Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to the show Once Upon A Time. Everything belongs to ABC.

A/N: Hello, readers. This is just a spontaneous one-shot I came up with a day or so ago and decided to write. I guess you can say it's my way of celebrating the fact that Once returns for its third season tomorrow. Also, I had it in my head for a long time that Emma really, really could use a good meltdown after everything she's been through. So, I hope you enjoy the one-shot.

That Which Is Lost

Emma shivered for the third time in the span of a minute and tugged the folds of her jacket tighter over her chest to block the incoming gusts of Neverland's winds. If she knew the weather was going to be this low during the long nights, she might have brought a heavier jacket before bounding off on a rescue mission for her lost son.

The black waters below the ship's rail matched the vast emptiness above. It was akin to sailing through a midnight sky or an endless tunnel constructed of overwhelming black felt: there was no illumination of stars or moon to guide their way and the lanterns hanging from hooks on every side of the ship were in danger of being snuffed out, the charred wicks bent like thin bodies in mourning.

Appropriate, considering the tumult of emotions she currently waded through. It was the same as sinking in quicksand; if she struggled, the emotions would suck her down and suffocate her. The end.

She tilted her head to the black sky, deeply inhaling the salty air and swaying as the ship rocked back and forth. She made an earnest attempt to sift through her tangled thoughts. Was Henry shivering somewhere out there? Was he alone or was he with Tamara and Greg? Would he hold onto hope that she would come?

Then one of the questions she was most hesitant to ask: was Neal dead, his body lifeless and washed up on the shore of some unknown world? Everything happened so fast...the flashes of emerald haunted Emma's memory...Tamara shot him once...maybe, just maybe...

"Bella notte," a seductive voice unexpectedly shattered the silence from somewhere close behind her. At such close proximity, she should have realized someone was standing there; how had he slipped under her radar? Emma gasped aloud and jumped at least a mile in the air. She whirled around, her hand habitually flying to her gun on her hip.

It was only Rumpelstiltskin.

Dressed elegantly in his charcoal suit, he blended all too well in the shadows, reminding her that he was first and foremost a creature of darkness. It took Emma a moment to spot him standing there before he glided to her side against the unsteady rail. He didn't bother to apologize for scaring her half to death, which made her anger flare.

Why did he insist on sneaking up on those unsuspecting? Did he find some sick amusement out of doling out heart attacks faster than McDonald's?

On the subject of McDonald's, she craved a greasy Big Mac and a large portion of even greasier fries slathered in ketchup. If she had to eat chimera again...

"What the hell?" Emma huffed through her nose, struggling to calm her racing heart. She was certain Rumpelstiltskin could hear its rhythm, since he was adept at everything else in life.

His wise brown eyes seemed to laugh at her through the darkness. Only the lines webbing across his skin from his eyelids suggested how tired he was, physically and emotionally.

"Someone requires a bit of brushing up on their Disney knowledge," he remarked, his Scottish accent tinged with mockery. Emma forced her expression to remain hard, unwilling to admit she did not understand his meaning. That would be stroking his ego. At least she was more fluent in Rumpelstiltskin's language than Regina's. "Bella notte. Italian for beautiful night."

His weathered hand gestured to the silhouettes enveloping this unfamiliar land. Emma jolted, swearing she saw a bubble rise to the surface of the water. Hook warned that there were all sorts of deadly creatures lurking beneath the glassy surface, namely mermaids. Not the singing, hair-twirling ones like in The Little Mermaid, either.

Hook nearly had an aneurysm from laughing when he heard that one.

Emma became aware of Gold's searing gaze on her body. It was like a laser beam trailing its way up and down; she sensed every spot it landed. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that a picture would last longer, but the last time she said that was when she was a kid bouncing between foster homes. She refused to be seen as childish by someone like him.

"Did you have something else to say with that fortune cookie tongue of yours or are you just going to stand there leering?" Emma snapped, transmitting the message: go away. Rumpelstiltskin did not take offense from her whiplash. Instead, he chuckled shortly, as if she told a mildly humorous joke.

She wondered if her parents told the truth when they claimed Rumpelstiltskin giggled like someone who inhales helium for kicks. It might be enough to scare the mermaids away...and everyone on this ship.

"I'm sorry. I must have missed the sign that said Now Entering Emma's Half of the Ship: All Intruders Beware of Loaded Gun," he quipped dryly. Emma curled her hand into a fist by her side, especially when his eyes lingered doubtfully on her weapon of choice. "To slake your curiosity, sleep eluded me. Your parents are snuggling in one bed and won't stop talking cute to one another, Regina is shooting off fireworks with her magic, and that pitiful excuse of a pirate is drunk off his arse and singing off-key. I've never missed my bed more than I do tonight."

"I hear you," Emma agreed, rubbing the knot out of her neck. The two exchanged wary looks as they realized there was something they both had in common. They averted their eyes, taking great interest in the deck that was in desperate need of washing.

If ever there was a vote, it would be Regina on her knees with a toothbrush.

Another icy wind blew up from the water and Emma shivered violently despite her vow never to show weakness in front of someone like Rumpelstiltskin. She didn't know if it was produced by magic, but suddenly he stepped forward and draped a woolen blanket over her shoulders. His fingers brushed her neck briefly, soothingly warm against the biting chill. Even so, Emma jerked away as if she'd been zapped, forcing him to return to his previous distance. He wore a bemused pout, resembling a dog that had just been kicked for no good reason. Her parents did enough of that.

"Thank you," she grudgingly obliged, taking comfort in the extra layer. Rumpelstiltskin's lips curled in something shy of a smile.

"Anything for our blessed savior." She couldn't tell if he was ridiculing her or not. Everything Rumpelstiltskin said had a flipside if one looked hard enough. It made her head dizzy every time she talked to him. "Something on your mind, dearie?"

Emma snorted, turning her back on his probing question. That was an understatement. Where should she start? There was the terrifying truth that her only son was missing in a world she didn't understand, Neal might be dead, and Storybrooke was on the verge of being reduced to nothing.

But Emma already knew she was not going to say any of that. She wasn't keen on letting Rumpelstiltskin peer into her heart any more than necessary. Once that man sunk his teeth in, he would only crave more. And with his honeyed charm, tempting as a Venus fly trap, it was hard to imagine that she would refuse.

She stiffened under the blanket, muscles growing rigid, nerves strung tight as piano wire. She crossed her arms over her chest, protecting herself from those wandering eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted flatly. Rumpelstiltskin made a condescending noise in the back of his throat, something between a grunt and a snicker. Emma rounded on him immediately, green eyes glittering with contempt. "What?"

Rumpelstiltskin held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Nothing, nothing...except...it appears you've reconstructed that wall you've strived so hard to dismantle. Reverting, are we, Em-ma?" Why did he say her name that way? It was always alluring and disturbing at the same time. Her response was to glower.

"I'm not-" He cut off her defense with a low tsk-tsk, his tongue clucking and his finger wagging reprovingly.

"De-ni-al," he sang, "is not just a river in Egypt." Emma scowled. So the man wanted the whole, gritty truth? If he insisted...

"Fine," she barked, flinging the woolen blanket at his fancy Italian shine-shoed feet. She didn't need the blanket's insulation now that her blood was boiling at the temperature of lava. "You want the ugly truth about how I feel right now? I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm cold, I almost died in an apocalypse in Storybrooke, I fought my ex's fiancee, I watched him fall through a portal after getting shot by the same fiancee, which means he's probably dead, my son was taken from me by his fiancee and some deranged guy with a vendetta against all things magic, Hook won't quit hitting on me, and now I'm standing on a ship that's floating somewhere in Neverland! With all that in mind, I'm this close," she pinched her fingers together, so slim they were almost touching, "this close to punching someone in the face, namely that smug, smarmy, rum-smelling pirate who continues to have an affair with the floor. Satisfied?"

Emma gulped down several deep breaths of the salty uncontaminated air, her cheeks red and her chest heaving from her emotional eruption. Rumpelstiltskin allowed a minute or two to pass before speaking.

"Feel better?" Emma paused to consider it.

"Yes," she admitted. In fact, she felt better than she had in days! It felt like a giant boulder had lifted from her shoulders. "You should try it sometime." He smirked.

"If I vented that way, you and I would be standing here for a very, very, very long time." He waved his hand over the abandoned woolen blanket at his feet, whisking it away to only-Rumpelstiltskin-knew-where. The next time his head rose, he was frowning thoughtfully. "You know how people generally say I know how you feel, but they truthfully haven't the slightest idea? I know how you feel, Emma."

For the first time, Rumpelstiltskin did not resemble the all-powerful, ethereal being that could outlive them all. For once, he looked his age, centuries of grief and loneliness warring for control over his face. Emma felt a small pang of sympathy for him as she leaned her elbows on the rail. After all, the man became corrupted with power, lost his son twice in the same manner, and said farewell to his true love for the umpteenth time with no promise of seeing her again.

"How do you cope with it?" He tilted his head questioningly, not quite catching her drift. "With having your heart torn out of your chest time and again and having someone virtually do the Macarena on it?"

Rumpelstiltskin visibly grew grim, his expression darkening.

"Many people-naive people, mind you-will tell you it gets easier. What you do, dearie, is shove that mutilated heart back in your chest and keep telling yourself that the bleeding will stop someday. It must stop. You take solace in the memories you have and mourn those you will never create. You drag one foot in front of the other until it no longer feels you're toting around several pillars of stone, and you tell youerself that it was good while it lasted, that it's not the end of the world as you know it. One day, you may even believe it."

Emma gawked speechlessly. There was no way Rumpelstiltskin wasn't speaking from experience. It made her feel pity for him all over again.

"In other words, you hide and run away from the pain?" He shook his head.

"No. You don't run. You survive."

He paused to let his words sink in. It left her bones filled with cold and numbness. She respected Rumpelstiltskin for not regenerating false phrases such as everything will be okay and look on the bright side. Memories of her time with Neal and Henry flashed in front of her eyes.

"I miss him," she moaned, unable to decipher which one she was talking about. It was impossible to fixate on only one of them, since both their faces haunted her mind. "I love him," she whispered, hanging her head.

Angry tears blurred her vision. A splitting headache plagued her temples, driving her mad with its incessant throbbing, and her shoulders convulsed as she struggled to hold back the sobs building in her throat. She hadn't been given the chance to cry before, but now there was no stopping the flood.

Apparently, Rumpelstiltskin was not socially inclined to deal with sobbing women. He awkwardly patted her on the back and offered her a silk black handkerchief from inside his suit to dry her eyes. She dabbed the moisture away and blew her nose into it. She tried to hand it back, but he insisted she keep it. It was probably the only thing she'd ever get from him for free. The handkerchief must have been expensive, even branded in gold thread with his initials: RG. She wondered what the R stood for-Rumpelstiltskin, maybe?-but she was too preoccupied with her emotions to ask.

After she had finished crying, the two of them stared at the inky rippling waters below, hardly saying a word. Every once in a while, Emma would sniffle and the ship would creak, but there was nothing but silence besides. Finally, Rumpelstiltskin drew in a breath.

"I may have lost my son, but it would be tragic for you to lose both your love and your son. I am here aboard this ship because I intend to do everything in my power to rescue Henry. Perhaps I can even offer you a lesson or two in the ways of magic, allow you to upgrade from that ruddy piece of metal on your hip."

Emma's hand flew to her gun.

"What's wrong with my gun?" Rumpelstiltskin cocked an eyebrow dubiously.

"Tell me, how well do guns fare against Ogres?" Emma cringed at the memory of shooting off her gun and nearly becoming Ogre-food. If it hadn't been for her mother's amazing archery skills, she wouldn't even be alive and Henry would be motherless.

And here she was, in an unfamiliar world again.

So Snow decided to tell Rumpelstiltskin about their fairytale adventure, did she?

"There are no Ogres in Neverland," Emma retorted matter-of-factly. She already inquired about that threat when setting off on their journey. She smiled proudly at Rumpelstiltskin, waiting for his clever retaliation of wordplay.

"No," he admitted, which resulted in Emma's widening smile that screamed I told you so. "The beings in this land are far worse." Emma's smile faltered. Oh.

She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should take Rumpelstiltskin up on that offer of magic lessons. Now that she accepted the fact that she had magic, it would benefit everyone on the ship if she learned to control it, harness it. No need to burn down the ship accidentally.

He must have sensed her internal debate. He gave a small bow and his hand flourished gracefully. A purple fog enveloped his hand and suddenly there was a fresh white rose tucked between his fingers. He inhaled its sweet fragrance and then offered it to her. Emma hesitated in taking it.

"What's this for?" Surely Rumpelstiltskin wasn't seeking comfort out of heartache and the idea that he would never see Belle again?

"Proof that not all magic is black at heart," he drawled, tipping the petals so that they brushed softly over her hand.

She humored him enough to take the rose, praying that no one asked where it came from in the morning. Then again, maybe it would get Hook's slimy flirtations off her back. Or else it would just ignite them all the more to know his rival was vying for attention.

"Ask me in the morning," she murmured, stalking past him with the rose twirling between her fingers.

If anything, having Rumpelstiltskin teach her magic would be better than having Regina do it. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Regina would get frustrated if Emma did it wrong, Emma would get frustrated, they'd start screaming at each other, and the next thing you knew, they'd be floating on doors like Rose in Titanic.

She glanced back over her shoulder to see Rumpelstiltskin remaining at the rail of the ship, solemnly staring out into the distance. They were two grieving souls in the same boat, ironically.

"Goodnight, Rumpelstiltskin," she called out to him, rasing the rose in salute.

He met her eyes through the darkness and she thought she saw a hint of a smile. It couldn't have been a trick of the light, considering there wasn't any. Maybe it was a trick of the shadows, instead. She turned her back on him and tumbled headfirst into sleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

Rumpelstiltskin watched Emma go, leaving him alone on the deck of the ship. All of a sudden, the temperature of the wind seemed to drop ten degrees. He sincerely hoped she would take up his offer of learning magic. With a little bit of time and an earnest effort of practice, she would be their secret weapon on this rescue mission.

"Goodnight, Emma," he whispered, his voice lost with the wind.