A.N. I have a case of writers block with Come Back To Me .. or rather, maybe not so much writers block but more this story is stubbornly blocking CBTM *sighs* My SQ muse, is seriously determined for me to focus all attention on this right now .. so, here I am .. succumbing to the inner musings of this diabolical SQ AU, that has somehow found it's way to me ... thank you to everyone, who is going to take this walk with me .. *no pun intended*

I listened to Titanium sung by Sia for this chapter.

Trigger warning: There will be mentions of gun use and mob related plot points in this story.

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She wipes the last counter down, mentally retracing her steps, as she hears the door click shut behind her. She walks down the path and her feet do not make a sound. She is quiet and lithe in her movements, always. She has to be. Her job requires perfection. After all, she thinks, one imperfect moment, and she could be killed. Or worse, identified. And if that ever happens, well .. she might as well be dead anyway. Her life, her career, would be over just as fast as one of the many bullets she has unleashed.

She makes it to her rental, a black Altima, nothing special. Her car is one of many that line the street. Unnoticed in the dead of night. Like she is. She sighs and finally lets herself take a deep breath as she closes the car door, the inside light conveniently switched off earlier that morning, and leans her head back along the plush grey seat. She shuts her eyes and begins to mentally detach herself, from the images she had just created inside that house. It's a trick she had taught herself through the years, a defense mechanism, a way to cope from this job, from what she actually does for a living.

So it doesn't drive her slowly insane.

She hears her work phone vibrate against the flap of the visor, where she had hidden it earlier. She quickly flips the visor down and catches the slim flat cell in between her fingers.

She touches the envelope icon and her eyes sweep over the text that has just arrived.

How did the chess game go?

She responds on auto pilot, her fingers dancing over the touch screen key pad in seconds.

Checkmate.

The response back takes exactly two minutes. As always. Two minutes that have her waiting with bated breath. Her phone lights up and her heart begins to race, anticipating her next assignment.

Storybrooke. ME. 108 Mifflin. RM. (F) Enjoy the chess game.

She quickly stores this fresh information inside the safety of her mind, and secretly wishes it didn't have to be a female, as she deletes the entire text exchange and then deletes the thread from the recent tab where it automatically gets stored as well, under the phone icon. She is efficient on every level. Always. She tucks the phone into the inside of her leather jacket pocket as her fingers turn the key in the ignition. Her mind is already processing all the steps she needs to take in order to land herself in Maine.

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She slips on her black heels that match the power suit she has chosen to wear today as she quickly shuts the pristine white door and marches swiftly to her sleek benz. She has three meetings today, all conference calls. Three hours of phone tag ahead of her, she groans internally as she slams her car door. At least, she doesn't have to travel for these meetings. This month. Silver lining.

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She gets to Storybrooke, Maine via a new rental. An older model of a VW bug. Yellow. She wasn't too keen on the bright color but research she had done, showed her that the citizens of this small harbor town resonated vintage. They even had an old fashioned town clock that had stopped working decades ago. As she drives the bug down the one and only main street with a traffic light, her eyes take in the outdated buildings and older cars that line the street. Her eyes glance up quickly at the looming clock and she can't help but think, the town seems frozen in time as well.

Weird. Is the one word she finds banging inside her head as she walks up the steps and pulls open the door, to Granny's Diner. She needs to start blending in and plus, as she hears her stomach begin to grumble in anger, she is hungry. And would definitely, not say no, to a cup of hot cocoa. With cinnamon.

A pretty waitress saunters up to her from behind the counter and Emma appreciates the soft features behind kind eyes for a moment. A moment that passes far too quickly as Emma sighs internally and remembers why she is here and who she is, more importantly. The name tag says, Ruby and Emma immediately thinks of the Wizard of Oz and those infamous slippers before she finds her voice and places her usual order. Ruby smiles sweetly at her upon the cinnamon request and gives her a quick wink and a nod before leaving to make her drink.

The bell chimes and Emma turns on instinct to see who has entered the establishment when her bright eyes meet a pair of dark brown. The older woman appears to look right through her as she approaches though, and Emma wonders why her heart feels heavy all of a sudden with that observation. She can't help but continue to watch the woman, mesmerized by not only her unique beauty but also by her grace. There is a distinct regal presence around this woman and Emma's curiosity is peaked. Ruby quickly appears with a bag and hands it to the woman, Emma has been gawking at intently.

"Here you go, Mayor Mills." And Emma's eyes widen as her heart drops inside her chest. It takes root somewhere in her gut and she fights to breathe against burning lungs.

Mayor Mills. Regina Mills.

Her target.

Emma is still reeling from this chance meeting long after Regina has in fact left the diner with her purchase. She never has made contact with a target before until it was on her terms and she is thrown for a loop. On so many levels. There is a reason it has to be on Emma's terms. Everything has to be set in order, like a well tuned machine. And Regina walking in and making Emma's heart stammer threw a wrench right into the center of said machine, knocking it all off course.

Emma bangs her head down onto the counter and sighs deeply.

Fuck.

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She only has a small window of time to get this assignment done. Regina's security is tight. Her mansion might as well be Fort Knox. She has followed and tracked her movements for three days and it has been impossible to get close enough for her trademark shot. She is known for her efficiency and calculated hit. She never misses. She never hesitates. After three days of circling her prey, she finds out prudent information. Regina has cleared two hours from her schedule. Late afternoon. She will be outside. Alone. Taking up residence under an apple tree.

Why?

Emma doesn't really care. At least, she tells herself, she doesn't care but she can't help the string of thoughts that tip toe inside her mind. Maybe she will be doing yoga, or meditating, or writing in a journal? Reading? No, Emma definitely does not care what the brown eyed beauty is going to be doing. Not in the slightest. All, Emma cares about is getting this shot in and over with. She always targets at night. Always. But, with Regina Mills, always pretty much went out the window that first day in the diner. So, Emma doesn't let this shake her. She will do this. She doesn't hesitate. Ever.

She hesitates. One second. A flicker of a blink. Emma hesitates and it costs her the kill shot. Regina bends down, leaving her scope and then she is back in the frame and Emma gasps. Because Regina is not alone anymore. A smiling, laughing little boy is being held in the brunette's arms. Little fingers grasp Regina's smiling cheeks and Emma watches as he snuggles his nose against the older woman's before peppering her face with kisses. Emma doesn't know how long she sits crouched, watching this interaction, she can't measure it by seconds, or minutes. She can measure it by how it makes her feel. The sound of Regina's laughter reaches her ears and she falls off the tight rope she had been walking on for the last ten years.

Just like that.

Emma's not sure when she actually lowers the gun. One minute she is watching this exchange, frozen like that damn clock, and then she is running. Loud and brash through the trees as the branches scratch her cheeks. She runs wild and without one precise thought galloping inside her mind, for the first time, in years.

She yanks open the rusty yellow door and clambers inside the small cavern of metal. She flings down the visor and quickly sends a text.

She's a mother! She's got a kid!

Emma is panting and her heart is beating so loud, she can hear it ricochet inside her ear drums as she quickly realizes what she has just done.

She broke protocol.

First rule she was taught. You don't. You do, you die. No exceptions. Emma closes her eyes and imagines someone like her, hiding behind the shade of a tree or scoping her through a tall run of wild flowers, as their finger squeezes a trigger. She waits for something to happen. She waits for her death. One minute later she jumps as the cell vibrates inside her palm. She stares down at the screen and it takes her thirty seconds to stop her hands from shaking.

One word glares at her.

Password

And Emma has to rack her brain to remember. It was given to her ten years ago. Crap. She quickly filters through her memory bank to that day, a day that changed her life. The day where she became someone else and Emma Swan ceased to exist anymore.

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Ten years ago - Boston -

"Do you know why you are being detained, Miss Swan?"

"My guess is, the stash of watches you found on me?" Emma shrugs and begins to pick at her fingernails, rolling her eyes at this process. "Why don't you just go sit your donut loving ass down and start typing up my arrest report, hmm .. let's get this show on the road, copper." She narrows her eyes at the man who looks close to receiving his cheap retirement watch, she smugly thinks, as she shakes her head.

The cop narrows his eyes back as he slams a pen and paper down in front of her. "Write out your statement, your confession and sign it, smart ass." He bangs the door shut and Emma sticks her tongue out at the two way mirror before she picks up the pen. She gets one word written before she hears a barrage of raised voices and the sound of clipped heels brushing along tile floor. Her eyes glance up as the door is opened once again and a woman holding a briefcase appears in front of her.

"Let's go, Swan .. " The woman turns to leave but Emma's voice stops her.

"Who the hell are you?!"

The woman turns back, swinging her briefcase, as she deems a smile. "Consider me, your savior .. now, come along, we have matters to discuss."

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Ten years later - Storybrooke -

Emma quickly types out the one word password, she has remembered.

Savior

There is no two minute wait now. The response is immediate.

The tables are turning. Swim, my little swan.

Emma's heartbeat picks up again as her eyes zero in on the message and before she can blink another ding vibrates from the cell.

Your feathers will be scattered along the shoreline, Check mate.

Emma doesn't really have time to register the latest text as she feels the rush of a breeze hit her face as her car door is yanked open and she is pulled out of her seat.

Roughly.

She quickly registers a sea of raven tresses and fierce dark eyes as she is punched right in the square of her jaw. The hoodie on her sweatshirt falls away from covering her head as she hits the ground.

"You're a girl .. " Regina's eyes widen in alarm as she takes in the blonde who is peering up at her.

Emma quickly wipes the small trickle of blood away with the back of her hand, narrowing her eyes at the searing brunette, as just one word springs to mind, "Woman."

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