"No, mom, I still have no idea how long I'll be gone," Emma says, her tone a bit impatient. She's told Snow different variations on that sentence at least ten times in the last few days leading up to this trip.

"I just worry about you sweetie. I heard a story on the news about some awful man with a gun in a city and well... it's just safer here. I want you to be safe."

Emma rolls her eyes, even though her mother can't see her. "Are you forgetting I lived in this world for twenty-eight years before I came to Storybrooke? And, by the way, I'm not sure a place where the local bar has 'monster of the week' cocktails can be referred to as 'safer'."

There's a 'tsk' noise of disapproval from the other end of the line. Emma sighs and relents. "Look, I'll be home as soon as I can. Raphael asked for my help, and I'm gonna give it to him. I owe him a lot. He was the first person that gave me a job after I got out of prison, and the reason I became a successful bail-bonds woman. I promise I'll be careful."

Apparently, she's soothed her mother's concerns (for now, at least) and she says "Neal wants to say hello before you hang up."

"Okay," Emma says, and then waits while there is a scuffling noise over the phone. She can hear her mother in the background reminding Neal that it's his sister on the phone.

"Hi!" Neal yells. Emma winces and pulls her cell away from her ear a bit. Neal hasn't quite realised that he doesn't need to shout for people to hear him on the phone.

"Hey little bear! Are you being good for mom and dad?"

"No!" comes the reply and Emma snorts, burying her face in a sleeve to contain her giggles.

When she has a bit of her control back she says "You know, you should do what mom says. Then she'll give you cookies."

"No!" he says again. It's his favourite word. Then a second later he yelps happily and shouts "Mama, 'gina!" Emma takes this to mean that Regina has just poofed herself into the apartment. Her little brother can't quite get the former queen's full name out yet, but Regina has been surprisingly patient with the nickname, at least for now. "Bye-bye Emmy," he says, and there's a 'thunk' noise as he clearly has lost interest and dropped the phone in favour of getting to Regina, his current favourite person in the world.

"Still there, Miss Swan?" Regina asks amusedly, having picked up the phone with one hand and the toddler with the other.

"Regina! Hey, yep, still here. Not according to Neal though, that kid is so smitten with you, it's ridiculous." Emma doesn't realise that her tone has quite a bit of similarity to Neal's from a few seconds ago when he'd first spotted Regina. Being smitten with her seems to be a genetic thing.

"Hmm. Well, he likes my baking. And running around in my back yard. He brought me a frog yesterday." Emma can hear Neal say "No..." in the background and Regina's laugh. "You did so, you little imp."

"Should've kissed it, maybe it was a prince in disguise," Emma jokes. Then she stops. "Wait, is that possible? Was that a story about real people from your world?"

"Not that I'm aware of. And I'm not interested in kissing any frogs. Or princes, for that matter. After my latest heartbreak I suppose it would be best if I remain single for a while."

Emma winces as she remembers a drunken Regina venting to her about Robin having left for good. She'd sent him away with Marian and Roland and his merry men, back to the Enchanted forest.

"Yeah, I hear that," Emma agrees, thinking about how she and Killian had had a fight about his hiding things from her that ended up with him sailing away on the Jolly Roger. With an effort she changes the topic. "Hey, tell Henry I said hi, okay?"

"I will do so. Take care Emma. Try not to let the idiot genes that you inherited from your parents get you into any trouble."

"Me? Trouble? Never!" Emma jokes. "Talk to you later," she says, then hangs up after hearing Regina's 'goodbye'.

The phone lines are down again.

Emma slams down the receiver to the telephone in the shitty motel room she's occupying. Outside, the sun is baking the pavement of this little town in Texas. Three (not one, not two, but yes, three) tornados had touched down here yesterday. As hot as it is, she can clearly hear the sound of chainsaws through the open window as the inhabitants of the town try to clear away broken trees. The cell phone towers are down as well as the land lines.

Three months. She's been on the road chasing this asshole for three friggin' months, and it feels like a year. She doesn't care how long it takes though.

She still has dreams about the day she and Raphael cornered their bail jumper in a dingy bar. He'd skipped parole hearings for a possession of controlled substance charge. They'd figured it was just another run of the mill druggie, bring him in, let him serve his time in jail, maybe get clean while he was inside if he wanted it bad enough.

In her dreams she still hears Raph joking about not wearing a vest, "Hey Goldilocks," (his nickname for her, the Italian accent still as thick as the day she met him) "don't you worry so much. No jumper is gonna get the best of me."

But one had. And now Raphael's wife and kid are alone, and Emma is not going to give up until she catches the person responsible.

With a sigh she flops backwards onto the bed, waiting for the sun to go down so she can continue her hunt. Bail jumpers are often more likely to move at night, when they think it's more difficult to track them. That leaves Emma with quite a bit of time to kill though.

A look of contemplation crosses her face, followed by a moment of indecision, before she gets up and moves across the room to her suitcase, taking out a small plastic folder.

She opens it carefully and removes the pieces of paper inside. Setting them down on the desk, she takes the first, holding it carefully, and begins to read.

Emma,

I will start by saying that this is a thing I have never done. I have never written a letter. Indeed, I seldom talk about my feelings at all. However, I have found that I can no longer remain silent. I have missed you since the moment that you left Storybrooke. At first I did not realise the sense of loss was related to the lack of your presence. I thought it was a symptom of a bad day, or few days. But as your absence continued, and the feelings of missing you did not subside, I began to recognise what it was.

I would think of you at the oddest of times. When the smell of coffee drifted on the breeze from Granny's diner. When I would see a ray of sunlight reflected by the sea at sunset, and it was the exact shade of your hair. When the daffodils began to bloom in earnest, and they were so very reminiscent of the colour of your beloved bug.

I am not going to tell you who I am. I have no idea whether you would return my feelings or find my advances welcome. I simply had to write this, to put words to the emotions that have begun to overwhelm me. Perhaps in writing this I will find peace.

Please Be Safe, and Come Home Soon.

The first of the letters had arrived nearly a month and a half into Emma's absence. Raphael had still been alive then. They'd been in a motel in Arizona for nearly a week. One day Emma had gotten a call from the front desk saying she had a piece of mail there with her name on it. She'd read and re-read it dozens of times that first night, trying to figure out who the sender was.

As far as she'd known, there hadn't been anyone in Storybrooke that would have written such a thing. Then again, the letter made it pretty clear that the sender hadn't really known of their feelings until she left town, so it made sense that she hadn't seen it.

She'd thought that a single letter was all she would get. But a week later, another arrived, at a different motel.

Emma,

Apparently my writing to you, while it did seem to help, did not accomplish what I had set out to do, which was to find a way to purge these feelings.

I do not understand. I do not understand how I can miss you this much. I did not think it was possible to simply wish for someone's company this much.

I dreamed about you last night. We were talking, about nothing in particular, and I woke myself up laughing at a joke you had told. I wish I could remember what it was.

If you do not wish to read any more letters from me, I would understand. I believe I will continue to write them, as it seems to help with the pain of missing you. I understand if you discard them without reading however, and would not hold it against you.

Dreaming Of You.

She pulls out the third letter, taking a moment to appreciate the quality of the stationary. It's thicker than normal paper, almost like the kind a greeting card is made from. The ink is handwritten, precise, elegant. She can't imagine how much time and care it must have taken to write these letters so beautifully.

Emma,

I should start this letter by saying that I am... slightly intoxicated. Today was a difficult day for me. I knew that it would be, but sometimes I underestimate the power that the demons of my past have over me.

It is days like today that remind me of how much I really miss having you here. How the sight of your smile can make the day a bit less gloomy. How you generally have such a practical way of dissecting problems that many here lack.

I wish that you were here with me, helping me drink this bottle of wine, because I long for your company, (and also because then I would likely drink half as much wine, and so not have nearly as bad a hangover as I am fated to have in the morning.)

Please disregard my rambling. I am sure you have much more pressing matters to attend to than reading letters from a love sick fool.

(Somewhat Drunkenly) Yours.

The fourth arrived two days after the funeral for Raphael. Emma had been recovering from a hangover of her own that day. She'd gone to the front desk of her hotel to ask if they had any aspirin for sale, and the letter had been waiting for her. She'd had thoughts of not reading it, the combination of her grief and the frustration of not knowing who was sending them was maddening, but eventually she had done so.

Emma,

I am so sorry.

I heard about the death of your friend. I too have lost people that I loved, and I know that there is nothing I can say that will help with the pain that you are feeling.

Please remember that there are many people who care about you, who will be here for you if there is anything you need. Please, if you can, do not go through this alone.

Thinking Of You.

She sets the letters back in the folder carefully, brow furrowed. She's picked her brain over and over, trying to figure out who is sending them, but she's still coming up blank. She's been in Storybrooke long enough that she has quite a few friends, and even more acquaintances.

So far the only conclusion she's really sold on is that the sender is a woman. She can't explain why she has that instinct, just that it is strong. It isn't an issue in terms of whether she would consider them as a potential suitor; she's been open enough about being bisexual in recent months that it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that knows her. It had taken a bit for her parents to wrap their heads around, but once they had they'd been rather supportive, in their sometimes nauseatingly sweet sort of way.

Still, there aren't that many people that she can imagine have spent enough time around her to be this infatuated. She spends a good portion of her time with her parents and little brother, and most of the rest with Henry and Regina. Occasionally Maleficent and Lily join them, (Emma joked to Lily that it had only taken one well prepared meal at the mansion to 'tame' the dragons. Mal had huffed at the statement but rolled her eyes and let it go.) It's true though, that Regina seems to have the ability to charm people that spend enough time with her. Even the dwarves and Granny seem to be losing their ability to actively dislike her, now that she's been helping to save people on a regular basis. It's gratifying for Emma to see, because she's been telling people for years that Regina has it in her.

She likes when she gets to be present for the times when Regina realises how far she's come. It's usually when a random townsperson comes to see her after the latest crisis, and Regina has that 'oh great, what am I getting blamed for now' look, and instead they thank her for saving their husband, or their child, or keeping a monster from destroying their house for the umpteenth time.

Regina has never not looked surprised during those moments, not that Emma has seen. It's like she just can't quite believe that these people around her aren't still looking for her head on a stick, like she believes no matter what she does it will never be enough to make up for the sins of her past. And maybe that's true, she can't erase the bad things she's done, but from Emma's point of view, the woman has worked her ass off trying to be better, and it's nice to get to watch Regina being given some credit for it for once.

She realises with some surprise that she's starting to really miss home. She misses playing video games with Henry, lunches with Regina, board game nights at her parent's place. She misses card game nights at Regina's too, Mal and Lily on one team and her and Regina on the other. Turns out all that time they'd spent together had taught them to communicate very well with looks, because sometimes Emma would swear she and Regina can read each other's thoughts.

With a sigh she closes the folder with a glance outside at the deepening darkness. Time to go to work.

"Miss Swan? Emma? Can you open your eyes for me please?" For a second Emma thinks 'hey, only Regina is supposed to call me Miss Swan' before she registers the pain in her head. She tries to open her eyes for the voice, since it asked so nicely, but the second the light hits her eyeballs her brain sends her a 'NOPE' signal and she slams them shut again. Ow.

"Owwww," Emma says aloud, though quietly. Her brief opening of her eyelids tells her she's in a medical facility of some sort.

"I know it hurts, but we need you to open your eyes if you can please." The voice is pleasant but firm.

"Can you dim the lights any?" Emma asks, voice tight. Instead of a verbal answer, the quality of light leaking through her eyelids dims somewhat a few moments later, and she cautiously opens them. "Thanks."

"My name is Dr. Ling. Do you know how you got here?" asks the lady standing near her.

"Uh. I..." Emma furrows her brow as she tries to remember. She'd been chasing her bail hopper with her Bug down a deserted stretch of road, then something had jumped out in front of her. "Did I hit something? Oh god," horror fills her, "I didn't hit a person did I?!"

The doctor holds out her hands cautiously. "No, no, just a deer. A big deer. Try to stay calm, you have a concussion and too much stress or activity will make it worse. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I know they seem silly, but it's important that I check your memory and get a baseline of answers so I can make sure they match up later."

This said, the doctor proceeds to ask Emma things like how old she is, who the president is, the first street she can remember living on as a child, and other myriad questions. Really, Emma feels pretty impatient about it all; she still has a headache and she's pretty tired too. She knows though, that she needs to call home and let her family know what happened. She doesn't want to know what Snow's reaction would be if she doesn't at least tell them she was hurt. She intends to downplay it, of course. She doesn't want them trying to leave Storybrooke and run after her.

After the doctor is satisfied with her answers, has ordered blood tests and some pain medications for her patient, and given Emma strict instructions on what she is and is not allowed to do for the night, she hands her over to a burly male nurse in blue scrubs, who helps her settle into a room and hands her a couple pills and a drink of water. The clock on the wall over the nurses station reads at twenty after two in the morning.

She asks for her belongings and the nurse grimaces a bit, but leaves the room and returns with a clear plastic bag. "This was whatever was in your car, the police removed it before having it towed. Most of it is wet though, it was raining when you hit the deer and I guess it must've been blowing in just right. You were drenched when you got to the ER too." That explains the dampness of her jeans and tank then. A sudden feeling of dread washes through her, and she moves a bit too fast to grab the bag, digging for the folder with the letters in it.

She nearly overbalances and the nurse has to help her stay on the bed. "Easy," he says. She ignores him and digs for the folder, makes a sound of distress at the waterlogged folder, trying to open it and finding one big mess of paper and ink lumped together.

Pulling out her cellphone, she pushes the button, almost shocked when the screen lights up. "Oh of course you survived," she growls at the phone, because yes it's expensive but those letters were irreplaceable. She glance up at the nurse. "Am I allowed to use this?"

He nods. "You might find reception is spotty in some areas of the hospital, and cells are still not allowed in some operating rooms and ICU, but otherwise it's fine. If you need to charge it though, only use that green outlet." He points to a specific plugin. "Technically, you aren't supposed to plug in any electronics the hospital hasn't certified as fire safe, but they have an exception for emergencies. Try not to leave it plugged in when it's been charged."

Emma nods. "I'm going to call my family, let them know I'm here."

"My name is Carl. I have a few other patients to check on, but if you need us push that call button. I'll send in one of the health care aids with a dry gown for you to wear to sleep. Be advised, we will be waking you up periodically for the next six to eight hours for vital signs and the like, so try not to talk to long and get some rest instead." Emma nods and he leaves the room.

She meant to dial home, she really did. She opened the dial pad and started dialing and pushed send before it occurred to her that the name flashing on her cell was not 'mom and dad' but 'Regina's cell'. Oops.

She almost hits cancel but it's already rang once which means Regina will see it was her calling, and want an explanation for being woken at two AM, so she sighs and waits.

"Hello?" says a groggy voice. "Emma?" Obviously she'd checked the caller id.

"Uh, hey Regina. Sorry to wake you. I actually screwed up, meant to dial my parents. You can go back to sleep."

"What? Emma, no, whatever it is I'm awake now."

"Oh. Well, don't freak out or anything, but I'm... sort of in the hospital."

"What!" Regina's voice has suddenly lost all traces of sleep. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Emma feels a bit of warmth shoot through her at the concern in the other woman's voice. "No, yeah, I'm okay, I just accidentally hit a deer and got knocked out a bit, I'm sure I'll be out of here tomorrow or the day after at most. I just figured I'd better call and let my parents know, otherwise they'll be pissed when I finally tell them."

"How did you hit a deer?"

"Uh... I was chasing a guy," Emma admits, quietly, because she has a feeling she's about to get lectured about the dangers of chasing people in cars, much like the one she'd gotten from Regina the first moment they'd had alone after chasing Lily. She isn't wrong.

"Emma, I warned you! You need to be more careful, driving is dangerous enough without you taking foolish risks with your safety! This phone call could've been a doctor calling to tell us you were in a coma, or worse."

Emma isn't sure if it's the blatant concern in Regina's voice, her homesickness, the concussion, or how tired she is, or all of them combined, but she's horrified to feel tears starting in her eyes. Her throat hurts as she tries to swallow them back. "I know," she tries to say, except of course the emotion leaks into her voice, and Regina being as perceptive as she is, hears it all.

"Oh Emma," she sighs, "why won't you just... come home. We miss you here."

Emma sniffles. "I can't. He was my friend, and this guy is going down for what he did. If I leave it to the law enforcement he could get away, hop the border or find a way to set up a new identity. I'm not letting that happen."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Regina asks softly.

"Not unless you know some magical way to make a bunch of handwritten letters that got wet new again, while I'm out here in the land without magic," Emma responds sadly.

There's silence on the other end of the line for a few moments, and then Regina says "No, I suppose that's something I don't know how to do. I'm sure the person who wrote them would write them again, if you asked." Her tone is difficult to decipher.

Emma stares at them. "I don't know who wrote them. They didn't say, and now I might never know. It was kind of... I was sort of looking forward to finding out. It was like something helping me to keep going, helping me keep my mind off things. And now they're ruined."

"If they care that much dear, I'm certain they will write more. To borrow a phrase from your annoyingly positive mother: Don't lose hope."

Emma nods a bit, though Regina can't see it. "I guess I should call my parents."

"Let me," Regina says, surprisingly. "You should rest. I'll tell your parents that you'll call them sometime tomorrow."

"Really? Thanks, Regina."

"You're welcome. Sleep well, Emma."

Two days later, Emma is back at her hotel, feeling a bit more human after a long hot shower and a change of real clothes. She's checking e-mails when she gets a call from the front desk, saying she has a package waiting. Her heart speeds up as she realises she's at least going to have one letter to take along with her as she continues her hunt.

When she gets back to her room, a priority shipping envelope in her hands (oddly heavy, why so heavy for only paper?) she eagerly opens it. And then her mouth drops open in surprise at the contents.

She slides out sheet after sheet of laminated paper, the new plastic heavy and unscratched. Inside each piece is one of the letters, carefully written. They have holes in the side, meant to fit into a binder of her choosing. The last one is new.

Emma.

I suppose this means you now know who is writing these letters, but I couldn't bear the sadness in your voice at having lost them.

No, I do not know of a magical spell that would help you out there, in your land without magic, unless you count the innovations of the people who live here. So here are your letters back, water proofed as much as can be done. This will be the last one I write, however, unless you tell me you wish me to continue. I will not chase you against your will, as others have.

I hope I have not offended you with the letters, or disappointed you with ruining the surprise.

Be Safe. I miss you.

Regina

Emma sits in startled silence for a couple of minutes, staring at the letter and rereading it with a stupid grin on her face. Then she smiles, reads again the words 'unless you tell me you wish me to continue'... and picks up her phone.