Return to Manhattan

A/N – This story came to me as a rush of an idea based on a line from a story I was reading. It's a combination of speculation, fanbase discussion and overall as a quick "fix it" that I would never expect to happen on the show.

I don't really have any want or intention to rewrite Manhattan, but this idea got in my head and wouldn't let go. Manhattan is perfection (ELEVEN!) and all other things pale in comparison, so consider this wholly supplemental, not an attempt to replace it.

A/N 2- I wrote this a couple of weeks ago; after finale I have a little extra bitter. If you prefer, you could also consider it in the theme of the week where we retcon beloved stuff. It fits right in, I promise, except the part where I come to the logical conclusion that maybe we shouldn't rip out the heart of the show and crush it but instead make sure it keeps right on beating ;)

Huge thanks to text for the beta, and pointing out the original ending was OOC and giving me a start for the alternate. It's a better story for it, and a good beta actually criticizes instead of just patting you on the head and sending you on your way. I appreciate it immensely! :)

They'd defeated the Wicked Witch. A desperate grab from Henry, as she prepared to hurl a fireball at him, removed her necklace – and her magic – which combined fortuitously with Belle's decidedly unmagical last-ditch effort of extinguishing the witch's fire with a common garden hose. Water was, after all, the downfall of the Wicked Witch of the West, and once her protective layer of magic was gone, she melted away – leaving only a pile of green goo and a host of nightmarish memories for all involved.

She'd come frighteningly close to losing her child, another reminder of how this town gave her everything she'd ever wanted, yet threatened to take it away in the blink of an eye. With the witch gone, and no mission to focus on, she could feel her walls beginning to bow and give way, unable to restrain the emotions held in for much longer. A breakdown was a long time coming, and so she'd sent Henry to Regina's for the night. He was her reason for breathing these days, but although it killed her to have him away from her, she couldn't knowingly allow him to watch his mother crumble. Neither party resisted too much, and she knew the two of them could use some time together, too.

Snow, knowing her better than Emma would like to admit, tried to go back to Granny's with her – insisting her days-old sibling would be just fine with his father. But Emma refused, knowing the ensuing meltdown would have her sobbing for every high-strung, conflicting emotion she had, of love and hate and home and regret and blame and forgiveness. She couldn't guarantee it wouldn't end up aimed at her mother, as a convenient scapegoat – a misplaced direction for pain when all she'd ever tried to do was give her her best chance. Why was it that everyone wanted to give that to her, but only ended up hurting her in the end?

So alone she went, to Granny's, where she fought back tears as she showered and changed into nightclothes. She crawled into bed and allowed the dam to overflow, sobbing for the life she wanted, the life she had, and the unfairness of it all. She was the savior, the one destined to save her parents and the town, but she couldn't save her own family – her love or her child. For the first time, with nothing else to focus on, she was forced to confront the reality that Neal was gone… really, truly for good this time. She'd lost him before, when he went through that portal, but somehow this was different – it was impossible to deny it when she held him as he went. And this time, there was no evil fiancée to blame, but rather her own hands – her own magic – that led to his demise. Sure, Zelena claimed the deed was hers, and intellectually she knew he was really gone when he brought Rumple back from the vault. Yet, he walked and talked with her that day in the forest – a comfortable ease, just like old times – and she had allowed herself to hope, just for a moment, that perhaps there was a future there after all. Hope was a dangerous thing, she knew, and like every time that fleeting emotion only brought her more pain. Hadn't she wished it, after all? In Neverland, she wished him dead, and it was only fitting that she was the one to make it happen. It served her right, being honest and open was something she'd run from since those months in Portland –yet again, it was Neal who brought it out of her and Neal who made her regret it.

She lived in a land of magic, she was supposed to be a "purveyor of the strongest form of magic," and yet, she couldn't save him, she couldn't get him back. Wasn't it her own parents who said there was always a way – wasn't that their motto? Where was her way, where was her happy ending? Dead is dead, Gold always said. And yet, in this moment of weakness, she couldn't help herself from wishing.

Her eyes closed, as she drifted off to sleep, her sobs fading to quiet tears. "Please," she whispered into the dark void of her room, a prayer to no one in particular. "Please, oh please…"

Emma awoke with a start, her neck cramped, and glanced around, trying to get her bearings. To her left sat Mr. Gold, shawl around his neck, leg nervously tapping. Where were they – on a plane? What on earth were they doing on a plane? She looked at him and hissed, "Where the hell are we going?" He looked at her quizzically, taken aback by her question. "Miss Swan, the same place we were headed before you took your little nap." Her brow furrowed, but before she could retort, Henry piped up, "Mom? Are you okay? You didn't sound like you were having very good dreams."

She mustered up a tight smile as she replied. "I'm okay, kid."

What. The. Hell.

She was getting used to curses and memory potions and magic and the like, but she had certainly never woken up in a different place than she'd fallen asleep before. She definitely fell asleep at Granny's, so why was she back on a plane with Henry and Gold? What errand could he possibly have for her this time? And why did Henry look so young?

"Ladies and gentleman, we are starting our final descent into New York's JFK airport. Please raise your tray tables and seatbacks to their fully upright and locked position, and discontinue use of all portable electronic devices. We will be on the ground shortly."

"So… Mr. Gold," Henry leaned around her and asked, "When we get to New York, how do we know where to look for Baelfire?"

Gold smiled, the boy's charm cutting through his tension. "I have an address. We start there."

Henry nodded.

Emma, meanwhile, was spinning madly in her head, her breath quickening, trying to make rhyme or reason of the situation. Were they – back? Had Zelena done something before her death to make them go back in time? No, no, she was certain that required her baby brother, and he was alive and well back in Storybrooke, back in her parents' apartment. How was she here, how were they looking for Neal – or was it Neal at all?

"Henry?" she asked, trying to ask the question lightly, "Have you ever been to New York before?"

"Mom," he answered, with a hint of annoyance, "You know I haven't. The time I went to get you was my first time out of Storybrooke. Well, the first time other than when I was born."

She struggled to get her bearings straight. Henry had no memory of the prior trip to retrieve Gold's son, and moreover, no memory of the year they'd spent there together. How was that possible?

"What day is it?" she asked, searching through her memories to try to recall when they'd traveled before. It was right around Valentines Day, she remembered the irony of it.

"The tenth?"

"Of February?"

"Of course… Mom? What happened to you? You only slept like 45 minutes, that must have been one heck of a dream!"

A dream… it was all a dream? Baelfire being Neal, his death, Henry's kidnapping and their time in Neverland… the year in New York and the Wicked Witch… and his death again. The most vivid dream she'd ever had, to be sure, but a dream made so much more sense. Certainly, more sense than going to sleep in her bed and waking up in a different location, some eighteen months earlier. Her breaths began to slow, as she realized the events had not been real… her life was still unspeakably weird, but perhaps not as cruel as she had come to accept. Could one dream in that many details in a mere 45 minutes? But sure enough, here she was, on the plane with Gold and Henry - eleven year old Henry, not the teen in her dream - setting off to find Baelfire.

Why had her dreaming subconscious turned Baelfire into Neal, she asked herself, smashing the thought down even as she had it.

The plane landed and they disembarked, walking slowly to accommodate Gold's more-noticable-than-normal limp. Emma, still struggling to shake her sleep off, walked on ahead as she idly listened to Henry pepper him with questions.

"So where are we going again?"

"We'll take a cab. 89 Wooster St. The driver will know how to get us there."

Emma froze. She knew that address.

Surely Gold had said it before, earlier in the trip. He had told them that already, right? That was why she knew it, she told herself, beginning to walk again.

"Where are the taxis located here, Miss Swan?" Gold called ahead to her.

"Up this escalator and to the right," she answered automatically, refusing to consider how own question of how she was able to navigate an airport she'd never visited before..

The three climbed into the taxi and Henry began again. "So what do you think he'll do when we get there? How old do you think he'll be?"

"Henry, enough," Emma shushed him, "Mr. Gold doesn't need any more questions right now." Truthfully, she was unable to handle his questions on top of her own feelings of déjà vu, and she was more than grateful to have Gold's feelings as a scapegoat.

Gold smiled, tightly, as a thank you.

The trio exited the cab and began to walk down the block to the apartment building. As they approached, Emma knew there was no excusing her feelings. She had been here before. No dream could possibly have given her this sense of knowing the location, the surrounding landmarks and signs – and knowing already exactly what the lobby would look like once she got inside. No logical explanation made sense, and yet, here she was, with full knowledge of what had transpired in these moments before. No, no, no, her mind screamed, she could not live through those years again. The rollercoaster of emotions that began that day, in that New York City alleyway, had so many more downs than ups that it was not an option to ride it again.

She realized that she had again frozen in her thoughts, and Henry and Gold were nearly to their destination. "Wait," she said, walking quickly to catch up. "Maybe we should grab a bite before we go in to meet him."

Gold's glare told her that her attempt to stall was not well-received.

"We have come this far, Miss Swan, we are not stopping now."

"Mom, what's with you? You've been weird ever since the plane ride."

Emma shook her head, not knowing how to begin to explain it. The kid believed in some wild things, but time travel or premonitions or whatever the hell was going on – it was a bit much. "I'm cool. Just hungry. Help Mr. Gold with the door."

Gold and Henry entered the building's lobby and began to look over the call buttons. She glanced over their shoulders, not needing to read the names to know that there would be a blank spot under "407", staring her in the face. "Do you know what it would be under?" asked Henry.

"It's the blank one," Emma stated involuntarily, emotionless.

Henry brightened. "We could press it, say we have a package from Fed—"

"No."

"Miss Swan…"

"No. If we press it, he will run."

Gold looked at her, unimpressed. "And you believe this because why?"

"I made a career finding people who don't want to be found."

"Then what, pray tell, do you propose we do?"

Emma drew in a shaky breath. "We wait for someone else to come home. Then I go up. Alone."

"Miss Swan, I don't think—"

"It's not negotiable," Emma replied. She could not allow this day to play out as it had before; if this was some sort of weird universal do-over, it had to be done over differently. "That way I can explain it, convince him to talk to you. He won't run straight away. You'll stay here with Henry." She turned from staring at the numbers to face him, remembering the prophecy that had wrought so much havoc before. "And Gold? If you so much as lay a finger on him, harm a hair on his head, I swear…" she trailed off, then leaned in close, "Don't forget, here, you're not immortal."

The minutes ticked by, as the small group sat on a bench and waited. Emma contemplated what she knew had to happen, if – if by chance – this Baelfire they were seeking was still her old flame in this alternate reality. Henry would meet his Dad, again. He'd find out she lied, again. She shook her head to herself, regretting again the knee-jerk decision she made that day, when the Zimmer twins' story had hit too close to home, as she saw herself reflected in each person in the story. On instinct, she inhaled a shaky breath and began to speak.

"Henry?"

"Yeah Mom?"

"I need to tell you something."

Henry's brow furrowed, as he looked left at his Mom. Emma tried to ignore the raised eyebrow of Gold, curious about what she could choose this sensitive moment to reveal.

"It's about your father."

"Yeah, he was a firefighter, right?"

She fought back tears as she remembered the story… he died, saving a family. Perhaps that explained the theme of her subconscious, or perhaps it served as a prophecy for the events the first time around. She shook her head, more to clear her own thoughts than to refute Henry's question. "No sweetheart. That's what I need to tell you." Another deep breath and, "That story I told you… it was made up."

The creases on Henry's face got deeper, anger crowding out his curiousity. "You lied to me?"

Emma sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know why…" A beat as she shook her head, and then, "I do know why. I was protecting myself. I was thinking of myself and not you. I'm so sorry."

Henry's face softened a bit, understanding if not forgiving. He nodded slightly, before asking, "Will you tell me what really happened?"

"I will," Emma said, praying that the building's residents stayed away a few minutes longer. "Your father and I…" she began, biting back tears, "loved each other very much. A very long time ago. He was the first person in my life who ever showed me love, the first person I'd ever loved, and then – and then he hurt me." She shook her head. "I was mad for a long time, for a really long time, Henry. But recently… recently I've wondered if there's more to the story." She gave her son half a smile. "He was the only place I belonged, until I met you." She thought a minute and continued, "And he gave me you, so how can I hate him?"

Henry wrapped his arms around his mother, and she rested his chin on his head. Only then did she notice Gold's pensive expression – undoubtedly wondering why she had chosen such a moment to discuss this with Henry. She began to ponder an explanation, but was interrupted by Henry's words. "I love you, Mom. I'm a little mad that you lied, but mostly, I'm just glad you told me now." She knew that, if this day was more mundane than it was in the original reality, if Gold's Baelfire was not in fact her Neal, that her admission meant that she and Henry would soon begin a search for him. She could honestly say that, despite not knowing exactly what the reality of the situation was, she wasn't sure that she minded.

Gold, to his credit, only piped up with, "Must've been one heck of a dream." She wondered if, for all that he'd seen, Gold was able to see through her weak smile that the truth was a far stranger tale.

A few more minutes passed and finally a young woman with pink hair entered the lobby, popped open the gate and bounded up the stairs. Emma stood to grab it before it closed, and mounted the few steps to the first landing before turning to look back at her companions. "I mean it, Gold – not a hair. I am bringing you to your son, you better protect mine."

Gold nodded curtly as he swallowed.

"It might be a few minutes. I'll need to convince him."

Another nod from Gold, and then she was off. She walked up a story, and then a second. There was no pretense, now, as she knew for certain that she had been here before. The only question she had, as she climbed from the third floor to the fourth, was who exactly it was that would answer the door. The first time she had entered, Gold had picked the lock; the second time, before the memory potion, it had been at her own hand. The corner of her mouth turned up at that irony. This time, though, she would knock - like any normal civilized human being. Reaching the top of the stairs, her legs turned to lead, and as much as she wanted to blame it on the three story climb, she knew that wasn't it at all.

Emma was a bundle of emotions; not sure if she was hoping the door would be opened by a stranger or the most familiar face she could imagine. And even then, if it were him, how would she react? How SHOULD she react? And what of him, what would he think of her appearing at his door after all this time? She was almost afraid to hope, despite how her gut was telling her that the scene would play out. In that moment, she knew that what she'd said in those caves was wrong – she'd rather face those feelings every day for the rest of her life than face losing him again.

She raised her hand to knock and steeled herself for the worst case scenario – what did that look like? Another man's face? An angry Neal? She wasn't sure what to hope FOR, or even against, but she involuntarily held her breath as she forced her knuckles to contact the worn wood. Knock, two, three, she heard – then shuffling on the other side. But as the door swung into the apartment, she could not have denied her heart's desire. Before it had even opened completely, she recognized his figure and inhaled sharply. She chomped down on the inside of her lip to temper the involuntary grin that threatened to erupt.

"Please don't run," she let out in a shaky whisper, her voice failing her as their eyes met. His widened, but she could see the corners crinkle into a smile amongst the shock.

"Emma?" he asked in soft disbelief.

She nodded an unnecessary confirmation. "Hi," she spoke quietly, with a gentle smile that she hoped came off more as reassurance than the elation she felt. "Can I come in? I have some things to tell you."

As she stepped tentatively inside, she had no idea where to start – but Neal was standing in front of her, alive, and in that moment, that would be more than enough.