#past!hook

She looked up and locked eyes with the pirate.

“Hold on, Emma!”

She could barely hear him over the roar of the portal and her own terrified screams. Everything that wasn’t strapped down was whooshing past them and into the light. She threw her weight to the side to avoid a wooden plank heading straight for her face, making Killian dig his fingers harder into her skin.

“I’m not letting you go this time, Swan, come on!” he yelled.

“I can’t!”

Emma’s knuckles were starting to cramp. Killian was her last tether to this world, his hook firmly anchored in the hard, packed ground of the barn.

Emma tried to adjust her fingers around Killian’s wrist without letting go of his jacket but it was impossible. Her efforts were halted by the ominous sound of Killian’s jacket ripping, sending Emma an inch closer into the light. Both stricken, they looked at each other.

His blue eyes were wild and desperate. Killian’s veins popped angrily against the reddening skin of his forehead.

“The book, Emma,” he said through gritted teeth. “You have to let go of the book!”

Emma looked down at the storybook and closed her eyes tightly before loosening her hold and letting her son’s precious book be dragged away by the dark magic.

Her heart felt heavy but she didn’t have time to mourn the loss of the storybook. With her hand now free, Emma reached up to Killian. Her fingers circled around his wrist tightly and she flashed him a hopeful smile in response to the one in his eyes.

“I’ve got you, Swan.”

The words didn’t even have time to reach her spirit as the end of his jacket sleeve tore off completely. Before either of them could do anything, Killian’s hand slipped through her fingers like desert sand and Emma fell helplessly into the swirling portal.

“No!” Killian howled with a force that sliced the air.

He tried to free his hook from the ground, but it was too late. Golden hair and red leather jacket disappeared before his eyes, sucking the oxygen out of the room in the midst of Emma’s last desperate cry.

“Hooooook!”

Then, there was silence. Emma was gone.

-Chapter 1-

Emma’s cheek met the ground so hard it bounced back, her hair spilling across her face.

She pushed herself up, wincing at the pain, and dusted off her leaf-covered jeans. The torn strap of leather was still clutched in her hand. She thought about leaving it there on the ground but as she stared at the soft, worn material, she just couldn’t find it in herself to let go. Instead Emma tied the strap around her left wrist like a bracelet, the way Killian had tied it around her wounded hand at the top of the bean stock.

She took off her glove and brought her fingers up to check the stinging feeling on her face. There were a few drops of crimson blood on her fingertips. It was a small cut but it was there and would probably leave a mark for a few days.

Emma took a look around and sighed, letting her head hang for a moment while her hands rested on her knees. The tall trees, the bright green moss, and that untouched look of everything around her like she’d been dropped right in the heart of Yellowstone. If only I were that lucky.

Emma knew exactly where she was: The Enchanted Forest, in all of its fairytale glory. Only this time, she was there alone.

Damn it!  As she straightened up, Emma cursed the day she set foot in Storybrooke again. This portal nonsense, it was insanity! How many of these had she gone through already? Two? Three? More if you counted the wardrobe. It was exactly why she needed to grab Henry and get the hell back to New York as soon as possible, away from the fairytales and the curses, the monsters, and most of all, away from all the god damned portals!

She took a few hesitant steps surveying the woods around her. Her eyes spotted the light brown corner of Henry’s book just a few feet away by the intricate root of an old fig tree. Emma grabbed it and ran her hand over the golden letters carved across the cover.

“Henry.” Her son’s name was like a mantra. He was waiting for her. Now was not the time to get desperate, it was time to get moving and figure out a way home.

With a deep breath, Emma tucked the book under her arm and started walking, this time with a little more determination. The woods took on a gentle slope and she followed it down, hoping it would lead her to a road or a river, anything that would give her some sense of direction in her unfamiliar birthplace.

As she walked, Emma kept her head on a swivel, taking in the slightest details of her surroundings. How long had she been walking? Even the book was becoming too much weight to carry. Finally the trees started to thin and the downward slope opened onto a small circular clearing.

The trees surrounding it rose high above the forest floor, their tops touching to create a dome that kept the clearing in shade. A cool breeze blew the soft curls of Emma’s hair across her face and made her squeeze her eyes in it’s wake. It was so peaceful that Emma forgot she was lost in time for a moment.

A very short moment that ended when a band of birds took off flying from beyond the tree line, their wings whirring furiously past the tree tops into the clear blue sky.

Emma’s head snapped in that direction and she waited. Once the chirping died down, the unmistakable clattering of hooves reached her through the trees, mixed with the deep notes of someone singing. Whoever it was had no musical talent but more importantly they were getting closer.

Emma considered meeting them head on. If they could point her in the direction of… where? She was so lost at this point any sort of information would be an improvement. But then perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea for just anyone to see her. What if the portal had dropped her off in a time where there were ogres? It’d happened before. Emma doubted ogres could sing but still-

The sounds were dangerously close now so she ducked behind the closest tree she could reach. It was a sturdy one, big and tall, and it hid her completely from whoever was approaching. Emma hugged Henry’s book to her chest and tried to even her jagged breathing while she waited.

She contemplating poking her head out to see if the incomer had made it to the clearing but something caught her eye on the tree directly across from her. It was a hand-painted sign on a piece of cloth nailed to the tree. The face on the sign, though,  was one Emma knew very well.

WANTED

SNOW WHITE

For crimes against the Queen:

MURDER,

TREASON,

TREACHERY

Emma stood there, little wrinkles creasing her forehead as she took in the delicate lines of her mother's face. So, no ogres then. Instead, it meant Zelena’s portal had dropped her in a more dangerous time, a time when Regina’s evil persona, the Evil Queen, was still a real and serious threat. All the more reason to remain hidden from whoever was coming and wait.

When the newcomer turned out to be a single horse pulling a creaky old wagon, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. It reminded her of the covered wagons in those western movies David liked so much (he always made them watch one of those when it was his turn to pick on movie night), except this one didn’t have a canvas over the cart. Emma could see all sorts of copper pots, pans and big jute sacks cramped into the small cart, most likely wares for sale.

A wrinkly old man sat at the front of the wagon with a straw hat on his head holding the reins. He was still singing his off-key tune, completely unaware of Emma’s presence, as the wagon made its way lazily through the clearing.

The wagon curved away from Emma and she spotted the hood of a rich brown cloak peering out of one of the sacks near the end of the cart. An idea formed in her head, a bad one admittedly, and the moment it did, she knew she’d go for it anyway.

Perhaps it was the teenage thief still inside her deep down, the fact was she needed to make herself as forgettable as possible in case anyone she knew spotted her roaming around the Enchanted Forest before her time. Red leather jackets and grey turtlenecks were not the way to go if she wanted to go by unnoticed. They probably don’t come into fashion here well...ever. She needed something to disguise herself with so… stealing the cloak it was.

Emma pressed Henry’s book tightly to her side  and steeled herself, conjuring up her old runaway legs, before she darted out straight towards her target. With the adrenaline rushing through her veins, Emma reached the wagon and closed her fingers around the velvety fabric of the cloak and pulled. She pulled so forcefully in fact that she yanked the cloak right out of the sack and brought down the set of copper pots that were stacked perilously on top of each other next to it.

Of course the ruckus got the old man’s attention and he pulled on the reins, making the horse stand on its hinds and neigh loudly, protesting the sudden strain.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing, miss? HEY!”

Emma was already running with all her might in the opposite direction, away from the old man and his cart. The stolen cloak waved wildly in the wind like a flag, proclaiming Emma’s theft to the forest creatures as she made her escape.

“Come back, you thief!”

Emma winced, giving the old man an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

“Sorry!” she yelled, but her feet kept on going, putting as much distance as possible between her and the scene of the crime.

----

Emma leaned over a boulder trying to catch her breath. The only reason she’d stopped was because she honestly could not run anymore. Fortunately, the old man was nowhere to be seen or heard, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else following her either. The last thing she needed was Regina’s goons coming after her thinking it’d been Snow White who robbed the poor old man.

Like mother like daughter. Emma thought. Apparently Hook had been more right than he thought when he’d called her out at Granny’s for resembling Mary Margaret.

Once she felt her lungs were working properly again, Emma examined her stolen treasure. The cloak was long and heavy. It didn’t look particularly expensive, the brown fabric fused with the colour of the humid dirt floor, but Emma could see the amount of handy work that had gone into the velvety accents that covered the fabric in swirling patterns. She was so accustomed to clothes being practical back in her world –in her time- that the simple garment felt like a luxury costume when she draped it over her shoulders.

It was a tad too big for her, pooling about three inches past her boots, which was a good thing. The whole point of stealing the cloak was to hide her real clothes as much as possible. She tied the three pairs of strings on the front of the cloak, the lowest of them coming about the same height as her bellybutton. There was a broach pinned near the collar, two metallic leaves joined at the centre by a single link. She pinned the end of each leaf to one side of the collar securing the fabric around her neck.

Emma started to get anxious. The weight of her situation was coming down on her again, pressing heavily on her shoulders and making her a little short of breath. The blonde shrugged it off, bringing forth thoughts of Henry, and instead gathered all her hair in a loop at the base of her neck. She pulled the hood up over her eyes and thought at least that way if the old man had a sign made for her, they wouldn’t be able to peg her as the golden-haired bandit with a thing for second-hand cloaks.

The sound of hooves stomping hard against the ground broke throughout the forest for the second time since Emma had landed here and she ducked behind the rock just in time for a group of iron clad riders to fly by on top of shiny black horses.

From her viewpoint behind the rock, Emma saw the riders, black knights from the looks of it, go a little further into the woods and then stop. A royal carriage drove past Emma then, pulling up where the riders had gathered.

There was a small settlement there, a village. Emma hadn’t even seen it, too preoccupied with who could be pursuing her to notice what was right in front of her.

Wanting to see what was going on in the village, maybe get a better reading of her situation or a clue on how to get back, she risked a change of hiding place. Emma settled for a low bush just on the edge of the little village, if you could call it that, and crouched behind it watching the scene unfold.

A few villagers were already forming a sloppy line in front of the menacing knights.

“Oh, my God!” Emma couldn’t believe her eyes. Marco, from back home, was standing right there with little wooden August by his side.

The door of the carriage opened then to reveal Regina, dressed in black leather riding pants. She was half covered by a skin-tight red coat and her long, dark curtain of hair fell low on her back. A wide brim hat with an elaborate headdress shaded her eyes.

“What the hell?” Emma frowned.

That’s not Regina, love, that’s the Evil Queen, a cocky, accented voice in her head reminded her.

Emma toyed with the strap of leather around her wrist. Did she miss Killian? She’d rather think it was more that she wished she wasn’t alone in this, but still the pirate’s presence would be a welcomed addition to her situation. They did make quite the team...

“Listen to me very carefully.” Regina started pacing in front of the villagers and as she approached, they cowered back trying to make themselves invisible. “Whatever squalor and despair your pathetic little lives have been able to tolerate until this point is nothing compared to the pain and misery I can inflict if I leave here unhappy. You will help me,” she sentenced.

Marco stepped forward from the group, doing his best to keep August tucked behind him, and tried to reason with her. Of course, Regina would not have it.

“If I find out anyone in this village has been helping the bandit Snow White,” Regina threatened, “they will suffer dearly.” Her face twisted in an evil grin and she gestured to two of her guards.

The knights brought out a struggling woman. Her hands were tied and she had a sack covering her face.

“Here is what helping Snow White looks like,” Regina spat. The guards removed the sack and the frightened woman looked frantically around

“Help me, plea-”

The words were cut off when Regina reached into her chest and pulled the woman’s heart out in one swift motion. There was a uniform gasp from everyone not in Regina’s entourage, including Emma who put a hand over her mouth to cover her shock.

The woman gaped, her eyes fixed on the heart glowing outside her chest and before Emma could process what was going on, Regina closed her hand around the beating heart and crushed it. The ashes crumbled from the Queen’s fingers to the ground, as did the woman’s lifeless body. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut off, she fell to the ground empty of all life.

Emma felt sick to her stomach. She turned her head away and waited for Regina and her knights to leave, taking the woman’s body with them.

If only she’d landed in a different time, one where she could turn to Regina for help. Regina had become her mentor, her friend. She would understand how important it was for Emma to get back to Henry, to their son.

But not this Regina. Here, Regina was a cruel and evil villain, nothing more. What Emma saw in the queen’s smile was pure, unadulterated hatred. Getting help from her was out of the question. If Regina caught so much as a glimpse of Emma’s face, she would definitely remember and even if she didn’t know who she was exactly she would kill her on the spot.

The coast being clear, Emma stood up from behind the bush and tucked her hair further into the hood. She walked over to the village, heading for Marco’s cottage. The villagers were slowly returning to their chores, their faces marked by fear.

“Excuse me, uh, sir.” Emma kept her head down. She even made her voice softer than usual. It was a miracle Marco could hear her at all. “Could you maybe tell me how to get to a road? I’m… a little lost.”

Marco was clearly wary of her -the impact of Regina’s visit still hung on the air- but his shoulders began to relax slowly as he took in Emma’s non-threatening demeanor.

“Well, young lady,” he said in that start-and-stop way of his, “that depends on where it is you’re going, really.”

Where I’m going. Right. Good question.

“Why don’t you come in?” Marco offered. “I’ll have my boy fetch you some water from the well. You look like you could use the pause, maybe put your thoughts in order.”

She couldn’t take him up on his offer. It was one thing to be a passing stranger, but becoming a house guest would make too much of an impression on their memories. Still, Marco’s kindness was something she recognized in this warped reality she’d landed in and his idea of a pause didn’t sound bad at all. She needed to sit down somewhere safe and come up with a game plan.

“Um, actually, I just need to get to a boarding house, or some place to stay for the night perhaps?  So if you could tell me where that is...”

I might even need to get a job. Who knows how long I’m gonna be stuck here…

“Well, in that case,” Marco said, “you need to head for the docks.”

He gestured to a spot over Emma’s shoulder and she turned to follow his gaze. There was a narrow path extending beyond the village. It followed a semi straight line through the forest.

“It’s not that far from here,” Marco said. “Follow the path until you meet the broad road and then it should be ten minutes or so before you get the smell of salt in the air and seagulls flying over your head.”

Emma turned to face him.

“Thank you.”

Marco nodded. “There’s a tavern there. It has a few boarding rooms and the girl who runs it, Tiana, she’ll take care of you.”

Her lips curled in a soft smile and she took a deep breath.

“I better get going then.”

“Just steer clear of the sailors, child. They have a way with words,” Marco warned her.

Don’t I know it…

Emma felt a hesitant tug on the side of her cloak and when she looked down, it was August’s tiny wooden hand closed around the brown fabric. The boy pointed down at her boots.

“I like your shoes, miss. They’re real pretty.”

Emma laughed. “Thanks, kid. I like your hat.”

August beamed at her. If he could blush, he probably would have. The boy ran off and Emma watched him climb up to a tree behind his cottage.

“It seems my boy Pinocchio has taken a liking for  you, my lady,” Marco said.

She smiled. “He seems like a good kid.”

August was close to reaching the top. A good climber for a puppet.

“He’s a sweet boy, means well,” Marco said, his words dripping with fatherly love.

Emma missed August, her August, the one with the motorcycle, and the kindred spirit. What was it with her and men in leather jackets?

“I should go,” she said. “Thank you… for everything.”

Hopefully that conveyed the magnitude of things she was thankful for. Thank you for being a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, for being kind to a stranger, for raising one of the few real friends I’ve ever had…