always wanted a granddaughter who’s half-princess and half-pirate.”

That deadpan tone of his makes it clear that it’s a little bit of a dig, but he and Killian have come to an understanding over the years, and Emma thinks that perhaps Prince Charming is fonder of his son-in-law than he likes to admit.

With the reassuring presence of her husband and her parents nearby, Emma leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes to rest, letting the baby do the same, and Killian squeezes his wife’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss.

The cozy warmth filling the room feels like Christmas magic, and Emma is surrounded by all the love and family that she had ever wished for. And with the newest member sleeping soundly in her arms, Emma no longer has any doubts that she’s found her happy ending.

The baby gives a yawn and reaches out her own tiny hand to her parents.  She hasn’t entirely awoken yet, so Emma can’t be sure, but she thinks her eyes might be as blue as her father’s.

Killian runs his fingers through his daughter’s wispy black hair, cradling her head in wonder, and Emma drops a kiss on the little girl’s forehead.

“Swan, you should have woken me.”

Killian is still half-asleep as he makes his way down the stairs because the clanging of pots and pans and his wife bustling around the kitchen has drawn him out of bed earlier than expected.

Emma huffs a little as she flips the food on the skillet.  “Killian, I’m fine.  It’s just pancakes…I’m pretty sure even a pregnant woman can make pancakes.”

“Well, something smells delicious,” he murmurs, stepping close enough so that his chest presses warmly against her back and so that he can bury his face in her hair and inhale deeply.  His hand and hook wrap around her waist, and he rubs his fingers in a small circle, wondering if the little one can sense his intentions.

It definitely has the intended effect on his wife.

Emma puts down the spatula and spins around in his arms, her mouth meeting his in a steamy kiss.  Her hands run sensually along the scruff of his jaw, and Killian responds instantly to her, as he always does, deepening the kiss as her arms wrap around his neck, and she’s well aware of what she’s doing to him as she uses the extra weight of her belly to push him up against the counter.

His hook deftly slides between them to release the tie on her robe, his fingers sneaking inside to stroke bare skin, and hers skim over his shoulders and down his chest, quickly coaxing the next button on his shirt to come undone.

They’re so lost in each other that they don’t notice tiny shimmers flashing like fireflies in the kitchen, rapidly multiplying and growing larger and brighter until—

“Awww, Mom!”

Emma and Killian break apart in surprise, scrambling to straighten their clothes at the sound of Henry’s loud groan.

“Next time I’m opening a portal outside the house,” Henry grumbles as the lights vanish behind him.  “And I’ll knock before I walk in on…”—he gestures to his mother and his stepfather in disgust—“any more of this.”

“Henry!”  Emma’s face lights up, and once her robe is fully tied again, she hurries over to wrap her son in a hug.  “I’m so glad you’re here, kid!”

“Me, too, Mom.”

As Emma and Henry embrace, Killian makes his way over and gives Henry a friendly clap on the shoulder.  “It’s good to see you, lad," he says. "Glad you made it back to this realm in time for Christmas.”

“Well, there’s no place like home for the holidays, right?” Henry says.  “And with the baby due any day now, I thought maybe I should get here sooner rather than later.”  A trace of a grin starts to break out on his face.  “And I might have a Christmas present that needed special delivery.”

Emma’s eyes brighten.  “What kind of present?”

Henry hums secretively, as if he’s considering making them wait until Christmas, but as his stepfather would say, they have to take advantage of the quiet moments in Storybrooke.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a familiar brown leather-bound book wrapped in a big red bow.

Once Upon a Time.