Chapter Text
There hasn't been any snow yet this year, but Emma's pretty sure this is as cold as it's going to get. The crocuses are blooming, signs of life peeking through in an otherwise barren winter. She loves them, those pretty, hardy little purple flowers. They're as resilient as they are beautiful and there's something rare and special about that.
It's the kind of day where you can breathe in, shut your eyes and let possibility wash over you. Christmas looms just a week away and she's officially on winter break from school. It's a crisp, bright day at the playground where she has nothing but time.
For Emma, life's pretty close to perfect.
There aren't many kids playing today - most of them can't seem to bear the cold - but that's okay. It's not for everyone. She knows that. But there's something about this time of year that leaves a sense of anticipation tingling along her skin, sends a rush of excitement through her veins. The other kids can keep their iPads and cartoons. Emma would rather have this.
Her mom sits on the other side of the park, chatting with some lady holding a baby. As curious as Emma is about people, the baby is whiny and at eight years old she has no patience for that. So, she dangles from the monkey bars for a bit, looking at the world upside down and taking in the way it's all exactly the same and completely different at the same time.
It's funny what a change in perspective can offer.
She doesn't spot him at first, not until the blood rushes to her head and she has to right herself, sitting atop the monkey bars instead of hanging from them, but when she does, he strikes her as familiar and it piques her interest.
There's a nervousness about him that's obvious even to a third grader from twenty feet away. Not a single wrinkle mars his charcoal gray suit, but he keeps straightening it anyhow, like his hands need something to do and have run out of options. He winces a bit when he moves his arm, like maybe he got hurt and had forgotten about it, but then he spots her looking his way and he smiles.
That's when she recognizes him.
Hopping down from the playset, she approaches him with curiosity, leaves crunching under her boots, crisp, colorful things that swirl about the ground in eddys, scraping the pavement with whisper-like noises. It's almost like they're telling their stories, relating how they got here.
Emma likes stories. She likes piecing them together.
"Hiya," she greets.
"Hello," he says, looking around the park. "You probably shouldn't talk to strangers, you know."
"You're not a stranger," she tells him. "You're the mayor. My Aunt Christy talks about you all the time. She says you're the best. And my mom's right over there anyhow."
His eyes don't follow the direction she's pointing though. No, he's blinking at her in surprise instead, appraising her anew. It's funny, Emma thinks, how much people miss until they're looking for it.
"You're Christy's niece?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he visibly searches his memory. "Emma?"
"Uh huh," she confirms, shifting back and forth onto the balls of her feet with an excited energy. "She calls you Mayor Abs-a-lot, but that's not your real name, is it?"
His cheeks turn red as he chuckles and shakes his head, scratching at the back of his neck. Even at eight Emma realizes it's not the cold making him blush.
"It's Mayor Queen," he tells her, clearing his throat. "Or Oliver."
"Seems kinda rude to call the mayor by his first name, don't you think?" she questions, wrinkling her nose.
"I don't know," he shrugs, wincing again slightly when his arm moves. "I think it's okay, but your aunt might disagree."
"Well it's better than Mayor Abs-a-lot, 'cause that's not even your name," Emma tells him matter of factly.
He laughs at that, full-throated and obviously amused, right up until he hisses in pain and bites his lips together, putting his hand to his side.
"Are you hurt?" Emma asks in concern, stepping another foot toward him.
"I'm fine," he counters quickly, giving what must be meant to be a reassuring smile but does nothing to convince Emma. Something on her face must show she doesn't quite believe him because after a moment he amends the statement with "I'm healing."
That she believes.
"Sometimes things hurt more when they're still healing," she tells him knowingly.
"Sometimes they do," he agrees, looking at her like she's surprised him. Aunt Christy was right, she decides immediately, he is pretty great because he seems like he's listening and that's something Emma's decided a lot of adults have forgotten how to do.
"Whatcha doing here, anyhow?" Emma asks. "It's too cold out for most people."
"It is kind of chilly," he agrees. "But, I've been through worse. I'll be fine."
"You're silly, you know that?" Emma questions. "Sometimes it doesn't take much to make things a whole lot better. All you had to do was put on a coat."
He shakes his head at her again, something like bewilderment in his eyes as he looks at her, and she wonders what exactly she said.
"You're a pretty smart kid, you know that, Emma?" he asks.
"I know," she acknowledges. For some reason that makes him chuckle again, but it's true… she does know and she doesn't see a reason to deny it. "If you're cold, why don't you go back inside?"
City Hall is right across the street. It's not a very far walk. Sometimes her Aunt Christy even meets her at this park for lunch.
"You could even just go grab your coat," she suggests.
"I'm waiting for someone," he tells her. It's funny how soft his voice sounds when he says it. His hands fiddle with his tie again and he licks his lips as he looks down to a pair of coffee cups at his side.
"Would they wait for you?" Emma asks, looking from him back toward City Hall.
"I don't know," the mayor says after a moment. "I hope so, but I'm not sure anymore. I'll wait, though. I'll wait for her."
"She's late?" Emma questions, eyes shifting back to look at him.
"Yeah… she's late," he agrees, sighing as he swallows and looks up at the clear blue sky.
He's worried, Emma thinks. He's worried because she's not here yet. He thinks maybe she won't come at all.
"Don't worry," Emma says. "She's gonna show up."
"Why do you think that?" he asks, looking back at her.
It's obvious, isn't it? It is to Emma, anyhow, and she thinks maybe he should have figured this out, but apparently he needs to be told.
"'Cause you kept waiting."
She expects him to tell her that's not always true, that the world's more complicated than that sometimes, a verbal pat on the head. Emma's used to that from grown ups. Most of them, she finds, are far too caught up in the day-to-day series of chores that make up their lives to stop and listen to her, to consider possibility, to step outside into the crisp air, take a breath and hold it in.
The mayor, however, is different.
He hums quietly as a response, looking up at the sky again - not his watch, she notices; it doesn't matter how late the woman he's meeting is, he'll keep waiting. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply and waits.
A light breeze sets the leaves around her feet in a lively dance, teasing at her ankles with their paper-thin whispers of what they were like in life. They'll be gone soon. Their time's done. But that's okay. Emma likes them, but she likes the crocuses better and the hints of spring to come that they bring with them.
She runs off to the swings, intent on enjoying the afternoon and the last gasps of fall before it fades away entirely. The chains rattle as she climbs up onto the creaking seat and pumps her legs. With the breeze at her back, she swings.
After a while - she's not sure how long and she's certain the mayor isn't either - steady clicks against the pavement draw Emma's attention and she looks up to find a woman with a purple coat and a blonde ponytail hurrying toward the mayor on the bench. She's late, but the way she rushes along the sidewalk makes Emma think maybe she's trying to catch up now.
"I'm so sorry," the woman apologizes in a tumble of words as she closes in on the mayor. With the way his eyes light up in relief at the sight of her, Emma's pretty sure it's far more important to him that she showed up than that she was late. "There was a thing with the thing in that place and then Curtis called because he blew something up. Literally. Like kaboom. It's fine. He's fine. But it might have been a setback for our project and… why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's nothing," he tells her, handing her what has to be a now-cold coffee as she sits at his side. "I'm just glad you're here, Felicity… Hi."
That seems to derail her some. Whatever they're meeting about, Emma suspects the woman hadn't figured out much past the greeting and now that that's done, she's at a bit of a loss.
"...Hi," she echoes back, holding his gaze for a long silent beat before looking down at the coffee cup in her hands and blinking hard. "Thanks for waiting."
"Always," he answers, staring at her as he speaks. The single word is so heavy, so incredibly rife with meaning that it makes the woman shiver as her eyes dart up to look at him. There's hesitance there, like she's afraid to believe him, like she wants to believe him so much that it scares her.
"How'd you know I was still coming?" she asks, wariness and reservation settling over her like a second coat.
"I didn't," he answers plainly. "But I did know you were worth waiting for."
"...Oliver." She shakes her head and looks away again.
It's hard sometimes to trust a situation when you're getting everything you want. The mayor is smart, though. He doesn't push. He gives her the space and time to collect her thoughts and start anew.
"You wanted to talk," the woman says after a moment, clearing her throat and brushing some of her hair behind her ear. "So maybe we should - you know - talk."
"Okay," he agrees easily. "Where do you want to start?"
It's an open offer, a blank page, and he's letting her dictate the start of the story that follows.
"With you," the woman decides after a moment, setting her coffee aside and looking up at her companion. Their shoulders brush and there's a hesitant hopefulness about both of them that Emma's just too little to understand, but the gravity of it all sits with her anyhow.
"What do you want to know?" the mayor asks, eyes etched with vulnerability.
"Anything," the woman replies with a quiet disbelieving laugh. "Everything," she clarifies. "The secrets you kept, why you kept them. Not just with William, but before that, too. Start from the beginning."
"The beginning…" he echoes, swallowing heavily as he looks down at the bench between them.
"Yes," the woman replies softly. From her spot on the swings, Emma watches as the the blonde's fingers nervously reach for his. His eyes snap to their hands and he makes a choked noise before his eyes slam shut like he's trying to burn the image of her fingers against his behind his eyelids. "The beginning, Oliver," she tells him, her voice trembling as his hand curls around hers in an exceedingly gentle hold, like he's been given something fragile and he's terrified he's going to break it.
He nods. "In the beginning… In the beginning, I got on a boat. Let's start there."
The woman's breath catches in her throat as she looks at him in surprise. Hope lines her eyes and there's a sense of wonder there. Emma has no idea what's about to follow, but she is sure it's one heck of a story.
"Emma! Time for violin lessons. Come on," her mom shouts from the other side of the playground.
"Coming mom!" she yells back, hopping off of the swing with a solid thud. She offers a smile toward the mayor and the woman with him, but they're talking in hushed voices and neither of them notice her. They only have eyes for each other. Emma doesn't mind though, it seems like it's kind of a big moment for them, like there's a shift happening right before her.
Part of her wants to stay, to watch this story unfold, but she can't. Her mom waits, purse in hand, and music lessons beckon. So, she runs off, grabbing her violin case as she casts one last glance back at the couple on the bench.
She won't get to stick around to see how this ends. But, she thinks, at least she got to see how it starts.