Chapter 61

Emma wasn't used to eating dinner so early.

Regina's workday always ended around 5, although she usually had other things to catch up on, meetings that ran late, and so on. Back when Emma was in elementary school, her mother had dropped her off at daycare, where they always provided tons of snacks, and picked her up around 6 to 6:30; dinner wasn't until at least 7:30 on most nights. In middle school, she'd joined the soccer team or stayed after school for the art club with Jasmine. And now, in high school, on days where Emma hadn't volunteered at the hospital, she'd grown accustomed to fixing herself a snack after school

As such, no matter which way she looked at it, eating dinner at the early ass hour of 5 freaking thirty in the afternoon (yes, afternoon—to Emma, the evening didn't start until at least 6) was a travesty.

But it wasn't as though she could complain. Not when she was the minority in Mary Margaret and David's home. And so here she found herself, eating when it was still light out. The meal Mary Margaret had prepared, mashed potatoes and meatloaf, smelled delicious. It was really too bad that it was hours before Emma could physically consume anything.

A little scoop of potatoes and two slices of meatloaf; although Mary Margaret and David had repeatedly offered her more servings, even going as far as to try and add more to her still full plate, Emma declined each time, eating slowly in an attempt to hopefully communicate that she wasn't hungry without being rude outright. Finally, finally she managed to finish as much as she could, setting down her fork.

"You barely ate anything," David said, his face twisted with concern. "If you don't like meatloaf, we can make you something else. Or order something from Granny's."

"I'm fine," Emma insisted. "I'm full."

"But you hardly touched the food." Mary Margaret argued. "Are you not feeling well?" She reached out as if to touch Emma's forehead, but hesitated and set her hand back down into her lap before she could make contact.

Thank goodness.

"No, I'm fine," Emma lied. "Just had too much chocolate earlier."

Mary Margaret seemed to visibly relax. "Well, okay. But let us know if you need anything. If you feel hungry later, we have plenty of snacks."

"Thanks." Except Emma wasn't about to tell her that she preferred mandarin oranges over the big ones, and peanut butter pretzels instead the plain ones.

David cleared the table, while Mary Margaret shuffled over to the kitchen and started pulling out silverware and clean plates. Emma awkwardly picked at her thumbnail as she sat at the kitchen table. She'd tried to help David pack the leftovers into Tupperware containers, but he'd waved her away.

Regina had done the same thing, Emma still remembered. Back when she'd fist arrived at Storybrooke, her then foster mother had practically waited on her hand and foot, compared to how she'd been treated in her previous homes. For the first time, nobody yelled at her when she'd struggled to carry heavy plates and serving dishes to the sink, her little arms trembling. Nobody forced her to scrub the bathroom even though she'd barely ever had a chance to use it. Regina had wanted to make her feel safe and happy.

But Emma was 17 now, not 5.

A few months later, as both had grown more comfortable with each other, Regina had slowly assigned Emma simple tasks, even if it was just pouring glasses of juice for the two of them (Regina had very closely supervised, of course). She'd said that sharing chores symbolized they were both part of their household, their home.

Emma understood Regina's reasoning. Yes, it had been ridiculous to expect a five year old who could barely brush her teeth correctly to complete chores meant for adults. But as Regina had explained, setting the table and grabbing napkins had made Emma feel more at home (even if Regina had to take over most tasks herself and clean up after little Emma's efforts).

She watched from across the room as Mary Margaret uncovered a platter sitting on the counter and brought it over to the table. David followed close behind, silverware and plates in hand.

"Apparently Mary Margaret was a bit of a baker, and this was one of the recipes, she…I mean I, had always wanted to try, but never had anyone to share it with." She started cutting slices of carrot cake. "Interesting since I'd never baked a day in my life back in the Enchanted Forest, but here I am, with a big recipe box for muffins, cakes, and cookies."

What was even more interesting was Mary Margaret referring to herself in the third person, but Emma kept that thought to herself.

"I've never had carrot cake," Emma said. "Just chocolate mostly. And red velvet, for the cream cheese frosting. Actually mostly I just eat cakes for their frosting."

"This has cream cheese frosting too!" Mary Margaret practically beamed as she handed Emma a plate.

Emma looked dubiously at the brown dessert; carrot cake wasn't really her thing. But in an effort to be polite, she took a bite. Despite the fact that there were vegetables in the cake, it actually wasn't too bad. And the frosting was rather good. She took another, bigger bite.

"Do you like it?" Mary Margaret asked. Her cake sat untouched.

Emma nodded. "I can't believe I've never had this before. And the frosting's really good."

"Cream cheese frosting." David mused. "Good, but strange concept. Yet another strange thing about this land."

"What did you have for dessert back…then?" Emma asked. She couldn't really bring herself to say Enchanted Forest. It was still a bit weird. For some reason, she pictured her birth parents as coming from the old country like the Amish, or medieval times. Although judging by the pictures in the book, she probably wasn't that far off.

She hadn't had much of an appetite for dinner, but given her massive sweet tooth, found herself eating the cake rather quickly.

"I grew up poor," David responded. "Between keeping the farm afloat and basic provisions, we didn't have much left for dessert. So mostly fruit. Although after I became prince, we had spiced cakes, tarts, and pies."

Emma pictured a plate full of fruit tarts in between a bunch of armor clad knights chowing down on giant turkey legs.

Her arm started to itch, and she reached over to scratch it. "No chocolate?" She asked.

Mary Margaret laughed. "I'm afraid not."

"How did you live?" Emma fake gasped. "I don't know what I'd do without having easy access to Snickers. Or hot chocolate." She scooped the last of the cake into her mouth and set down her fork. As she did so, the itch on her arm intensified, and she scratched it even harder.

"We made do with other things," Mary Margaret said. "I guess that's another silver lining to being transported to a completely different land, learning all about the wonders of chocolate."

In the maybe thirty seconds Mary Margaret had been speaking, Emma's arm had started to burn. Her face and neck, too. When she looked down at her arm, she could see itchy red bumps, hives. What in the hell?

"Are you feeling okay?" David peered uncertainly at her. "You look a little–"

"I'm good." Emma interrupted. Why did they keep feeling the need to ask? She took a sip of water. Maybe that would alleviate the tightness that had suddenly developed in her chest.

"Are you sure?"

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but found that she had difficulty drawing a breath. "Y-yes…" She blinked in surprise as her voice came out in a wheeze. "Um…" She said as a thought occurred to her. "What's in this?"

Mary Margaret jumped up and came back with an index card, presumably the recipe. "Carrots, of course, applesauce, pecans, and spices."

"What…kind?"

Her birth mother frowned in confusion. "Um…cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, uh—"

"Nutmeg?"

"Yes, why?"

"S-shit. I mean. Shoot. Shit. I, um…"

"Allergic." David supplied. "Are you allergic to nutmeg?"

No longer able to speak, Emma simply nodded. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Without another word, Mary Margaret and David leapt into action; David grabbed his car keys while Mary Margaret threw a jacket over Emma's shoulders and guided her out the door, then downstairs and into the truck.

First she found out her entire town consisted of fairy tale characters, including herself (technically), and now she was going to a die a lovely death by cake.

Of all things. Death. By. Cake.

So maybe there was one reason she was thankful Storybrooke considered her royalty.

At the hospital, an ER nurse had taken one look at her and directed her to one of the gurneys, calling for help over her shoulder. She'd looked into Emma's eyes, putting a heartbeat monitor clip on her finger as Mary Margaret tried explaining what had happened, her voice tearful and shaky as she mentioned carrot cake.

Panic flooded through her as she struggled to breathe. How could she had been so stupid as to forget all about her nutmeg allergy? She'd only felt this way once before, a few Thanksgivings ago when Regina had made pumpkin pie instead of apple in an effort to mix things up. Her symptoms had arrived randomly, and as Regina drove at least thirty miles over the speed limit towards the hospital, she'd sat in the car with her head against the window, the cool glass momentarily stopping the burning itching on her face.

They'd even given her an Epi-Pen. But she'd forgotten about it soon after. Emma barely ever remembered to carry it around with her anymore.

She looked around the mostly empty ER in an effort to distract herself as David took over explaining Emma's symptoms. Unless she was mistaken, her mother was still her emergency contact. Surely they'd given her a call by now. Regina was probably on her way, and man would she be pissed that Emma had forgotten her Epi-Pen yet again.

Dr. Whale approached, giving her a calming smile. "You're going to be all right," he said as he brandished a needle and an alcohol wipe. "We're just going to give you a nice shot, and everything will be fine." In a fluid motion, he cleaned off her arm.

Crap. Emma hated needles. It was one of the reasons Regina had to bribe her every year with pie or lasagna in order for Emma to get her flu shot.

If Regina had been here, she would've held her hand, letting Emma squeeze it tight. She would've smiled comfortingly at her, not making a big fuss about Emma's fear of needles despite how most kids outgrew their needle phobia early on. Instead, it was Mary Margaret who held Emma's hand, David who squeezed her knee.

The funny thing was, she'd been through much worse. She'd been kidnapped, for goodness sakes. But for some reason, no matter how scary she'd been back in Jefferson's house, that didn't compare to how she felt now, even as she was surrounded by medical professionals and two parental figures, safe as ever.

The needle went in and out, and Emma winced.

Where was Regina?

"There we go." Whale said smoothly. "You should start to feel better in a few minutes."

The nurse came back to start an IV, and soon Emma was propped up against a pillow, her breathing slowly returning to normal and the itching subsiding. Whale had explained that they wanted to give her fluids for a bit before sending her home.

"You all right?" Mary Margaret asked for the tenth time. She straightened the itchy hospital blanket, arranging it over Emma again.

Emma nodded. She looked up over Mary Margaret's shoulder and scanned the ER again. Still no sign of Regina, even though it had been at least thirty minutes.

"We're so sorry." David said. "We didn't know about your allergy."

"It's not your fault. I should've told you. I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't be sorry. When we get back, I'm going to do a thorough check of the pantry." Mary Margaret declared. "Don't worry. We won't let this happen again."

Regina had said the same thing. The pumpkin pie had gone straight into the trash as soon as they'd arrived home, and the next morning Emma had found her combing through the shelves, even though practically nothing else in their home contained nutmeg.

A dark haired figure walked by, and Emma looked up hopefully. But it was just another patient; this random woman had long black hair and resembled Regina about as much as a carrot resembled a bell pepper.

"Do you need something?" David asked. "You keep looking around. Are you having trouble breathing again?"

"Actually, I was looking to see if, you know, maybe, um, if my mom, sorry other mom was here." Emma said hesitantly, mostly so that David wouldn't track down the nurse. "Since she's probably still my emergency contact and the hospital probably called her." She added in a hurry.

David and Mary Margaret exchanged a look.

"Well, yes Emma, you're right." David said. "When we went to fill out the insurance forms, the nurse did say something about that. But it sounded like, well," he paused. "no one was home."

"But I'm sure she's just busy. I mean sleeping!" Mary Margaret interjected. "It's pretty late!"

It was barely 7. 6:53pm to be exact.

"I'm sure she'll call." David added. "She'll want to make sure you're okay."

She'd slept with Regina that night, Emma remembered. Her mother had been so worried about the whole thing that she insisted on keeping an eye on her. Emma hadn't protested, because ever since she was little she'd always loved her mother's silky sheets and duvet, and also because she was terrified the symptoms would come back and she'd die in her sleep.

But now Regina couldn't even be bothered to show up.

Despite what David had said, Regina hadn't called.

Emma thumbed through her phone again, glancing at her list of missed calls. There were a grand total of zero.

Mary Margaret looked at her almost knowingly. "Everything okay?

"Yep." Emma forced a smile. She shoved her phone into her pocket. "Just checking the time."

"Yeah, it's still pretty early." David said as he hung up his jacket. "What do you say we make some popcorn and put on a movie?"

Emma had barely eaten dinner, and she was finally feeling the effects. And she was still feeling a little crappy, so chilling with a movie didn't sound too terrible. "Sure."

"I'll get the popcorn started," David said. "Why don't you pick a movie?"

Emma walked over to the DVD shelf. "Got anything good?" Sh started thumbing through the options. "Um, why are there so many classics?" In fact, that was all Mary Margaret seemed to own. "Casablanca, It Happened One Night, Citizen Kane…Do you have any movies that aren't black and white?"

"What about this?" Mary Margaret, who had walked over to stand next to Emma, pulled out a movie.

"A Walk to Remember?" Emma wrinkled her nose. "Pass."

"I agree!" David called from the kitchen.

"What are you talking about?" Mary Margaret asked. "You haven't even seen any movies."

"I know enough to be sure that I don't want to watch something called A Walk to Remember."

Emma laughed. "Yes! Thank you. Do you have anything that's more…exciting?"

"What's wrong with my DVDs?"

"Nothing. If you're an 80 year old woman." For a moment, Emma thought of her and Regina's DVD collection. While yes, they did own their fair share of sappy romance movies, there was also a good mix of thrillers and slashers. Although Regina always wrinkled her nose at the violence, Emma thought her mother secretly loved the adrenaline.

Emma spotted one and pulled it off the shelf. "Hmm, maybe this will do." She held up a copy of Snow White. "I'm sure you'll get a kick out of this."

"I don't think I've ever seen this," Mary Margaret frowned. "I don't even know why I own it."

"Well, then we have to see it!" Emma declared. Without another word, she bent over and turned on the DVD player, placing the disc inside. She then turned to the kitchen, where for some reason, David was busy pouring kernels onto a pan. "What are you doing?" Emma said as she approached the stove. "You do know that you can use the microwave, right?"

"I know." David responded. "But it'll taste better this way, trust me."

"How do you even know that?" Emma stared as David held the lid over the pan to allow the kernels to pop. "There wasn't any popcorn back in, ya know."

"Actually, there was. Except we made it over a fire."

"Wait, what?"

"We weren't primitives, you know." Mary Margaret spoke up. "I may have lived in the forest for a bit, but there were many things we had back then that we still have now."

"Except chocolate."

"Yes, except that."

"There's no better way to make popcorn," David said. The kernels started to settle, and he switched off the stove. "Except this is way faster than starting a fire. And this way, you can add your own seasonings to it." He opened the spice cabinet next to the stove and pulled out the garlic salt, pepper, and a bottle of olive oil. His hand brushed against the nutmeg; he pulled it out and looked it at with a chuckle. "You know, I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier. My mother was allergic to nutmeg as well."

"You had nut—" Emma stopped and shook her head. "Never mind. I didn't know that."

"Yep. Same symptoms as you. Except we didn't have Epi-Pens, so we had to make do with special herbs instead."

"What, from a healer?"

"They're not all quacks." Mary Margaret said as if she had read Emma's mind.

"Anyway, I remember feeling thankful that her allergy wasn't passed down to me. I didn't realize it was genetic."

Genetic. A sudden warm feeling passed through Emma's chest. She'd never had the opportunity to consider that others like her, her newfound ancestors, shared similar characteristics with her. "That's pretty cool. Are there any other allergies I should be aware of?"

"I don't think so," David responded as he seasoned the popcorn. "What about you, Snow?"

"Nothing, I don't believe." Mary Margaret said. "But my father always claimed he was allergic to Brussels sprouts too, although secretly I just think he hated them. So I kind of picked up on that little tactic and insisted I couldn't eat them either. Drove my mother crazy."

Emma turned to her, shocked. "Really? Me too!"

David held out the popcorn bowl towards her. "Want to test and see if it's good? I'm not sure if there's enough garlic."

Emma took a piece and popped it into her mouth. The flavors exploded on her tongue, and suddenly she wanted to eat more. "No, it's amazing." She reached for another piece, but David batted her hand away playfully.

"Save some for the rest of us." He teased. Before he could pull the bowl away, though, Emma pulled it back and reached for a package in the cabinet with the other hand. She opened the bag of peanut M&Ms, and without a second thought, poured them directly into the bowl.

"What?" She asked when both Mary Margaret and David stared at her. "It's better this way. You get both sweet and salty at the same time."

Emma plopped down onto the couch, Mary Margaret and David sitting as well, one on either side of her. As she pulled the fuzzy throw blanket that Mary Margaret kept folded on the armchair next to the couch over her lap, it occurred to her that her earlier awkwardness around the apartment seemed to have disappeared.

Interesting.

The movie loaded, and soon the singing voice of a cartoon Snow White filled the apartment. Beside her, Mary Margaret's jaw had dropped, and she was busy murmuring about how wildly inaccurate the movie was, while David laughed.

"Hey," Emma said as onscreen, the Magic Mirror suddenly declared that Snow White was the fairest in the land. "I know I said this earlier, but again I'm really sorry about tonight. My mom was always reminding me to bring my Epi-Pen, so I should've had it with me."

"It's alright." Mary Margaret said. "These things happen."

"Yes, but you had to take me to the hospital. No one likes going to the hospital. I ruined your evening."

"Of course not!" David protested. "Did you forget I spent 17 years in that hospital? I'm pretty sure that feels more like home than anything else."

"Weren't you in a coma the whole time, dear?" Mary Margaret quipped.

"Not the point, honey." He responded jokingly.

"But really though." Emma said. "I guess I just want to say, thank you. You know, for being there and stuff."

On the screen, the Huntsman was now preparing to kill Snow White, but nobody paid them any attention.

Mary Margaret turned to face Emma. "You're our daughter. And we know this has been an awkward transition for all of us, but we want you to know that you never have to apologize for anything. Not with us."

David placed a hand over hers. "We have loved you from the moment we knew you were going to be born, and ever since, kiddo."

Kiddo. She'd never really had a pet name. Regina used to call her her dear once in a while, but nothing really consistently. It actually sounded kind of nice.

"We're happy to go anywhere with you. Even if it's to the ER." Mary Margaret said.

"Although we do hope our next outing will be somewhere a little more fun," David added. "Maybe to the beach or laser tag."

"Yeah." Emma grinned. "That'd be cool."

She snuggled back into the couch and pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt a light vibration in her pocket. Her phone. She pulled it out and saw "Mom" displayed on the caller ID.

David glanced over. "Do you need to get that?"

Without hesitating, Emma switched off the phone. "Nope. I'm good." She shoved the device back into her pocket. She didn't feel like talking on the phone right now.

Regina glared down at her phone as yet again, the call failed to connect. She looked at the clock. It was only 8, far too early for Emma to be asleep already.

She should've just picked up the phone. Although in her defense, she'd been down in her father's tomb practicing long forgotten spells, where there was no cell service. Upon arriving home, she'd glanced down at her phone to see three missed calls from the hospital.

She'd thought it was a trick at first, something to lure the Evil Queen out of hiding so the still angry townspeople could place her head on a spike. But the nervous sounding nurse in the voicemail had said something about Emma and allergic reaction, and Regina's heart had dropped. She'd nearly dropped her spell book and transported herself straight to the hospital so she could properly chew out the two idiots for allowing nutmeg near her baby (never mind the fact that Emma herself was fully aware of her allergy and should've been more alert) but then thought better of it.

Yelling at Storybrooke's beloved royal figures would not be a good PR move. If there was one thing she'd learned as mayor that she'd straight up ignored back in the Enchanted Forest, it was that actions and words mattered. If she ever wanted to bring Emma home, she could not go around speaking her mind all the time (no matter how right she was). And it wasn't as though she could afford to show her face around town anymore, not without a public flogging.

Second - the nurse had said Mary Margaret and David had been with Emma. That meant she would be fine. If Regina could count on one thing, it was that the two insipid fools loved her daughter, their daughter. They would take good care of her.

Still, she couldn't help remembering the first time this had happened. Emma had been terrified, although she'd tried to shrug it off as no big deal. Her allergic reaction had been sudden, the allergy having apparently developed over time, at least according to Whale. It had never occurred to Regina that adopting a child with an unknown background meant all sorts of sinister diseases lay silently in the dark, only striking when it was too late.

That night, she'd insisted Emma sleep with her, partly to console her daughter and partly to console herself. She'd listened to Emma's breaths all night for the first time since the first night Emma had spent at Regina's, when Regina had been too nervous to sleep, instead hovering outside Emma's room all night so she could watch the angelic little girl sleep peacefully.

"Ugh!" Regina threw her phone across the room; it was clear after the third call that Emma was not going to pick up. Maybe she was pissed Regina hadn't been at the hospital. Or maybe something else had happened; perhaps the allergic reaction had been worse than the nurse had previously communicated, and her poor baby was lying on a gurney right now, her heartbeat still and her face deathly pale.

No. She had to know if Emma was okay. Regina walked over to the mirror that hung near the front door, took a deep breath, and waved her hand over the glass.

Instantly, an image of a quaint little bedroom appeared. Regina frowned. The room was furnished with a bed covered by a white quilt, and framed pictures of birds on the wall. Why did it show her this?

"I'll be right back!" Called a voice. The door to the room was shoved open.

Regina's heart leapt as an image of Emma filled the screen. It was the first time Regina had seen her daughter in days; she reached out to touch the glass. Besides the residual signs of a rash on her neck, Emma looked perfectly find.

She watched as Emma rifled through her messy suitcase for a pair of fuzzy socks, pulled them on quickly, and then ran back down the stairs. The image followed Emma as she sat down on the couch between Mary Margaret and David. A movie appeared to be playing on the TV, and Regina could see a bowl of half eaten popcorn, with M&Ms of course, sitting on the coffee table.

"Sorry. Got my socks. We can un-pause now."

Mary Margaret unpaused the movie. She and Emma laughed at something happening on the screen. Oddly enough, they both threw their heads back in the exact same way.

"What a complete idiot." Emma rolled her eyes.

Although Regina could see that they were probably referring to onscreen Snow White, who had taken an apple from the Evil Queen disguised as an old lady (yes, an idiot indeed), Regina couldn't help but feel that they were talking about her.

A mother, a father, and a daughter. As they watched the movie and passed back and forth the bowl of popcorn, Regina's stomach tightened.

Emma was obviously fine. Better than fine, even, she thought as she watched her daughter shovel popcorn into her mouth. Next to her, David was doing the same thing, and Regina was startled by how shockingly similar they appeared. Mary Margaret straightened the blanket over Emma's lap, and Emma smiled appreciatively in response.

Regina waved her hand over the glass. She didn't need to see anymore.

Author's note: I know, I know...this is kind of depressing. But things always need to get worse before they get better.