Fate or Destiny or Whatever
I don’t know why I’m even bothering to post this this weekend, but it’s been sitting on my computer–finished, apparently–since last year so…it’s waited long enough. I started this back after 6x05–but ended up rewriting the whole thing once 6x06 aired (for the obvious reason that my original fic involved Killian & Henry deciding to hold onto the shears). Anyways, 6x05 raised the question–what could possibly make Emma change her mind about using the shears. And this happened. As always, this has been added to “The Lost Get Found” over on ff.net if that’s you preference. And also, as always, you know I love getting yelled at. (Though this maybe doesn’t qualify as angst???)
Word count: 3.3k
Normally, Emma loved that her kitchen could fit her whole family comfortably.
Tonight, though, all those people just made her head throb worse as they talked back and forth about the object she held in her hand. All of them so caught up in the excitement of finally having the shears back in their possession that none of them had noticed her silence.
“We could put them in the vault.” Regina paused her pacing. “No one can get in there unless I let them.”
“That spell has been broken too many times,” her dad shoots back. “We need something better. Somewhere no one will think to look.”
“Maybe it’s not a somewhere that we need,” her mom said, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. “Maybe it’s someone. Namely, all of us.”
“What are you getting at?”
“The Evil Queen didn’t make her move until the shears were no longer in anyone’s possession,” Snow said, sitting forward. “Maybe if someone’s holding onto them, no one can steal them.”
David nodded. “So we all share the burden of holding onto them and she has no way to know which of us has them.”
“Or she could just knock all of us out at once and search our bodies at her leisure.” Killian’s hand on Emma’s shoulder tightened a little, tension radiating down his arm even as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of neck.
“Do you have a better idea?” Regina snapped.
Emma closed her eyes, her grip around the shears tightening. Before anyone could say anything else, she stood, her chair screeching against the tile floor.
“Guys, that’s enough.”