#but it gave me a chance to make fun of hallmark tropes while also fully indulging my every saccharine impulse

[fictionadventurer]

Christmastime Again: A Hallmark Sci Fi Presentation

When the room stopped spinning, Lacey found herself on Christmas morning again. The guests had all arrived, the tree was standing and a light snow was just starting to fall out the window. The start of a picture-perfect Christmas.

As long as she kept it that way.

Alright, from the top.

By now, she could navigate the first part of the day by muscle memory. Scoop up the cat and lock her in the carrier in the laundry room. Straighten the rug and move Uncle Wendell’s beer stein away from the edge of the counter. Turn down the Christmas music just in time to hear the timer buzz and bring the turkey out of the oven at the peak of golden-brown perfection. Stash the cookies out of toddler-reach and get every child at the craft table a red crayon before the hair-pulling started.

Since she could navigate these hours without thinking, her brain was alert to the rest of her surroundings, watching for any unexpected ripples that could upset this version of the Christmas timeline. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the stares of the guy in the sweater. She’d heard his name--Julian, some cousin of her sister-in-law who had nowhere else to go--but it was hard to remember it when her senses were distracted by the ugly sweater.  It wasn’t cute ugly or ironically ugly; it was “I was raised by color-blind trolls” ugly. All beige and orange and yellow, displaying a big fuzzy reindeer with lopsided button eyes and trimmed with bits of bright green tinsel. If she could have made the loop go further back, Lacey might have tried to prevent him from wearing it. But she could only control the things that took place in this house today, so the sweater stayed, assaulting her eyeballs at every turn.

Not that the guy himself was hard on the eyes. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw shadowed by neatly-trimmed stubble, he had a boy-next-door appeal--if the boy next door happened to be working as a model for the world’s worst sweater company. In the opinion of Lacey’s sister-in-law, Julian was only single because he was married to his work in some university department, but Lacey doubted that was the reason. If he stared at all women the way he was staring at her, the women had good reason to keep their distance.

Dinner was served and eaten with no mishaps. Cleanup was a breeze. Presents were handed out and unwrapped without disaster. And she still, in quiet moments, caught Julian studying her with unusual intensity. What was up with him? He hadn’t done this on previous loops--or maybe she’d just been too distracted to notice it. If he didn’t stop it soon, she’d miss a cue, tumble into disaster, and have to live this day all over again.

While the rest of the family wandered into the dining room for refreshments, Lacey stayed near the tree, picking up the last bits of wrapping paper and defending the tree from the handful of kids playing with their new toys. She moved on reflex, deflecting a rubber ball, a foam dart, a runaway remote-control car. One, two, three, like a dance, and then on beat four, in perfect time, she pivoted on one foot to catch a ball of crumpled wrapping paper.

And found herself nose-to-nose with Julian, his hand around her outstretched wrist.

Those blue eyes stared into hers. “You’ve lived this day before.”

It wasn’t a question or a joke. It was a statement of fact.

Lacey met that gaze straight-on. “What did you say you teach at the university?”

“Temporal mechanics.”

“Ah.” Lacey dropped the wrapping paper.

He let go of her wrist. “I don’t have much practical experience, but when I see my hostess unexpectedly developing superhuman reflexes and responding to statements before they’re spoken, I start to think that either she’s the world’s most boring psychic, or she’s making use of that pretty little bangle on her arm that looks alarmingly like an antique temporal elastic.”

Lacey tugged her sweater sleeve over the twisted copper casing and red control stones of her overworked time travel device. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

“How many times have you done this loop?”

Lacey pushed up her sleeve and counted the tally marks on her arm. “52.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s almost two months of Christmas Day.”

Lacey’s shoulders fell. “I am sick to death of turkey.”

A silence fell between them that was louder than the chatter from the dining room. Finally, he straightened the sleeve of the Ugly Sweater and said, “Putting aside your obvious mental instability and the frankly fascinating paradox storm that must be swirling around us at the moment--remind me to bring some instruments here within the next twenty-four hours--I have to ask: Why?”

She looked at a fragment of ribbon on the carpet and rasped, “I have to get it right.”

The crowd started trickling back in, pooling around the couches while holding plates of goodies and glasses of wine.

As the noise rose, Julian gave her a significant glance “I think we should talk about this somewhere quieter.”

She stepped back, brushing the tree. “I don’t need to go anywhere with you.”

“I think you do. You’ve got two months of memories to work through. You can’t keep that to yourself. You’ll go crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had already learned why the Guild recommended against these sorts of changes--holding onto these alternate timelines was exhausting. She could do with a debrief.

But she had no time for a break. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m hostess.”

“They can look after themselves for half an hour.” Julian opened the door to the hall and waved her through. “And if not?” He shrugged. “What’s one more loop?”

#

It was an odd kind of Christmas weather--cold enough to send fluffy flakes scattering, but warm enough that they needed only earmuffs and scarves and didn’t even bother zipping up their light jackets. She lounged with Julian on the wood steps of the back porch, watching the flakes fall while they sipped at mulled wine.

Julian threw back his head and laughed as Lacey finished telling him about one of the earliest of her failed Christmases. “The whole tree?” he gasped. “The cat just--” He held one arm upright and used the other to mime a cat clamping onto the tree and sending it toppling. “Why did you redo that one? No one would have forgotten that Christmas.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

He sobered. “The cat didn’t get hurt, did it?”

“No, Fluffy was fine.”

“Anyone else injured?”

“No. “

“Property damage? Lost family heirlooms?”

“No. It was a gentle fall, and the only family ornaments on that tree were the pom-pom panda bears. They're resilient.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem?” Only a guy who wore reindeer sweaters would need this concept explained. “The problem is that no one wants the Christmas party interrupted by a toppling tree. It’s a nightmare. Chaos.”

“But memorable.”

“No one wants those types of memories.”

“Those are the only ones people actually remember. If Christmas goes smoothly, everyone forgets it in a month or two. But ‘the year Lacey’s cat took down the tree’? They’d go back to that story for years.”

“How does that make it better? I don’t want them constantly rehashing my failures as a hostess.”

“How is that failing? You provided good food, a comfortable home, a lovely tree. That’s not changed by a few mishaps.”

“This was more than a few mishaps.”

“Only because you’ve done it fifty-two times.” He leaned back against the wall of the house and lifted the steaming mug closer to his face. “What gave you this idea that Christmas has to be perfect?”

She twisted the time travel bangle on her wrist. “My mom...she died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed a lump. “She always hosted these perfect Christmas parties. She’d plan them for months and everything just ran like clockwork.”

His eyebrows rose. He pointed toward the bangle. “Did she...?”

Lacey pushed it beneath her sleeve. “No, never. We never knew it existed until we were going through my grandma’s things a few years ago.”

He relaxed. “That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to get this place declared a temporal wasteland.”

Lacey chuckled. “Even if she’d had it, she wouldn’t have needed it. Her parties were works of art. Beautiful decorations, perfect food, everyone laughing and singing carols by the end of the night. When I asked her why she did it, she told me, ‘Lacey, these people are giving you their Christmas. It’s your job to give them the best Christmas you can.’” She sipped at her mug to swallow back tears. “When she died, that job fell to me. And when everything went wrong, I had to fix it.”

“Fifty-two times.”

She shrugged. “As many times as it took.”

“I doubt she’d have said your duties extended that far.”

“You’re probably right. But once I went in quest of the perfect Christmas, I couldn’t settle for anything less. It would have felt like dishonoring her memory.”

“It wouldn’t have been. I’m sure her Christmases had plenty of flaws.”

“Not as many as mine.”

Julian ran a finger along the edge of his mug. “You have this idea that everyone wants a Christmas of picture-perfect trees and crackling fires and cozy rooms without a speck of dust out of place. But if they wanted that, they could stay at home and look at pictures on the streambox. They come here because they want your Christmas. Burnt turkeys and cat-toppled trees and all. They want you experiencing it with them. Not fifty-two alternate versions of them.”

She fingered the fringe on the edge of her scarf. “I suppose not. But what’s wrong with trying for the perfect Christmas?”  

“Lacey, there’s no such thing as the perfect Christmas. There’s never been one at any time, anywhere in the world.” He bunched up snow in one hand and tossed it into the darkness. “Even the first Christmas wasn’t perfect. Do you think Mary planned to let her child sleep in a feeding trough? Do you think Joseph planned to let strange shepherds gawk at his son? It was one long exercise in embracing the unexpected, and it created one of the most memorable stories in human history. Do you think your mother would call that a failure?”

This had gotten more abstract than Lacey had expected. A little dazed, she said, “No. No, of course not.”

“You want to control every little detail, but no one can do that.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “You don’t get the perfect Christmas by crafting it. You get it by appreciating the one you’re given.”

She knit her fingers into his. “A gift,” Lacey said.

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

#

They stepped into the laundry room together, brushing the snowflakes out of their hair.

Julian held up his mug, which held one last swallow of wine. “To Christmas,” he said.

Lacey clinked her mug against his. “Whatever we’re given.”

Throwing back their heads, they drained the dregs, then set the empty mugs on the window ledge.

Then hand in hand, they crouched down and let Fluffy out of her cage.

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (1/?)

Title: Wednesday's Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you're current, we're good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just borrowing them but I'll put them back when I'm finished! Author's Note: I know, I know, this trope has been done a million and one times but it's always fun, yes? I'm already having a boatload of fun with this idea, so hopefully you will, too! Even though it may not seem like it at first blush, there will be plenty of Charming Family interaction in this piece. Feedback is a writer's ice cream sundae! Enjoy. :)

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At ff.net and below.

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"Maybe this was a dumb idea."

A mildly exasperated Regina Mills gave a slight roll of her eyes. Similar statements had fallen from Emma Swan's lips a few times during the course of the morning, which was both vaguely frustrating and somewhat concerning.

Emma wasn't usually so indecisive. On the other hand, she'd never before set her sights on accomplishing something so magically ambitious. A little uncertainty was to be expected in this case, Regina supposed.

A lesson Regina had learned throughout the morning was that if she didn't quell Emma's doubts quickly, she would have a cranky sheriff on her hands. And she did not want a cranky sheriff on her hands because a cranky sheriff would just as quickly lead to a cranky queen. "It's not a dumb idea," she assured Emma somewhat offhandedly. Her own attention was focused on rummaging through the trunk in her vault in an effort to find something – anything – that would help them. "Challenging, yes. A bit too sentimental, probably, but not dumb."

Emma shot her head up from the book she'd been paging through, her eyes wide in concern. "You think it's too sentimental?"

From his position next to his wife, Killian Jones shot Regina a warning glare. Her eye-roll reflex on overdrive, Regina huffed, "Well, of course I think it's too sentimental but the gift isn't for me, is it? It's for your parents, who should own stock in Hallmark if they don't already. Sentimental is basically your mother's middle name. They're going to adore it."

Emma's shoulders slumped in relief as a tiny smile tugged at her lips. She dropped her gaze back down to the book, content for the moment to continue her search. Killian gave Regina a silent nod, indicating his gratitude for the way she'd soothed his wife's ruffled feathers.

Regina nodded back. She was, after all, the one who'd ruffled them in the first place.

She hadn't just been placating Emma, though. What she'd said was the gods' honest truth. Emma's plan was indeed overly sentimental – so overly sentimental that Regina was surprised Emma had even come up with it – but her parents would indeed love it with all their hearts.

Heaving another sigh, Regina went back to rummaging in the trunk. She felt like they'd been in this damn vault for hours. A glance at her watch proved that they had.

She hadn't anticipated giving up her day to help Emma create the perfect anniversary gift for her parents. The savior had a very specific idea of what she wanted to do but so far, it didn't look like it could be done.

Still, Regina wasn't one to back down from a challenge. And somewhat selfishly, a little voice deep inside her wondered if maybe helping Emma with this project would help to make up in some small part for the grief she herself had caused Snow and Charming all those years ago.

Emma's project had seemed simple enough at the outset: she wanted to create a home movie. She'd thought of it after spotting her mother surreptitiously recording her blowing soap bubbles for little Neal in the backyard and his subsequent delight at watching them float around above his head. Where the project became difficult was that she wanted to give her parents a home movie of her own childhood. Minus the video she'd recorded as a teenager with Lily, none existed.

So she'd asked Regina if there was a way to record some of her good childhood memories and have them appear on physical media, which she could then give to her parents. She even had a short list of memories she wanted captured. There was her third grade class play in which she'd starred at Mother Goose. There was a group home outing to an amusement park when she was eleven. She wanted her parents to witness the meteor shower she'd watched with her foster brother at age six and delight in her winning her fourth grade class spelling bee. A seventh grade field trip to the Museum of Science in Boston rounded out the list.

There were other memories, too, Regina imagined. There were bound to be nice times Emma had lost sight of, good moments that had gotten lost in the upheaval of her life. The trick to it all was somehow extracting those memories from Emma's head, changing the perspective so Snow and Charming could watch their little girl as she experiences those happy moments, and copying them to a medium that her parents could view.

Not exactly an easy feat.

"And you're sure you can make it so that it only takes the good ones?" Emma spoke up, her tone once again unsure.

Yet another concern of Emma's was somehow tarnishing the entire project by accidentally extracting some bad memories along with the good ones. It seemed a tall order, picking and choosing like that, but the cherry-picking had turned out to be the easiest part of the project so far. "Yes," Regina assured her. "The clove in the potion will guarantee only good memories will be taken. Relax, Emma."

"It'll all work out, love," Killian assured her. He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

Regina never thought she would say this but she was glad for the pirate's presence. He had a calming effect on Emma, for one, and surprisingly, he'd also given Regina the direction for beginning this project. When Emma had explained what she wanted to do, the pirate had noted that Emma had used dreamcatchers to watch others' memories on more than one occasion.

He'd seemed somewhat hesitant to even bring it up. Regina could understand why – Emma's history with dreamcatchers wasn't exactly sunshine and puppies – but she was glad he'd silenced his reluctance because the dreamcatchers were the key. All she had to do was modify the magic used to make them so that Emma's memories would remain intact once they were lifted and so that the memories could be recorded on something Snow and Charming wouldn't need magic to activate.

Emma had, of course, brought both a blank VHS tape and a recordable DVD. If memories could be recorded onto dreamcatchers, she reasoned, then surely they could be recorded onto something a bit more modern. Regina wasn't sure that her logic fully tracked but she was willing to give it a shot.

Sometime while Regina was ruminating on the magical problem in front of her, Emma had given in to her nervous energy. The book she'd been searching through lay open and abandoned as she paced the length of the vault. Killian kept a concerned eye on her but let her continue.

Which was all well and good for Killian but her constant motion was beginning to set Regina's teeth on edge. Emma Swan clearly needed something to do that wasn't paging through a book on the off chance she would stumble across something helpful.

"Emma, you and Killian can get started on the potion for the memory extraction." Regina winced at the sharpness of her tone as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She hadn't meant to sound so annoyed.

The pirate shot another warning glare in Regina's direction. Emma either didn't pick up on the mounting frustration – Regina with Emma and Killian with Regina – or didn't care. She was just grateful to be given something to do. "Sure. Just tell me what the substitutions are."

Since she'd worked the memory extraction magic before, she was clearly comfortable enough with her assigned task. Regina filled her in on the changes to the spell. While Emma and Killian got to work, Regina continued poring over her books, trying to find any mention of recording memories onto something other than a dreamcatcher.

After searching for a few more fruitless minutes, Regina slammed the book shut. This wasn't helpful. She was never going to find what she was really looking for. After all, it wasn't as if VCRs existed in the Enchanted Forest. No, her only solution was once again modifying the dreamcatcher magic.

As she ran her eyes over her magical items in an effort to determine what substitutions would have to be made, she heard Emma ask Killian to retrieve the clove for her. The pirate crossed the vault, picked up a bottle, and returned to his wife.

It struck Regina a moment later that he'd grabbed a blue bottle.

She kept her clove in a brown bottle.

Oh no.

The next few seconds seemed to happen both in slow motion and too quickly for Regina to do anything to stop the impending disaster. "No, wait, not that one!" Regina cried but it was too late.

Killian had already handed the blue bottle to Emma, who was now uncorking it and turning it upside down over the beaker. The second a root from the blue bottle made contact with Emma's potion, the flashover occurred. Regina ducked behind the trunk as the potion exploded in a flash of bright light and a billow of white smoke. Her only hope was that Emma and Killian had heard her warning in time to duck as well.

Somehow she didn't really think so.

Regina waited for the smoke to clear before almost hesitantly pushing herself to her feet. Adding the wrong ingredient to a potion could result in a range of outcomes, from the mild to the highly undesirable. She didn't get a good enough look at what Killian had grabbed instead of the clove, which meant she had no idea what to expect when she stood to face the savior and her pirate.

And though she'd had no idea what to expect, she had certainly never expected the sight before her. Her jaw dropped open in shock and she blinked to make sure she was seeing clearly.

No doubt about it; two small children were now standing where Emma and Killian had stood.

Regina found herself staring at a boy and girl, both appearing to be about ten years old. The girl's hair fell around her shoulders in blonde waves as apprehension and confusion clouded her green eyes. The dark-haired little boy darted his curious blue gaze around the vault, his shoulders tensing when he realized he didn't recognize his surroundings.

Oh no. No, this couldn't be happening. This couldn't really be happening.

The second the girl's gaze landed on Regina, she stiffened, took two steps backward, and set her shoulders. "Where am I and who the hell are you?"

Her voice seemed to draw the boy out of his shock. "Where are we? Where's Liam? Have you done something with him?"

Then again, maybe it could.

Wonderful, Regina thought in irritation. (And yes, perhaps a little panic, too.) Just wonderful.

The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now Regina was stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Neither one of them seemed to have any recollection of their adult lives, which meant they had no idea who Regina was.

Or Henry.

Or anyone else in Storybrooke.

All right, she told herself, think. She didn't know what steps in the magical process Emma had taken, so she wasn't exactly sure how the memory extraction potion had turned into … well, this. It wasn't as if Regina could just ask her, either, because she was now a ten-year-old who clearly had no memory of what she'd been doing two minutes ago. From what little Regina knew of Emma's childhood, at this age, she wouldn't believe in magic and fairy tales anyway. And she couldn't simply reverse the magic if she didn't know what had been done in the first place and … gods, this was a nightmare.

Regina looked from little Emma, whose green eyes flashed in defiance as she crossed her arms over her chest, to little Killian, who just looked panicked. How was she going to explain this to these children?

Hell, never mind the children. How was she going to explain this to Snow and Charming?

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Chapter Two