bakerstreet | THE EMOTIONAL IMPORT MEME

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THE EMOTIONAL IMPORT MEME

THE EMOTIONAL IMPORT MEME

What's that traumatic event that you always try to shove away to the dark recesses of your mind? What about a horrible, embarrassing story that you can't even try to get over, because you don't want to relive it?

The more you try to run away from that memory, those feelings, the more vivid they are as they're given to others. That memory you tried to run away from? Now your mom, best friend and a few dozen strangers are living through it as if they were you, experiencing every twist of emotion--panic, sadness, anger--you did at that same moment, like it was really happening to them.

What're you going to do? Accept their reaction--empathy, pity, sorrow--or reject it, and keep running away?

1. Post with your character! Blank comments are allowed. (Alternatively, you can have one memory for everyone to reply to and stick it in your first comment; replies to that comment obviously kick off reactions.)
2. Reply to someone else--blank comments also allowed, here, if only for you to...
3. Reply to that character with an event in your character's life that impacted on them. It can be serious to fairly light-hearted, but it should be something they can't really let go of, or have trouble revisiting.
4. Play reactions and heart-to-hearts or battle scenes or whatever becomes of that out.
5. ???
6. That's all, folks!

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[ If you truly cared for your daughter you never would have left her in the first place. You were right, Jefferson. You don't abandon family.

Of all the terrible memories he possesses, that one is the worst. Knowing that as Regina steps through the mirror with her father, he'll never see Grace again. The woman he'd once held a certain affection for has betrayed him utterly, and left him with the guilt of his choice, and there's no chance to escape. All he's left with is one desperate scream, one she ignores as she vanishes from sight, and hope dies in his chest. Something fractures, something irreplaceable.

He'd trusted her. Why, why had he trusted her?

There's nothing but the awful numb creeping in, disbelief painting his face as he's dragged to the Queen's court, his mind racing. Maybe he can talk his way out of this. Maybe there's a way, maybe she'll come back for him. Maybe. Maybe.

If I tell you, will you let me go home to my daughter?

Then comes the whispered command, and over the pin-drop silence in the court he can hear it. The executioner approaches and he freezes. He can't even run, still too shocked and frightened to move, even to save himself. The swing comes, the glint of the axe as it whistles through the air and the bite of the blade...and he doesn't die. There's the indignity of it. He's alive, by her whim and her magic, and the real sentence comes down on his head. Get it to work.

The worst of it is that it gives him the slimmest glimmer of hope. It's all he has. Once he has his body back and he's shoved into that cavernous hall it's all he can think on. Maybe there's a chance that enough magic is left to create a new hat, and he sets himself to work. Shaking hands grow steadier in his focus, his desperation. One hat after another. Working until his face and hands are red, until his vision starts to fail him. Working until his hands cramp up and his fingers bleed. Over and over again, hat after hat, failure after failure, filling up the hall around him as he refuses to give up that slender thread of hope, knowing Grace is still out there waiting for him. All he has to do is get it work. Get it work. Get it to work... ]

[Emma knew she should have stopped trying to sleep tonight.

It's not until Regina says his name that she even understands what's going on. She's reliving his worst nightmare; except it's not that, it's real. It happened. Once again, she gets to experience a moment in his life without being able to change it, and this one is so much worse than the last. This time she feels every moment of agony that he went through, and she's not entirely clear on difference between the two of them as she's living it.

She forgets who she is, that she's dreaming, and then it's Cora talking to her. She's the one frightened, ashamed, just wanting it to be over and ending up with an impossible task instead. And she knows she has to try. A hat, any hat, maybe a different hat. It's possible. It's not possible. It's all she has and all she can do. All she can think about is getting back, making things right, letting her know that she didn't leave her...

Not her daughter, Jefferson's. Or is it all a lie? Is he imagined and is this her reality? It all spins around in her mind until she doesn't trust anything or anyone, just settles on the fact that a hat needs to be made. One will work, she knows how. Again, and again, and there's no breaking that cycle, no getting out, no doing anything but remembering how horribly she failed her child and how wrong she was to come back. It's enough to drive a person -]

Emma, wake up.

[It's David who she finds standing over her bed, a candle in his hand and a look of concern on his face. She scrambles up breathlessly, her hands sore from some imagined task and her heart still pounding. He offers her things and tells her he heard her scream, and she accepts the comfort of his hand on her shoulder before she sends him back to bed and gets up.

She's not going back to sleep, that's for damn sure.

It's not an easy thing to shake off, even when she's awake. She ends up taking a shower to try to calm herself, but pieces of memory catch her, and suddenly the water is so hot it burns. She adjusts to cold and then she's shivering. The mental images are bad enough, but the feelings that they stir up are even worse. Staying awake seems like a waste, it's too late to go anywhere.

And yet she does leave after she's dressed, with a note on the kitchen table for David, Mary Margaret and Henry just in case. She just needed some air, she'll be back soon. Just a drive, windows down, in her little yellow bug. It's meant as a distraction, but she ends up in his driveway without realizing that's where she was going all along.

It's the middle of the night, she's not going up. He's asleep, and so is his daughter. They're together now, that's all that matters. Everything is fine.

She sinks back against the seat with a sigh, staring at the house in front of her.

And for once, she gets it.]

Edited 2013-03-18 05:00 (UTC)

[ He still has trouble sleeping through the night. Sometimes he jerks awake, thinking all of this has been a dream. He forgets where or when he is, he forgets that Grace is here and safe, but it's just a trip down the hall and peeking in her door to remember that everything's as it should be.

Maybe he should see about those sleeping aids downstairs.

It's on his way down that he notices a light pulling up into the driveway and then shutting off. Curious, he waits to see if there's a knock on the door, a ring of the doorbell, some news coming on the fight at hand. But there's nothing. Paranoid as ever, he moves to one of the front windows to peer out...

And there's that familiar yellow bug in the driveway, the shadow of its driver visible from here. He debates for a moment before moving to turn on the porch light in silent invitation. Whatever has her up at this hour as well, it must be something important. ]

[She feels like she must have woken him up with then light comes on, and then Emma wonders if she owes him an explanation or some peace at last. Nerve is generally something that she has no shortage of, but it takes her some time to work up enough of it to get out of her car, which she eventually does. Her eyes are red from being rubbed at, and there are a few light scratches from tossing and turning, but mostly she looks drained when she finally gives in and climbs up the steps.

Reliving someone else's memories takes a lot out of you.

She doesn't even knock when she gets up to the door. Either he's there and he'll answer, or he's not and he won't. She'll go home, distract herself until morning, find something to do...because she shouldn't even be here. It's not his fault that something got stuck in her head. Hell, it's probably just some kind of leftover guilt from dealing with Cora for the past couple of days.

She hasn't seen Jefferson since it all went down. He got a text, not a call or a visit. Leaving Mary Margaret's side was out of the question. It was probably wrong of her to leave in the middle of the night, but here she is.

Her eyes run over the length of the porch and she can't help but think the place feels bigger tonight, and a lot more intimidating than it used to. But that's her mood, she's sure of it.

What she isn't sure of is why she came up and left the comfort of her car.]

[ When he's more or less certain she's just hanging out on the porch waiting for him, the door finally opens.

She looks like she's been through Hell, though the cause is anyone's guess. He looks for a minute as though he wants to ask, but first thing's first. There's a nod, a gesture inside, and the lights are mostly out save for a few downstairs, in the main living room and kitchen, where he planned on waiting for exhaustion to take hold so he could get a few hours sleep.

It's less likely with her here, perhaps, but he's not about to turn her away. She wouldn't be here this late at night looking like that if it wasn't something. ]

[Emma nods and steps inside, trying to force some type of calm as she enters and lets him close the door behind her. She doesn't say anything, not wanting to wake or frighten Grace, just follows without a word or an explanation. Her eyes go all over at first, and she's twitchy tonight, but there's still that fight in her; to pretend she's okay, to try to pull herself together, to keep him from worrying when there isn't anything to worry about.

It's all so clear in her head, that's the hard part. Sounds, smells, the feel of the fabric in her hands. He's been over it again and again, but one time and she feels like it tore at something inside of her.

How does he do it?]

[ The door closes quietly and latches behind her, and still he's said nothing. Instead he studies her intently, trying to suss out what could be wrong just from the surface, but that haunted look in her eyes has him guessing still.

Finally he reaches out, a hand set to her shoulder with a questioning look. Whatever it is, it hasn't follow her here. Whatever it could be, she has a refuge here...though how much that can possibly mean when she has a family in town, he doesn't know.

The offer is still there, to speak up or simply accept a little comfort. If she needs it enough that she'd come all this way, he can do that much for her. ]

[His gaze settles on her and she looks away at first, almost afraid to meet it. That passes as she breathes, feels the warmth of his hand on her and reminds herself that it was a dream, and it's over. It wasn't even her life, but somehow that's of little comfort. Taking on someone else's pain is no easy task, especially not something as unbearable as the burden of Jefferson's mistake.

And after all of that, he risked what he has now to pull her out of a dream when she needed him. She owes him an explanation for that alone, but also for showing up like this, and for assuming he would deal with it. He's always left to deal with her when she's having a crappy time of it, and that's not at all fair.]

I had a dream. - I was you, and you were in Wonderland with Regina, and she was wearing - she said you don't abandon family. But then she was gone, and I was being taken to the Queen of Hearts, and...I felt like it was me, like she was talking to me.

[She whispers, low enough that Jefferson might miss a word or two if he's not careful.]

I knew I had to make it work.

Edited 2013-03-18 05:51 (UTC)

[ He goes utterly still when she starts to talk. How. How could she know that? He's never told her the details of what happened, not like this. How could she just dream it all up? It's some sort of magic, it has to be, but its origin and purpose...

Well, those become less important when the reason for her appearance, the look in her eyes, finally becomes apparent. Of course. He's seen that look on his own face before, smashing mirrors just to be rid of the sight of it. She knows, somehow. Emma understands what happened and how deeply it changed him, even if she was only touched by a dream. One night. For him, it had seemed endless. ]

...you saw all of that?

[ The words come quietly, and there's a touch of something vulnerable there. That moment, the days that followed, had been him at his lowest. It's not an easy thing to share, not even with her. It's not something he'd wish on anyone.

Well. Maybe Regina. ]

[She nods, silent for lack of anything else to say. Just talking about it has those thoughts humming in her head again. Get it to work, get it to work, get it to work... It's more than one person should have ever been asked to take on, and for a moment she's just glad that Cora is dead without thinking about the cost to her family.

She steps forward, a little closer, a little more sure. This is not who she is, and it's not him now, either. Maybe he is worse for it, but he's getting on with his life. He doesn't need her showing up and reminding him of all of the pain he's been through.

But it hurts her too tonight, and he should know that.

She eases her head forward until her forehead is pressed against his, and then she closes her eyes. He's a survivor, she's always known that, even if she couldn't feel it the way she does now.

That still doesn't explain why this happened or how it was possible for her to experience one of his memories.]

[ The breath eases out of him in a steady sigh, and then he's bending his head to meet hers, fingers finding her arms and grasping her quietly. He wouldn't have wanted to share that moment with anyone were it his call. Who would want anyone seeing them so broken, in heart and in mind, and earn their pity or some equally useless sentiment? What was done was done, and Wonderland was far behind him now. He'd never have to set eyes on it or the queen ever again.

Remembering was still enough to wake him at night, decades later. ]

...not quite like it is in the books, is it.

[ It's not a question. Even the worst of their tales have some censorship to them, differences between fiction and reality. A headless hatter is nearly as marketable, perhaps. ]

No.

[None of this comes close to the tales she grew up reading, but maybe that's the point. No one is assured happiness for their suffering. Eventually she pulls back, still upset and now feeling guilty to have brought this to his door. He should be allowed to move on without her reminding him of all that went wrong before.]

I should go, I'm sorry if I -

[Felt the need to make sure that he was alright. After that it was too hard not to.]

[ His fingers tighten slightly, something in his eyes sharpening for a moment. ]

Don't. Don't you apologize.

[ No, he doesn't want her pity, it's far past the point where it's of any use to him, and she's got no reason to apologize to him. She's not the one who betrayed him, nor the one who held his life in her hands, forcing him to try and craft a way back to the Enchanted Forest. He's not even sure why she saw what she did, and he wishes like Hell she hadn't, but now that she has what can he say? What could she possibly say to make any of it better? ]

It's done. It's done and over with.

[ It almost sounds like he's convincing himself as much as her, but under all the dressing the wound is still raw, after all this time. ]

[She stiffens at the warning, and then feels the need to clarify. It's not pity that she feels, but maybe understanding? If he somehow ended up reliving the day she gave Henry away, the emotions wouldn't be that different. The scenario, of course, that would be completely unrecognizable, but some of the things she felt aren't that far off from what that dream brought out of her.]

I meant I'm sorry if I woke you up.

[Or should have stayed away. He would have been better off if she had stayed in her car, or at her house, or done anything other than come in to open up old wounds. That wasn't right. She should have known better than to show up here when she was feeling like this. Why spread the drama around?

If she had thought of it sooner, she might have left him alone.]

It's late, I shouldn't have stopped by.

But you did. Which meant it was important enough to anyway, which means you don't apologize for it.

[ He finally releases his hold on her, swiping a hand through his hair distractedly before turning away, eyes falling to one of the paintings that line the darkened hall. It's a garden, full of red roses. He hates that painting. Keeps meaning to pull it down, but maybe it's habit by now to keep these little reminders of how badly he screwed up around. ]

I was awake anyway.

[She follows his line of vision to see what he's looking at, a painting of a garden that she isn't too fond of herself. A lot of the things in this house seem like items Regina put out just to torment him; as if the things she'd done before weren't enough.

Henry has made it clear what he thinks of good and evil but Emma can't help but wonder how far they're supposed to go to make sure everyone makes it out alive. Sometimes it's not possible.]

Are you alright?

[ He backs up a few steps, looking deliberately cagey. Finally he turns on his heel and heads back towards the kitchen, at a slow enough pace for her to follow. ]

I was going to put on some tea, to try and sleep.

[ If that doesn't answer her question, what would? She's dealt with those memories for a night, and they still haunt him, even now. He's not okay, and it's only a matter of deciding how 'not okay' he's allowed to be before it starts affecting things on a larger scale. Affecting Grace, which had nearly been the case until Emma talked sense into him. No small feat, that. ]

Does that work?

[Drugs she might buy into, but tea? It seems like he'd need something stronger than that with all he's been through. She follows though, staying a few steps behind in case he decides he wants some space. Emma thinks about Grace upstairs and figures he probably checks on her a lot, maybe has to talk himself out of it sometimes. If it was her and Henry, she'd never let him out of her sight.

It explains a lot.]

I'm not sorry that I saw what I did, Jefferson.

This blend does.

[ Of course she knows by now he's got quite a few mixtures that are less than legitimate, including the one that knocked her out on her first visit. It looks like he's already set the pot to boil and he stands there at the stove, facing it instead of her, worrying the corner of his lip with his teeth. ]

...it doesn't change anything.

I know.

[He's been through what he's been through. She can't undo it, and given the opportunity she failed to tell him what he needed to know to get out of it. If she could take that pain away she would, but it's not possible.

There's this, though. She doesn't take her eyes off of him while she leans back against the counter, staying far away from the place where he once held her down as a vampire.]

[ Fingers curling at his sides, he draws up his arms to fold across his chest, feeling suddenly a little defensive. He isn't sure why. Emma's certainly had her opportunities to use what she knows to hurt him and he knows good and well that she never would, never purposefully try to hurt him. She isn't Regina.

It's still instinct to want to try and protect himself and his family, and anything that comes close to threatening that sets him on edge. The blunt edge of his teeth threatens to break skin before he gives it up at last, glancing her way. ]

Do you?

Do I know that this doesn't change anything? Yes. Do I know what you've been through? No, but I think that's as close as anyone's going to get.

[She studies him, even if her words are chosen a little less than carefully. There's no filter around him at this point, she says what she thinks of and hopefully it doesn't come out in a way that completely alienates him. If it does, Jefferson knows her well enough to at least understand that she's not doing it on purpose. She doesn't want to hurt him, even if she does by accident.]

For over a year, that room was my personal Hell. Because I trusted the wrong person. When I thought you were leaving us to our fate here, I thought...

[ But he cuts himself off, swallowing hard and steeling against whatever emotions threaten to boil to the surface. They're there, just behind the eyes, barely repressed. ]

But I'm choosing to trust you, now. I've seen you question the way I feel about you before, so I want you to understand exactly what that means.

You thought you did it again.

[Trusted the wrong person. Although it wasn't exactly trust then. He didn't have a choice but to believe that she was capable of breaking the curse. Even now, he doesn't have much of a choice. She came to the truth on her own and brought it to him. There's no forgetting now, no matter how much he might want her to.

She pushes off of the counter to stand a little closer. He's not great at hiding the fact that this is hard for him, but she didn't expect him to be. It's the middle of the night, this caught them both off guard.]

I can't promise I'll never let you down, you know that. This makes it a lot harder to take you for granted.

[And she has done that, hasn't she?]

I don't need promises.

[ There's a strain to his voice he can't quite hide, his steps carrying him closer to her, swallowing up the distance between an inch at a time. ]

I am sick to death of promises. Promises can be broken, even when you try your damnedest not to. I want to know why it's you, why it's always you. Ever since the first day I saw you, it's always been you.

[ Not her first meeting, but his. And he carried that memory to Storybrooke, finding her. And ever since their stories have run parallel, like a hidden chapter hidden between the lines. His arms drop at last as he comes close enough to touch, those blue eyes fixed on her. ]

It means something, it has to, but I don't know what.

Edited 2013-03-19 01:54 (UTC)

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