Chapter Text
Emma has never been an overly clean person, per se. Not to say she was a slob, no, but she never really took the time to keep up on the less-than-essential cleaning chores that come with living. She didn’t dust window ledges, clean the crumb infested nooks in the kitchen, or bother organizing the chaotic mess that was her bathroom.
There was rarely anyone but her in her various apartments, so why should she bother? And if one of her one-night stands judged the state of her bathroom, who cared? It wasn’t as if she would ever see them again.
Despite this, she somehow finds herself spending her entire Saturday cleaning her ‘new’ house in Storybrooke from top to bottom without any prompting. There was no Snow White urging her to make the house a home, no family gathering to prepare for, and no overly obvious detritus of life that was in need of cleaning.
They’d only returned from the Underworld a week ago and much of that had been spent at the hospital where Killian had been under the watchful eyes of the doctors and nurses. They’d brought him back alive, yes, but her pirate had still been run through the chest by a large sword, not to mention the other injuries he’d attained while dead. She’d insisted on a hospital stay , even threatening to handcuff him to the bed again if he protested, much to his delight.
She starts with the laundry, throwing all the dirty clothes, towels, and bed linens into the wash. Not all at once, of course. She’s learned her lesson the hard way that there is a limit to how much one can actually clean in a washer at once.
She can still remember the scathing look the laundromat attendant had given her when he’d had to unplug the machine to get it to stop rocking.
The master bedroom is rather tidy, as is the attached bathroom, thanks to Killian’s very military organizational habits. So she cleans the windows, dusts the ledges, sweeps and mops the floor.
She makes a quick stop in Henry’s new room, not wanting to invade the soon-to-be teenager’s domain, but needing to collect any spare dishes or clothes to add to the next load of laundry. Henry has already put his mark on the room; a few notebooks littering the desk, a jacket thrown casually on the chair, the bed unmade. She straightens that on her way out.
The second bathroom on the upper floor is more of a daunting challenge. How Henry has made such a mess in the short time he has stayed at the house, she isn’t sure. She realizes that this is likely a problem that all parents ask themselves. She emerges 30 minutes later, determined to find some of the Clorox toilet cleaning tabs she’d used during her year in New York City.
The hallway only needs a quick sweep, so she’s heading upstairs to the unused third floor before noon.
It’s beautiful. The late morning sun streams through the turret’s windows, illuminating much of the floor’s interior. Beautiful hardwood bookcases line two of the walls, comfortable looking chairs and a chaise lounge are arrayed in a circle, and fine - but worn – rugs are scattered about to protect your feet from cold floors.
She hadn’t been up here much during the six weeks she’d inhabited the house as the Dark One. Hook loves this room, spending much of the time since his release from the hospital exploring the numerous books the bookcases contained. Though she worries about him on the stairs, she was happy he found a sedentary pastime to pursue while he was on the mend.
Thinking on her absent pirate, she fishes her phone from her pocket and checks her messages. She’s rewarded with a photo, sent by her father, of Killian sitting on a coil of rope aboard The Jolly Roger, his face turned upwards towards the sunlight. David, Killian, Robin, Henry, and Roland had all gone fishing, anxious to enjoy the warming weather before another emergency presented itself. Killian, of course, had strict instructions to take it easy and let the others do the hard lifting. Her pirate was apparently following her instructions.
With a smile on her face, she sets about her cleaning. She becomes so absorbed that she misses the changing light and only a growl from her stomach informs her that she’s missed lunch.
Lunch is a sandwich made from left over roast and salad from the night before. She’s never considered herself much of a cook, but Killian helped her through the process and what had resulted wasn’t bad. Henry had even gone for seconds, a rare occurrence when she cooked. Though she wasn’t sure if it was because he liked the food or because his latest growth spurt demanded he eat more.
She receives a few more pictures from the boys and after marveling at the cellphone reception Storybrooke seems to have, makes a picture of David tied to the mast his contact photo. She can only imagine the story behind it and is anxious to hear it when Killian returns home .
After lunch, she cleans the kitchen. It doesn’t take much, since Henry had helped her clean it after dinner last night. But the fridge gets a deep clean, the stove shines, and even the most stubborn of crumbs are swept from the corners.
She catches herself humming as she moves into the living room and her mind immediately flashes to the scene from the old Disney movie when Snow White is singing as she cleans the dwarf’s home and she has to sit down for a few minutes as she laughs.
Her jubilant mood lasts through her thorough clean of the living room, likely the most used room of the house. She finds Henry’s iPod in the couch cushions, so she pops the earbuds into her ears and turns on some old 80’s rock (her son has good taste, she notes). She barely remembers to switch over the latest load of laundry as she becomes so immersed in her current task.
An hour later and the living room is clean. She flops down onto the couch, the iPod falling, unnoticed, back between the cushions. Her muscles are sore and she’s in desperate need of a shower, but she feels accomplished. And lighter. Somehow, cleaning the house has lifted a weight from her shoulders. The house feels less like the abode of the Dark One and more like her, Killian’s, and Henry’s home.
Home. She likes the sound of that.
She stretches out and makes herself comfortable on the couch and slips into an easy sleep, a smile on her lips at the thought that she finally, truly, has a home.