Captain Swan One Shots

Belief

Notes at the end.

Henry Mills wasn't special. He wasn't important. He was as normal as it got. His past may not have been normal, but now? Now he was a regular twenty-eight-year-old living by himself in Seattle. Normal.

Until, that is, a little girl showed up at his door and flipped everything he ever knew on its head.

Henry wasn't actually sure how long he'd been in Seattle. He was born in Pheonix, grew up in a small town in Maine, spent some time in New York as a teenager... but time sort of just blurred together. He didn't mind. It was better than remembering his childhood in foster care.

He was a struggling author, he poured his soul into his passion. Writing, for Henry, was never a choice. It felt like a duty. His imagination wasn't what it used to be, but his ability to tell a story never faltered. He used to write about fairytales and magic, of love stories, hope, and belief in the impossible. These days he wrote essays and reports on the flaws of the foster care system and the hell those kids go through. As a kid he tried to make a difference to the other kids who were in similar situations as him, give them hope for the future. Now, he tried to bring justice to kids who grew up the same way he did. To hell with hope, force was the way to go.

Henry grew up without parents. So he was pretty sure he'd know if he was one. He'd never make a child of his own go through what he did. That's why he was sure Lucy wasn't his.

The girl showed him her story book, tried to convince him he was cursed. Henry had to admit, the detail was impressive. His mother was a princess, married to Captain Hook? His adoptive mother the Evil Queen? Henry wished he could believe her. She described him as happy.

But Henry had given up believing in happiness years ago. After Avery died, he knew true love didn't exist.

Avery Till. If Henry had to describe her in one word it would be enchanting. They'd met when they were twenty, fallen fast and hard, and had gotten married a year later. Where Henry was a perfect metaphor for tragic, she was light and hope and happiness. They were married for four years before her accident.

Avery was a cop. And with her job came late nights and dangerous circumstances. He never worried. She was so strong, so brave. She did her job well. She fought hard for the law. Until one night she fought too hard. Car crash while chasing down a drug dealer, typical. Her car flipped off the highway and caught fire. She died instantly. Henry was widowed at twenty five. Just his luck.

After that, Henry's life fell apart. His stories of hope turned into stories of death and betrayal. His writing became boring and dry. His career went down the drain. He lost everything. His wife, his job, his will to live...

So he moved to a different part of town, away from his past. Always running. He couldn't stay in one place for too long. Henry vowed never to let anyone or anything back into his heart. After Avery, he was done with pain. She was it for him.

When Lucy- every bit Avery's dark hair, brown eyes and charming smile- showed up, he almost believed her. But Avery was dead. Had been for some time. And this girl was too old to be his. Maybe she was another man's. Henry was sure Lucy had a family, she seemed incredibly intelligent.

So he closed the door. He tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach screaming at him to open it again, go after the kid. But he didn't.

The next morning when he was on his way to work, she was sitting at his kitchen counter and Henry nearly screamed.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? I thought I told you to go home," he demanded, taking the milk away from the bowl of cereal she had made herself.