Author Note: This is a prompt I received on tumblr and I like it, which means I have to post.

There is a feeling you get in your stomach, weighted with an unknown sickness as your eyes burn and your throat closes with the effort to prevent yourself from giving in to your desire to just break down. There is nothing that Emma loathes more in life, than that feeling. She has lived twenty-eight years, doing her very best to avoid ever feeling like that and she has failed a total of three times.

She broke when Neal left her sitting in jail by herself.

She broke when she gave up her son because she didn't think she had anything to offer him.

She broke the night Graham died, cradled in her arms because of her, because of her need to push and push until something gave way and she was left staring at the destruction wrought by someone who fought back.

As she stands there in the diner, surrounded by murmured questions and she watches the woman she had come to respect walk away from her, all she can feel is the promise of that crushing weight bearing down on her.

She is not her mother, and yet the words tear at her, shredding her heart into a million pieces as the image of Regina's own heart breaking plays in her mind over and over again. She is not her mother, but she knows that isn't what Regina meant.

She tries to say her name, to call her back, to apologise but there are no words. Nothing she can think to say will change having seen that look of betrayal in Regina's eyes; nothing will fix the damage she has caused. She saved a life, and rather than feel like the hero others will claim she is, all she feels is unfettered regret.

Although her voice refuses to work, she realises that her legs remain firmly under her command and so she runs. She chases. She refuses to let Regina escape; she will not lose the one person she fought hardest to keep.

Screw Killian, screw her parents and screw Robin fucking Hood for not knowing the value of what Regina offered him.

She runs. She chases. She catches. She is without words, without breath and Regina is staring at her as though she wants to do the most unspeakably painful thing imaginable and Emma laughs. She laughs because—there isn't a single damn thing Regina can do to her that is any more painful than feeling as if she betrayed the woman standing before her.

Regina scowls, anger and confusion warring in her expression but Emma ignores it. She can't explain, she doesn't even think Regina would listen. Instead, she kneels, the rain from earlier that night seeping through the legs of her jeans as she stares up at the brunette.

Confusion is all that is left to meet her and she wants to laugh again, but that weight—that weight has returned and it's making her feel sick because what if this doesn't go the way she wants it to and—no, she tells herself. She can't think the worst of Regina if she wants to set things right.

For once, she needs to believe, she has to stay true to herself and trust the one person who doesn't lie to her, and doesn't sugar coat her words, who hasn't abandoned her when she could— when she should have.

"If you truly believe," she croaks, her throat dry from the effort to hold back, to deny herself that fourth time. "If you honestly think that I am like my mother, I need to prove to you that you're wrong."

She swallows, angrily swiping the tears from her eyes before continuing. "All you've ever wanted to be is Regina and I know that offering myself up to you as if you're the Evil Queen would only serve to strengthen that belief; so I need to know how to fix this."

Regina simply stares, her expression blank and Emma is genuinely crying now, feeling as though nothing will make any of this right but she keeps trying because she can't lose Regina—not now, not ever.

"If I didn't know any better, I would give you my life to undo what I have done," she confesses. "I never meant to betray you but you're right, I didn't think of the consequences and there is nothing worse than knowing that I'm the one responsible for the pain you're in."

There is silence and it is maddening, thick and filled with—not tension but something, something she is unable to put a word to and she hangs her head, chin pressing into her chest as she sighs.

"Get up."

Emma blinks up at her, certain she had imagined the words but Regina is looking at her with something akin to remorse and a small sense of hope flares within her chest.

"Get off the ground, Emma," Regina murmurs.

"Regina, I—"

"Now," she interrupts—demands and Emma rises slowly, wincing upon registering the dull, cold ache in her knees.

Regina glances down and shakes her head, a defeated slump to her shoulders as she returns her gaze to teary emerald eyes. She shouldn't be surprised that Emma came after her, not after everything they've been through together but the fact of the matter is that she is, she is surprised because no one genuinely cares enough about her to give chase when she runs.

No one since Daniel, and no one until Emma Swan, it seems.

"I don't…" she pauses and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes because seeing Emma breaking in front of her is not a sight she wants to remember. "I don't think you are like your mother," she says and she is shocked to hear the choked sob before she's pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

"Miss Swan!" she gasps and Emma's muffled laughter in her ear is almost—almost enough to make her forget this whole night and pretend it didn't happen.

But it did.

And Emma is here, apologising—embracing her as though she means something to her and that… that can't be true. They're friends, of course they're friends but it's nothing more and—hell and damnation, Emma Swan is an overwhelming blight on her senses.

"I'm sorry," Emma whispers into the crook of her neck and Regina sighs, accepting that this moment is really happening as she folds her arms around the blonde's waist.

Emma understands that it isn't about Robin and that is proof enough, proof that she is nothing like Snow White.

"I know."