Keep the Cup From Tipping (A Captain Swan fan fiction)

Chapter 2

A/N. (I don't own most of the characters and certain parts of the plot. Courtesy goes to the creative teams behind Once Upon a Time and Next To Normal.) Thanks for following, guys!

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Chapter 2

On Friday morning, Hector’s alarm didn’t go off because the clock’s battery gave up. He woke up to the sound of his mother yelling his name and knocking angrily at his door. He lingered in the comfort of his bed for a while – staring tirelessly at the ceiling as the thought of having to get through for just another day of being Hector Jones bored his spirits.

Emma yelled his name again from afar. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth – trying to calm his breathing. That’s just the angry pile of case files waiting at her desk, speaking, Hector thought to make himself feel better.

Nine years ago, her mother had started a job at the nearest station as an apprentice to Detective Sherrie Bowers. Because of Emma’s natural talents, the duo had been one of the most demanded teams when it came to crime scenes all over the state. Sometimes, they accepted cases from the other coast as well. Because of this, Emma was rarely home, and Hector was used to seeing her only at breakfast.

He got up to his feet and had himself a quick shower before grabbing his satchel and scurrying to the kitchen, where Killian was preparing sandwiches.

His father was content with staying at home ever since. The new culture and community had been nice to him, but he always had trouble dealing with modern people. Killian only loved going out when he was headed for the little bookstore that was four blocks away from their home. In the morning, he would busy himself over self-help books, later gaining a particular interest in modern carpentry and in foreign cuisines.

Killian always wanted to be the one making the meals, and he was pretty good at it – considering that he only had one hand.

Emma grabbed her sandwich from the counter. “Hector, I’ll make no second thoughts about leaving without you if this is the pace you’re going with,” she told her son before hurrying to the garage.

Hector greeted his father, who was washing utensils.

“Dad, my recital’s in two weeks. I don’t think mom already knows, so I guess maybe, you could be the one to tell her?”

Killian turned to his direction. “Aye. I’ll mark it on the calendar on the refrigerator.”

“I don’t think you should be trusting it, Dad. That calendar is four months late,” Hector chuckled before snatching his share of packed snack and following to the car.

Killian finished his dishes not too long after Emma’s car left. He dried the chopping board and the bowls with a cloth before placing them back in the cabinets. He was about to leave the kitchen, when the unused loaves of bread and mayonnaise at the dining table met his sight. Scrunching his nose, Killian turned back and retrieved the chopping board and the other utensils that he just cleaned. He collected his ingredients and sat at the dining table, ready to make some more sandwiches.

“How hungry are you to be making this much?” Henry greeted as he approached the table.

“Well, I didn’t know how much you’d like for today,” replied Killian as he evened his homemade spread onto the bread.

“Certainly not eight sandwiches in one morning,” jeered Henry as he gazed at the finished ones.

Killian didn’t say a word back and continued making sandwiches.

“Dad,” Henry called as he watched him.

“Tomorrow’s a special day. I just think you’d like sandwiches for your birthday tomorrow.”

“You can’t just let me go, huh?” He smiled shyly to himself. “Dad?”

Killian was applying a lot of spread on one loaf – too much in proportion that the spread would rudely escape the sides of the bread despite its viscosity.

“Dad!” Henry’s loud voice echoed in his head, making him take notice of the temporary insanity that he was doing for the past five minutes. Killian stared at the blunt knife that was in his grip, and the poor sandwich that was drowning in his tuna spread. When he had successfully composed himself, he noticed that Henry had already exited the house, and he was again, alone – like any other morning in his New York life.

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The next day, Emma coaxed Killian into visiting a therapist. Killian tried to think of excuses not to go, but like the rest of the times that he did, Emma always found the right words to block him.

Emma was combing her hair from across the room. “Come on, Killian. Something’s up and you couldn’t tell me, so you need to see a therapist.”

“Something’s up? What’ya mean something’s up? I feel fine. I’m ecstatic.”

“You’re hyped, not ecstatic,” Emma corrected. “And besides, you told me that the rum has been calling to you more often. We need to make sure you won’t ever fall into relapse.”

“Bloody therapists… never fancied ‘em,” Killian huffed. He walked over to her. “Remember the first one we went to, four months into our marriage? The one with the lovely face?”

“You mean the one that you said kind of looked like Milah?” She said with a taint of jealousy in her tone. Emma saw him roll his eyes through the mirror, causing a short blush and a grin to break out of her face. “You roll your eyes now. How adorable,” she jeered.

Killian shook his head in embarrassment. “Anyway… She tried to use hypnotism on me so I could explore my mind, but she started to freak out when I was telling her about Neverland and my brother and Pan, and Tink and-,”

“I know,” she cut him off. “I totally overlooked the fact that you’re not originally from this reality. Face it, honey. You want this too at some point, otherwise you wouldn’t be dressing up right now.”

He glanced at the plaid shirt and jeans that he sported and sighed. “It will disappoint you if I won’t go. It’s not like I have another choice.”

She threw her arms around his neck and sealed her lips with his in a short yet gentle kiss. “You’ll be fine today. And you will like this new therapist. He understands other realities so you can confide in him without worry.”

“Yeah? What’s his name?”

“Doctor John Darling.”

Upon hearing the doctor’s name, Killian’s eyes brightened up and he needed no more coaxing or pushing. He went to the car and sat gleefully in the passenger’s seat while Emma grabbed her purse and proceeded to drive.

“So how d’ya come across this Darling kid?” He inquired as she drove.

“Finding people is what I do best, you know that. He studied Psychiatry right after Wendy’s return from Neverland and opened a clinic downtown when he got his degree. I called yesterday to fix you a session with him, and he couldn’t be gladder to take you in.”

“You’re wonderful,” he said, glancing at her.

“I know.” Emma’s lips curved into a smug smirk.