A/N: Just a oneshot. This is a bit of cathartic writing for myself. Updates on my ongoing fics are in progress, I promise.

And I've moved further than I thought I could
But I missed you more than I thought I would
And I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be
Right in front of me
Talk some sense to me

"Don't go, Emma." The plea is quiet, a soft and comforting voice from a friend who cares. But Archie's friendly concern feels insignificant when Emma can't stop that voice in her head from reminding her that the people who really matter aren't nearly as concerned about her, and she can only shake her head and grimace at him, swiping the wetness from her eyes.

"Please don't tell anyone." She stands, knees momentarily weak before she finds her strength. He rises too, hands nervously wrung together, a refusal on his lips. "I'm asking you, Archie. This is just between us."

The reminder of his promise of confidentiality has him snapping his mouth shut again, face creased with worry but lips tightly pressed shut. He nods in defeat, a reluctant promise, and Emma gives him one last look before leaving his office.

Figures that her one last attempt to feel something other than useless and unneeded is a failure, despite Archie's best attempts at convincing her of her worth. Storybrooke has no need for a Savior now, and even if it did, she doesn't fit the bill anymore.

The drive home is a short one, no real traffic in the sleepy town to hinder her, and the apartment is empty when she enters. Henry's at school, Snow is teaching a class, David's on patrol, and little Neal is at daycare. There's no one there to greet her, and she heads straight up to her bedroom with a heavy heart. A suitcase and two duffels are already packed and hidden in her closet, all of which she pulls out and sets by the door. The last of her things - small knick knacks, trinkets, a few framed photos - are tucked into a backpack. She takes extra care not to leave anything of hers behind, nothing that can be used to track her down via locator spell—because they would feel responsible for bringing her home, the "you are wanted here" more of an automatic response rather than a genuine desire for her presence—then gathers all her luggage up and hurries down to the car.

A quick check of the street reveals no one, so she shoves everything into the back of the bug and jumps in, moving quickly as to not lose her nerve. It's too late, she thinks bitterly, pulling away from the curb and accelerating down towards main street. I have to go. I have to.

No one pays any attention when her bright yellow car drives by. Ruby is too distracted struggling with the creaky old sandwich board outside Granny's diner to look up. Marco barely glances at the car before focusing on the store sign he's mending. David's in uniform, chatting energetically with Fred as the men stroll along the street, neither noticing her pass by.

A familiar brunette strides down the street, engrossed in her cellphone with her arms full of paperwork, and crosses the street towards town hall without sparing a glance at the bug that slows down for her to safely cross.

It hurts. Emma's chest aches with longing and her foot remains pressed down on the brakes, watching Regina meet up with Robin at the door, the both of them disappearing into town hall. Henry is swept up in his teenage drama and her parents are busy with Neal and baby number three on the way and Ruby's focused on wooing Belle and even Zelena doesn't have time to snark her anymore because she's busy raising her baby and she can deal with all of that, she gets it, but even Regina—her best friend —doesn't have time for her nowadays and she doesn't know why she's here anymore. No one needs her. No one wants her. What's the point in staying?

A car honks behind her, jolting her back to the present and sending her zooming off down the street, unaware of a pair of confused brown eyes watching her from the mayor's office window.

Leaving Storybrooke whizzes by as she flies down the one road leading out of town, and passing through the barrier causes an ugly shudder to ripple through her body, her magic ripped away by the abrupt transition. Emma has to screech to a stop when nausea threatens to upend her stomach, though from her lack of eating for the past few days, all she does is dry heave for a few painful minutes until the feeling passes. Swiping the wetness from her eyes, she grabs her phone from the cup holder and stares at the blinking light for a moment, heart twisting at the question of who has left a message for her.

Maybe someone noticed her off behavior these past few weeks. Maybe someone is worried.

She opens the text from Henry with baited breath, her hope shriveling away moments later.

Gonna stay over at Nick's tonight, his dad can give me a ride to Mom's after school tomorrow.

Pushed aside, just like that, and on the last night she was supposed to have him for the week, too. It's for the best, she supposes. Better than him coming home tonight to find her gone, her bedroom emptied of all signs of life. He won't miss her long. He's always enjoyed his stay at the mansion with Regina more anyway; may as well make it permanent.

The phone rings, suddenly, startling her from her spiraling thoughts so badly that she nearly drops it in alarm. Regina's face flashes up at her, a candid picture Emma had taken a few years ago at one of their family gatherings where Regina had been flushed and happy and smiling. It hurts now to look at it, to be reminded of a time when Regina aimed that warm smile in her direction. When they were still so close, when Regina had Robin and Emma tolerated Killian and they could pretend that everything was just perfect. And then Robin died and Killian died and when they all went to the underworld to save them, Robin was all too happy to reunite with Regina, and Killian had scoffed and moved on with his first love Milah, leaving Emma a broken, former Dark One with an even worse sense of self worth and abandonment issues, hating the title of 'Savior' that clung to her no matter what she did.

Everyone had walked on eggshells around her for so long after that, careful with their words and never pushing her for anything. She'd thought that would be it; that maybe things would slowly start going back to normal after that. That her life would settle back down into something... pleasant. Something acceptable. Except she was suddenly stuck in place, miserable and hurting and lonely, while the rest of her family moved on with their lives, busy and happy and thriving.

She'd been left behind. And six years ago it might not have mattered because she was used to being alone, but then Henry had to go and bring her here and surround her with family, and now she didn't know how to be without them. She was trapped, rooted in place out of fear and a sense of helplessness, and no one noticed and no one seemed to care.

"I guess that bitch was right," Emma rasps to herself with a harsh laugh, the world blurring around her as her eyes fill with angry tears. Cora's words bounce around mockingly in her head and she hates that the woman was right in the end. "Love is weakness."

She'd been forced to love these people, to love her family, and now all she has to show for it is a broken heart, pulsing painfully within the tight confines of her chest.

"Emma?"

Regina's voice crackles to life in the car and Emma jumps, horrified, until she realizes the sound is coming from the walkie talkie on the passenger floor. She stares at it, wide eyed and hoping she'd been hearing things, but Regina must have taken Henry's walkie from his room in an attempt to contact her. One glance at the phone still clutched in her pale, clammy hand tells her that she'd missed three calls from the brunette.

"Emma, are you there? Can you hear me?"

Slowly leaning over, Emma reaches down and gingerly picks up the walkie talkie, clutching it in hand as she waits to see if Regina will continue. Vaguely, she wonders why Regina is in Henry's room using his walkie. She'd seen the woman walk into town hall just ten minutes ago with Robin.

"If you're there... please answer me."

It's soft, almost a plea. Emma can't remember the last time she'd heard Regina sound so... uncertain. Before she knows what she's doing, her thumb has pressed down on the button, her lips parting to speak. But nothing comes, no words, no answers. She breathes out an unsteady breath and releases the button, eyes fluttering shut as her chest twists with yearning. She wants. Wants so badly. But life isn't fair and there's no such thing as happy endings, not for people like her, and so she drops the walkie to her lap and grits her teeth with a muffled sob, mourning what will never be.

"Emma, please." Regina sounds worried now, voice tight. "Your magical signature is gone. The town barrier is disturbed and I... I'm worried. Please tell me you're okay. Please tell me you didn't cross the barrier."

"I'm sorry," Emma whispers, letting the tears flow freely down her face, feeling each warm rivulet run down her jaw and neck, soaking into the collar of her shirt. She doesn't have the courage to speak on the walkie, to admit her defeat. "I'm sorry."

"Emma, please," Regina says, her voice strained. "Just talk to me."

"Goodbye, Regina." Unsteady fingers twist the dial until it turns off, silencing the device. Gently setting the walkie talkie on the passenger seat, Emma releases the handbrake and starts forward again, her breathing harsh and shallow as she drives away from Storybrooke, the faded town line growing fainter and fainter until she can no longer see any proof that the last six years of her life had ever existed at all.

Regina ends up sitting on the edge of Henry's bed for hours, the walkie talkie clutched to her chest, the silence mocking her.

Emma is gone. She can feel it, can feel the other woman's magic missing in the air. And as much as she wants to run to the town line, she knows it's too late, knows there's no way she can catch up to Emma now if the woman has decided to leave.

She can't tell Henry. Not now. Not yet. Instead, she numbly makes her way to the loft, calling Snow and David with an urgent request to speak. The two meet her at the apartment within the hour and together they find Emma's room completely emptied, bare of the meager belongings that had once signified Emma's presence there. Even her toothbrush is gone, leaving them with nothing to use for a locator spell.

"But why would she leave?" Snow cries, unable to comprehend why Emma could possibly have been unhappy, and Regina bites back a retort that Emma hasn't been herself in over a year, not since Killian's death and his eventual betrayal in the Underworld. The woman had been trapped in the past, lost to a depression she'd hidden so well behind excuses of stress or exhaustion, drifting away to sea while everyone else moved on with their lives.

"Maybe she just needed some time away to think?" David tries, hopeful, and this time Regina does bare her teeth in an angry snarl, throwing down an unsealed envelope onto the table between them.

"She left Henry a goodbye note. She has no intention of coming back." It's spat out viciously, Snow and David shying away from what they perceive as Regina's protective anger for her son, but in truth, Regina is angry for herself. Emma is—was—her best friend, and there had been no letter addressed to her. No apologies for leaving, no reasons for her abandoning them. Not even a simple goodbye after all that they have been through.

How did I miss it? She thinks, bitter and hurting. How had she not realized just how badly Emma was coping?

"Does it say why?" David asks, already pulling open the letter to read for himself. Snow reads over his shoulder and both cannot help but gasp at its contents.

I love you, Henry, but I can't do this anymore. No one needs me here. I have to go. I'm sorry. -Emma

"What— what does that mean? Why would she feel like she had to leave?" Snow sniffs, overly emotional due to her pregnancy with baby number three, and her arms wrap protectively around her rounded stomach as Regina angrily snatches the letter back from David's hands.

"I don't know," she snaps, but her voice cracks on the last word, her hurt seeping through until both Snow and Charming realize she's just as distraught as they are. Dark eyes are shiny with betrayal and Snow reaches out for the woman she now sees as family, wincing only slightly when Regina jerks away from her offer of comfort.

"Regina, she'll be back," Snow tries, ever hopeful. "She'd never abandon us for good."

"Try telling Henry that," Regina says harshly, turning away with her fists pressing hard against her hips, blinking rapidly in an attempt to dry her eyes before anyone can see her cry. "She gave him up once already, of course she'd do it again."

The accusation isn't exactly unwarranted, even if it is cruel. And she would have felt bad and apologized to Snow and Charming eventually. But it's heard by ears that were never meant to hear them and the gasp at the door has every adult whipping around, wide eyes falling on Henry where the young teenager stands in the entryway, phone clutched in his hand.

"Aunt Zelena said she saw..." He trails off, at a loss. The door falls open a little wider to reveal Zelena with baby Olive—renamed in lieu of Robin's return from the Underworld—in her arms, an uncharacteristically serious expression on her face. She must have messaged Henry and brought him home early, as school isn't out yet.

"So I was right," Zelena says slowly, her concern turning to indignant anger. Despite their rocky start, she and Emma had become friends of sorts, or at least she'd thought so. They weren't so different once they started talking, sharing stories of their lonely pasts and abandonment issues. She may be relatively new to the family of good guys but it doesn't make the betrayal sting any less.

"Ma's gone?" Henry says, his voice faint.

For once, Snow doesn't have a cheerfully optimistic response to that, and Regina is left to pick up the pieces when she watches her own son crumble down and cry.

Brunswick is the first place Emma stops at, pulling over for gas and food, avoiding eye contact with anyone and keeping her head low. It's not like anyone will recognize her, but she hides regardless, too raw and aching to allow herself even the most basic of human interaction. By the time she gets to Portland, her tears are mostly gone, dried by the way she stares blankly out of the car, driving on autopilot and cruising through traffic without really seeing anything at all. Her face is a stony mask, and her heart is tucked away deep within her chest, still there but not allowed to feel.

Hampton and Georgetown are barely blips on her radar, and it's not until she's crawling through traffic in Boston that she even realizes where she's gone. Boston is too close, though, too obvious. It would be everyone's first guess. So she swallows down the lump in her throat and keeps on going.

Worcester, Hamden, Bridgeport, Greenwich. She arrives in Manhattan, New York after eight hours of non stop driving with only the briefest of pit stops for gas and food, and for reasons she cannot explain, she heads to Brooklyn on the final leg of her journey.

Who would ever think to find Emma Swan in Brooklyn?

She pulls up to a curb next to a park and starts searching Google maps, making note of everywhere she would need to visit in the following days. It's almost muscle memory to her now; find a place to stay, find a phone store, call her usual bailbond agency, call her fake ID guy. She fires off a few emails using her second email address, makes a few calls, and hits up the nearest phone store to get a new device. Her old phone gets shut down, its texts and missed calls ignored, but after a long few seconds of holding it precariously over a storm drain, she finally just shoves it into the glove box of the Bug and tries to forget that it's there.

(Maybe she wants to disappear forever and not be a hindrance in the lives of people she longs for, but it hurts too much to throw away one of her last links to them, too. There are hundreds of photos on that phone that she can't bare to look at anymore, but she can't bring herself to drop it down a storm drain, either.)

Emma ends up at a motel for the night, paying in cash, and by morning she's secured a cheap, unassuming apartment and goes about relocating all her funds and savings into a fresh account with new cards and information, everything listed under a new ID her contact had made for her the night before.

"What do you want your name to be?" he'd said simply, no questions asked when she called him for a rush order. It was an offer of escape, a chance to change everything about herself and say goodbye to Emma Swan forever. She could be anyone at all, a woman who had no past, no family, no history.

No heartbreak to hold her back from a new life.

"Emma Mills," she'd said, longingly. She supposes she's a masochist.

And so Emma Mills, a single child with no living relatives, moves into a single bedroom apartment in the heart of Brooklyn and gets herself a dog—a scrappy, affectionate boxer named Enrique that stared pathetically at her through the window of an animal shelter until she'd grudgingly taken him home—and that's how the two of them end up crowded in a little gray Toyota in an empty parking lot one night, waiting for her mark to show.

She would have preferred being crowded in the Bug, but her beloved yellow Volkswagen is too recognizable and has since been stowed away in a storage locker, never to see the light of day again.

"Quit wiggling around, you're making the car rock," Emma warns, stern, but she's smiling just a little as she tosses another french fry and watches Enrique snap it out of the air with a little huff of joy. He's still a little too skinny from his time in an overworked shelter, and she doesn't have the heart to deny him any scrap of food when he watches her eat her dinner with those big puppy dog eyes. She remembers what it feels like to be hungry.

"Oh, there he is," Emma says when movement catches her attention. She clips a leash onto Enrique's collar and pops open her door. "C'mon. Showtime, buddy."

Their mark is an unassuming man, good looking enough and smartly dressed for a night time jog. Emma's in tight yoga pants and a fitted hoodie over her tank top, Enrique's leash firmly clasped in one hand as woman and dog appear from around the bend, jogging along the park path and weaving beneath the golden lamp posts.

His attention is caught immediately by the thick blonde curls bouncing around in a ponytail.

"Evening," he greets, all charming smile and flirty wink, slowing as if to stretching out his legs. Emma slows to a stop, pretending to be just a little out of breath.

"Hi," she says, tugging on the leash as Enrique strains to sniff at the stranger. The man grins and instantly stoops to enthusiastically pet the boxer, a true dog lover.

"Who's a good boy? Yeah you are." He's kind of cute when he's fawning over a dog. His sparkling eyes lift to hers. "What's his name?"

"This is Enrique."

"Well, hi there, Enrique. I'm Jake." Standing back up, he grins and tips his head in Emma's direction. "And you are?"

"Emma."

With Enrique wagging his tail and padding around in a circle between them, the whole scene almost looks like a meet-cute. Almost. If only Jake wasn't skipping bail and leaving his young wife and toddler in the dust. And if Emma wasn't already in love with someone she could never have.

"Not often I find other joggers out here at this time of night," Jake offers, fingertips scratching at Enrique's head as the boxer nearly reaches his hips.

"Rique and I like to run when it's quiet out." Emma smiles, shrugs, almost shy.

"Me too." Then, still smiling a charming smile, he says, "I don't think I've ever seen you around here, though. You live in the area?"

"Just moved here, actually."

"Alone? Or with..."

"Alone." She feels her chest shudder at the reminder of the family she used to have for a little while. "Don't really have family. It's just me and Enrique."

"I'm sorry to hear. You know, I'm happy to show you around the city if you'd like."

"That's a kind offer." She smiles at him, almost pitying, then sighs. "It's too bad you'll be in jail for the foreseeable future. Really, picking up girls in parks at night when you've got a wife and kid at home? Not cool."

He pales, mouth gaping open for a moment before he spins around and darts off. Emma groans in annoyance.

"Why do they always run?" she mutters under her breath, reaching down to unclip Enrique. "Get 'em."

Her boxer bolts off, tongue lolling in the wind as he chases Jake down like a giant, playful puppy. A giant playful puppy that ends up sitting all seventy pounds of his butt on Jake after he's tackled the man into the grass, tail wagging the whole way. Emma catches up in time to hear Jake spitting curses, flailing angrily as Enrique slobbers all over him.

"Keep resisting and he only drools more," Emma slides a pair of cuffs from her pocket and yanks his arms behind his back.

"Fuck you!"

"Rude." Emma clicks her tongue, letting Enrique hop off before she pulls a handcuffed Jake up onto his feet and starts dragging him towards the car. He's not a particularly big guy; lean and fit, yes, but not massive by any means. He puts up a fight and tries to pull himself free, but Emma is irritated and stubborn, and his feeble attempts are no match for her frustrations. "Time for you to pay for what you did to your family, Jake."

"What do you know about family?" he spits. Emma purposefully slams his head against the top of the car before shoving him into the backseat, taking some semblance of vengeful pleasure in the way his face screws up with pain.

"Nothing," she mutters, slamming the door shut. Enrique makes a little whining sound at her side and she reaches down to stroke his head, softening at the large brown eyes peering up at her. Sweet, simple, loyal Enrique, who relies on her for food and shelter. Who adores her and needs her always, no strings attached, no expectations.

"At least I've got you," she says quietly. He licks her hand with affection, and then they're packing into the car and driving off for the precinct, another contract complete, another day spent, alive but not living.

Boston is a bust, and Manhattan is no better.

Three weeks spent searching and sleuthing and all to no avail. The only good thing about it all is that Regina's wealth extends into the rest of the world and not just Storybrooke, so she's able to find acceptable hotels and rental cars as the entire family joins in on the search.

By the end of the third week, Snow and David are exhausted and return to Storybrooke to rest and recover. Snow is getting to be too pregnant to travel much longer, and she misses Neal too much, even if Belle insists that she's having a great time babysitting Neal, Roland, and Olive.

Ruby calls it quits around the same time, wishing them luck but needing to return to the diner before Granny loses her mind from all the incompetent part time waitresses they've hired.

By the fourth week, only Regina, Henry, Zelena, and Robin remain, the group of them sitting around a map of New York on the table, eating the same room service food they've had all week while Henry taps away at his laptop and Regina stares broodingly at the walkie talkie in front of her. She'd heard a click that night, knows that Emma had the other one when she'd left. Despite her many attempts at contacting her through it in every city they visit, however, it remains silent.

"You should have more to eat," Robin suggests after a silent dinner, eyeing the half-eaten chicken salad next to Regina while she fiddles mindlessly with the walkie talkie in her hands, fingertips seeming to stroke the device as if hoping to coax Emma's voice from it.

"I'm not hungry."

"Regina," he sighs, reaching out to ease the device from her hands. She jerks away from his touch and immediately clutches the walkie to her chest with a defensive scowl, refusing to let him take it away.

"Stop it, Robin."

He frowns, eyeing her skeptically, and Regina knows she's going to hate whatever it is he says next.

"I think perhaps it's time to consider—"

"No," Regina says, shooting him down before he can finish his sentence. It's all he's been saying for a week now and he's really grating on her already frayed nerves. "I will not give up on her."

"She doesn't want to be found, Regina," he sighs, rubbing at his chin. His dark stubble, once charming, has grown into a prickly beard that she finds annoyingly abrasive every time he presses an unwanted kiss to her face. It's his attempt to reconnect with her as she's become obsessively focused on finding Emma, and she finds it as irritating as he finds it frustrating.

"She's depressed, Robin, of course she doesn't want to be found," she snaps, a harshness in her voice that stops him cold. "We need to find her and help her, show her that she's important to us. That we love her."

He looks at her oddly, at Zelena, and then at her again. Henry he can understand, but they are two women who should be the last people in the world to love Emma Swan. "Love?"

"Of course, she's my best friend," Regina says, and it's suddenly sharp with defensiveness, her eyes hard and unwelcoming in a way he's not used to receiving from her.

"She's family," Zelena adds, curling her lip in contempt, because Regina has been content, perhaps, but not happy, and her little sister deserves the best after the nightmarish life she's lived. Robin brings no light to her eyes or joy to her life, merely a pitiful substitute that has had the gall to make her feel like a second choice, the 'other woman.' At her worst moments, Zelena may have tricked him into thinking she was his late wife Marian, but at no point had she ever forced him to choose her over Regina, or to sleep with her so quickly after they left Storybrooke. Olive is a blessing she would never take back, but the little girl's conception was entirely by his hand, eager as it was.

"Be that as it may," he says, narrowing his eyes unhappily at Zelena before turning a softer, more placating look on Regina. "You have a family of your own to think about now, Regina. What about Roland and I?"

Regina's eyes cut to Henry before narrowing on Robin, and he quickly adds, "And Henry! We're your family now. I understand that Emma's your friend, but she has a family of her own to look out for her. Let Snow and David handle the search. We should be at home raising Roland, not leaving him to a sitter for a month. He needs parents, Regina. He needs a mother."

By the end of his little spiel, Regina has grown rigid in her seat, her hands clenched into fists atop the table as her eyes grow dark with fury. Zelena can feel the rage emanating from her sister and moves to stand, intending on taking Henry out for a quick walk as he doesn't need to witness this. One sharp gesture from Regina has the redhead lowering back down into her seat.

"Leave," Regina snaps, her cutting word directed at her supposed soulmate. Robin's eyes grow wide with surprise before they turn hurt and betrayed. There's something so pathetically pleading about his scrunched expression that she finds herself disliking it now. She can't quite remember what it was about his face that she'd used to find attractive.

"Regina—"

"No, you don't get to talk. You don't get to tell me who my family is or where my priorities should be, nor do you get to guilt me into raising your son by insinuating I am his mother after knowing him for all of a few months!"

"But you love being a mother," he tries feebly, confusion crinkling his eyes. "And I thought we were—"

"We're nothing," Regina says, her tone hard and final. "It's become quite clear that we are at different places in our lives, and frankly I have no desire to be with someone whose only priority is finding a woman to raise his child, regardless of who she is."

Robin stares at her, at a loss, then glances at Zelena who—despite her initial anger at Emma's abrupt departure—has for some reason grown to care for the blonde and wishes to bring her safely home. He doesn't understand why they're so intent on saving Emma when the woman clearly doesn't want to be saved. The redhead glares back at him with as much venom as possible, even as Regina calmly reclaims his attention with a swift gesture.

"Go home and raise your son, Robin. I'm going to find my best friend and bring her home."

He stands, stiff and uncertain and frustrated. After a moment of indecision, he frowns. "We're soulmates, Regina."

"We were," she says, purposely in the past tense. "And I'm choosing to walk away."

He looks a mixture of hurt, angry, and indignant when he finally pushes away from the table, grabs his pack from the floor, and exits the room in a quiet huff. He's still ignorant about this new realm he lives in, but no one has the energy nor the concern to bother chasing after him and asking how he plans to get back to Storybrooke. Surely he can figure it out.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Henry says softly, sympathy on his features as Regina seems to take in all that's happened in the past five minutes. Zelena reaches out to lay a hand on her sister's and Regina offers them both a wry smile.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Henry. It's been... a long time coming, I think. He's a good man, but we're just not right for each other. I can't be with someone who doesn't respect my family dynamic."

"But he was your soulmate." For all the inches he's grown, Henry is still a young boy at heart, big naive eyes peering out from the face of a teenager. He still believes in perfect love stories and Happily Ever Afters, and Regina hates to disappoint him with reality, but it's something that needs to be said.

"Listen to me, Henry." She leans across the table to take his hand, smiling wider when his fingers squeeze hers. "Soulmates are a lovely concept, but you should never let anyone tell you who to prioritize in your life, or that your friends and family are less important than they are. Nothing is greater than choosing a family that chooses you back. Do you remember that quote from your favourite cartoon? Ohana means family—"

"And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten," Henry finishes softly, turning his hand around to entwine their fingers. "And our family comes first, right? You and me, Gran and Gramps, Aunt Zelena and Olive, and—"

"And Emma," Regina confirms, lips spreading into a brilliant smile as Zelena takes up hers and Henry's free hands with a gentle squeeze. "And we won't let her get left behind or forgotten, no matter how far or wide we have to search. We'll help her, Henry. We'll bring our Emma home."

"Well, everything else looks fine. I'll prescribe you some pain killers for—"

"No, no," Emma sighs, gently cradling her aching ribs as she slides from the examination table. They're just bruised, and she's had worse. "I don't want drugs. I can handle the pain. Thanks, doc."

"If you're sure, Miss Mills," the young doctor says, a sparkle in her eyes as she smiles and briefly touches Emma's bicep.

"Emma," Emma corrects, feeling the usual pang in her heart at that surname. God knows why she tortures herself like this, choosing that name. "Call me Emma."

The doctor takes it as encouragement, turning sweet and demure as she walks with Emma down the hall of the hospital and towards the main lobby. She's pretty, certainly. Short dark hair, warm brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and a bright, inviting smile. Her touch is gentle and caring and she'd been so very respectful when checking over Emma's various cuts and bruises from her latest scuffle with a rather violent bail jumper, mending her up and making sure there was no lasting damage.

If Emma wasn't so broken inside, she might have given in to this pretty young woman who looks like Regina and smiles at her with desire in her eyes.

"I don't usually do this," the doctor admits, somewhat shy as they both linger at the doors. "But would you be interested in getting coffee—"

"I'm sorry," Emma interrupts gently, smiling a sad smile. "You seem like a wonderful woman, Miss, but I'm... I'm not someone you wanna get mixed up with."

The doctor blinks wide eyes at her, confused and concerned. Sympathetic. Maybe she's attracted to broken people. Doctors do enjoy fixing others. Emma can't bear to be anyone's project, though. She doesn't want some well-meaning stranger trying to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart and patch her back together, not when the pain is all she has left.

Emma walks away, leaving the sweet young doctor staring after her with a worried look. Her ribs are bruised and her lip is split and her whole body aches for rest, and she does nothing but stare blankly at the world around her during the entire drive home. By the time she reaches her apartment on auto-pilot, she just feels numb, cold and empty.

Enrique's enthusiastic greeting pulls her back from the edge of nothingness and reminds her that he needs dinner and some affection.

"Don't eat so fast, it's not going anywhere," she says softly, vaguely amused as he shoves his snout into a bowl full of chicken and veggie kibble as if she hadn't just fed him a large lunch five hours ago. He's filling out well at least, his ribs no longer visible and his body thick with healthy fat and muscle. Paired with his height, he's become quite an intimidatingly large guard dog.

"At least you came out unscathed," she sighs, gently patting at his neck and side, doing another check for injuries just in case. Their latest bail jumper had thrown the dog off quite a ways before tackling Emma to the ground, and hadn't let up until Enrique dragged him down by the pant leg and Emma had elbowed him in the face. Enrique's tail had been wagging, though, so he'd evidently escaped any injury in the scuffle.

As the dog wanders off through the apartment for a little post-dinner adventure, Emma gingerly sinks down onto the couch and stretches herself out, wincing at the pull of pain until her muscles finally relax and let her go limp. With her arms reaching up above her head, her hand bumps something on the side table and causes her to glance up.

The walkie talkie, still turned off and mocking her.

Gently bringing the device to herself, Emma considers it for a long moment before turning the volume dial up. It gives a soft beep, indicating it's been turned on.

Silence.

For reasons she cannot explain, Emma presses down on the transmit button and hesitantly holds it up to her face.

"Hello?"

The walkies are tuned only to its pair. She shouldn't be able to communicate with any other device, and its pair can't possibly be within range of her here in Brooklyn. Still, she goes still, waiting, maybe hoping for a response.

There's nothing.

"My name is Emma Swan," she says softly into the device, and even though there's no one on the frequency to hear her, it's nice to finally say something real out loud. "I used to have a family, but I gave them up. They were all moving on, living their lives, and I was stuck in place and useless, and I just... I..."

She doesn't realize she's crying until Enrique is by her side, whining softly and licking at her face in an effort to comfort her. Giving a wet laugh, Emma cries a little harder and hooks an arm around him, soaking in his warmth and affection.

"I miss them," she says brokenly, finally dropping the walkie to her lap to hug Enrique fully. The dog whimpers, distressed by her sadness, but stays dutifully still so that his beloved owner can cry into his fur.

Sometimes nature wins out.

Regina is still boggled by Henry's ability to track and sleuth as well as Emma can. He's evidently inherited it from his blonde mother, because the look of serious concentration on his face mirrors Emma's as he hunches over his laptop, tapping away and occasionally humming to himself when he comes upon new information.

"Emma Mills," he'd whispered one night, tears in his eyes when he'd come across a brief mention of one such name in a report from King County Hospital, and he and Regina had just known and had clung to each other in tears.

It's with those leads that they end up in Brooklyn during their second month of searching, not exactly what they'd expected when considering where Emma would have run to, but not as far as they'd feared, either. Evidently, even Emma could not bear to run too far.

They set up base at a five star hotel, closer than they've ever been to finding Emma and celebrating with a bit of luxury, and Henry and Zelena decide to take a much needed break by heading down to the pool while Regina remains at the suite with a glass of wine and a book.

It's as she reaches the bottom of her second glass that she hears it.

"Today was okay."

Her head jerks up, and suddenly she's throwing her book aside and rushing into the master bedroom where her walkie talkie sits cradled in a charging port by the wall outlet, a heavy and clunky charging port she'd purposely bought so that she would never be stuck with a dead radio. Silence meets her, and for a moment she thinks she must have imagined it, when—

"I bumped into a boy who looked like Henry, and I ducked into an alley to cry for a few minutes. It hurt, but crying felt good too."

"Emma," Regina whispers, trembling hands picking up the walkie. She doesn't hit the button, doesn't say anything at all yet, not sure what she could say that wouldn't scare Emma away and send the woman packing. This momentary connection to the other woman is the most she's had since Emma left and she wants nothing more than to listen to her voice for a little while longer.

"After that last job, I'm taking a week off to rest, give the injuries some time to heal. It was nice out, so I took Rique on a walk, played some catch. Henry would've liked Enrique... I wonder if Regina would've let him have a dog."

"I'd let him have ten dogs if you would just come home," Regina says softly, shoulders slumping as she gently cradles the walkie in her hands, sinking back to sit on her bed.

"Probably," Emma continues with a soft huff of a laugh. "She pretends to hate animals, but I've seen her with Pongo. That dog loved her. Enrique would love her."

Regina chuckles softly, feeling her eyes water. Emma knows her too well. There's a long moment of silence, and Regina starts to worry that perhaps Emma has turned her walkie off, but then it crackles softly as Emma holds down the button, her hesitant breathing audible for a long few seconds, then—

"I love her too. I miss her."

"Emma," Regina breathes out, her tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

"I hope Robin is taking good care of her," Emma says, and Regina winces, guilt gnawing at her chest at having broken up with him after all that Emma had gone through to help her get her happy ending.

"But, god, I hate that guy," Emma continues, a quiet, self-loathing laugh escaping her as Regina's eyes widen in surprise. "Regina deserves so much better. Someone who chooses her first, loves her, treats her like the Queen she is. Someone who would never hurt her. That douchebag doesn't deserve her after all he's done. He's not good enough for her."

There's another moment of silence. Regina presses a hand to her face, swiping at her tears and sniffing softly.

"But I mean, neither am I... so I guess I'm not one to talk."

Regina goes still, confusion passing over her features. What did Emma mean by that?

"Huh..." The walkie crackles, transmitting, but Emma is silent for a long moment except for the occasional sniffle, the only indication that she's been crying. "I hope they're happy. Regina and Henry. I hope..."

It cuts off again, silent, then crackles to life with the soft, raspy sound of Emma's voice, throat tight with hurt.

"Maybe in another world, the three of us were happy together. A real family."

It goes silent again, no longer transmitting. Regina sits there for a long time, uncertain and confused and hurting, her cheeks wet with tears. At the sound of Henry and Zelena's return to the suite, she turns the walkie off and places it back in the charger, wiping her face clean and adopting a neutral smile to greet them.

She won't tell them yet. Henry would only try to contact his mother through the walkie and scare Emma away, sending the woman fleeing Brooklyn.

No, she needs to handle this situation carefully, and just this once, it means she'll need to do it alone.

"The museum?"

Henry's face is crinkled with confusion, brown eyes regarding his mother with skepticism when she relays her plans for the day.

"I could use a small break of my own," she says softly, hoping his lie detector isn't nearly as accurate as Emma's. He doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he relents by hugging her tightly and wishing her a good day. She promises to be back to have dinner with them, and she's gone shortly thereafter, wearing low heels as she expects to be walking the entire day.

Brooklyn has become familiar to her these past weeks they've stayed here. Emma speaks on the walkie nearly every night now, talking about her days and confessing things that she likely would have never told anyone. Regina feels some amount of guilt, listening in to these private conversations without the blonde's knowledge, but with every passing night and every soft confession, she finds herself falling in love with Emma Swan.

Or, perhaps not so much falling in love, as realizing how much she already loves Emma beyond their pretenses of friendship.

"There's this pizza joint on the corner that I've started going to; Henry would love it..."

"I passed an art gallery this morning, and I'm not really an artsy person, but I think Regina would have liked it. It reminded me of the furniture style of her office."

"Enrique has a freakish ability to scramble his way up a tree, apparently, because by the time I caught up to him, he was up in a tree in the middle of Prospect Park trying to lick a squirrel to death..."

"I thought I saw Regina today—or, well, someone who looked like her—and I honestly wasn't sure if I wanted to run towards her or away from her. It hurts to think of her sometimes. What she's doing. If she's at home with Robin right now, or..."

"I think the first time I fell in love with Regina was at the mines."

Regina passes the same pizza place, smells the greasy scent of pepperoni and cheese that she knows Emma would drool over and can't help but smile despite herself. Emma's favourite cafe is a few blocks over, and she helps herself to a latte and a pastry, remembering the blonde's wry laughter admitting how it was the only place that made bearclaws that tasted like Granny's. She wanders the city, passing the art gallery with the paintings and statues that remind Regina of her mayoral office with its black and white and soft beige decor. She walks the grassy paths of one of Brooklyn's many parks, sipping at her latte and wondering what kind of dog Enrique is, imagines him scrambling up a tree in pursuit of a squirrel and the exasperated shouts of Emma as the woman tries to chase him down.

"Enrique!"

The shout catches Regina off guard, as does the blur of tawny brown fur as a large dog suddenly leaps up in front of her and snatches the remaining half of her croissant right out of her fingers. Mouth agape, Regina stares in surprise as a familiar blonde head ducks ahead of her, snatching at Enrique's collar and pulling the dog to heel shortly before a plethora of apologies escape thin pink lips.

"I'm so sorry, Miss, he's usually better behaved, I swear—"

"Emma," Regina breathes out, barely able to believe that she's managed to finally bump into Emma after so many days of wandering the city and lurking at every place Emma has ever mentioned. Emma's head snaps up in shock and green eyes meet brown ones for the first time in months, turning wet and glossy with tears immediately.

"R-Regina?"

Her name is soft, almost inaudible, sounding like heaven to Regina's ears. She looks ready to bolt like a frightened animal.

"Hi," Regina says simply, smiling a wobbly smile, expression melting into one of warm and happy relief. Emma blinks once, twice. She loses her grip on Enrique's collar and the large dog immediately leans into Regina's legs, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling with his delighted panting. Regina drops her free hand to scratch gently at his head and ears.

"I... I'm sorry," Emma says awkwardly, reaching to pull Enrique away. Regina dismisses her attempts with a soft laugh.

"It's alright, I quite like him. This is Enrique, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he..." Emma stops, stiffens, and looks at her in alarm. "How did you—?"

"I kept Henry's walkie talkie," Regina admits softly, watches the way fear and anger swirl into green eyes, and rightfully so. Emma had spoken on that walkie expecting that no one would hear her, expecting privacy. Regina feels bad for eavesdropping, but she won't apologize for using it to find Emma. She holds up a placating hand before the younger woman can say anything. "Emma, how could you ever think I wouldn't look for you? That I wouldn't do everything in my power to bring you home?"

"I don't want to go home," Emma says, voice sharp with sudden desperation, and then, as if to correct herself, "I don't want to go to Storybrooke. It's not my home anymore."

"What about your family?"

Emma's eyes flash with hurt. With dejection. "They have Neal. And they're going to have another baby soon. I'm not—"

"I meant Henry and I."

Emma pauses, swallows hard, swipes at her eyes. "Henry has you. He doesn't need me."

"Henry will always need his mother. Both mothers. And I..." Regina hesitates, licking her dry lips and dipping her head to catch Emma's eyes when the blonde tries to turn away. "Emma, I need you."

And like the only other time she'd said it, Emma's head jerks up and she looks to Regina with wide eyes, a childlike disbelief that anyone could ever want her, nevertheless need her.

"But you're... You have..."

"Robin? No." Regina shakes her head, chuckling and smiling wryly. "I've come to realize that he and I aren't compatible anymore. We likely haven't been since that day I decided not to walk into that tavern and meet my soulmate. He doesn't understand me, doesn't know what it feels like to be rejected and misunderstood, not the way I do, not the way you do."

Emma takes an uncomfortable step back, uncertainty and fear plain on her face, and she might have considered running away in fear of rejection if not for the fact that Enrique remains leaning against Regina's legs, looking happy and with no intention of leaving. As is, she hugs herself, arms curled around her stomach as nervous green eyes flit around them, seeking distraction, seeking escape.

"I don't..." -understand, is what Emma's eyes seem to say, her body tense. Regina wants nothing more than to pull the younger woman into a hug and to never let her go, but she knows that would only scare her away further.

"It was the day at the mines for me, too," she says instead, drawing confused, terrified green eyes up. They're bright, so very bright, so very terrified of feeling hope when she's used to nothing but hurt and rejection. "But then Hook showed up and eventually you two were inseparable, and I never knew why I hated him so much back then, why the sight of him clinging to you made me angry... And then Robin was there, and Tinkerbell said it was fate that I'd found him again, and I was just so tired of being alone and watching you with Hook when I..."

She spits Hook's name every time she says it, and she knows shouldn't speak ill of the dead... but she's hated him for so long, attaching himself to Emma like a bloodsucking leech, and with him gone and out of the picture it feels like she finally has a chance. She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and when she opens them again, Emma is staring at her in wonder, her eyes begging her for mercy, as if saying please don't hurt me.

"He was never good enough for you, Emma," Regina says, reaching out hesitantly for Emma's hands and giving a watery smile when she doesn't jerk away. "And maybe neither was I, back then. But after everything we've been through together, after everything between us all these years... I'd like to think that maybe I can be good enough for you one day, if you'd let me. I love you, Emma. I've loved you since that day at the mines, too."

Tears spill from green eyes, Emma's face crumpling with a sob as she ducks her head, hands trembling within Regina's as the brunette holds her firmly. How could Regina love someone like her when she has nothing left to offer? How could she deserve a confession of love from her best friend after she'd abandoned them all without a word?

"I love you, Emma Swan," Regina says again, stepping closer, their hands tightly clasped together between them. "And you might not believe it right now, but we all do. We all love you, and we need you in our lives, even if we forget to say it sometimes. Please... please come home with me."

They speak for hours, walking slowly through the park until they finally end up on a pier not unlike the one back in Storybrooke, the both of them sitting together on a bench, thighs pressed against one another as Enrique lay snuggled by their feet. Their hours of conversation hadn't been happy, per say, but it was needed.

"I understand what you're saying... logically... but another part of me feels like it can't be true. Like, no matter how much you tell me everyone wants me back, I feel like it's just what you have to say. You feel obligated to say that, to make me feel better, because it's the right thing to do."

"I know, Emma. I know." Regina sighs, watching as hers and Emma's fingers twine together, constantly twisting around each other, restless. "And I know it will take time, and I hope you'll be open to sessions with Archie. But we say those things because we mean them, and we'll keep saying it until you believe us."

Emma swallows, licking her dry lips and feeling her cheeks sting with the brisk wind coming in from the waters. It's getting cold, the afternoon turning to dusk, and she hadn't dressed in anything warm, not having expected to be out this late. Regina, too, shivers as the cold cuts through her thin blazer, and Emma instinctively wraps an arm around her shoulder, stiffening immediately after, unsure if the gesture is welcome. Her breath catches in surprise when Regina curls further into her side with a contented sigh.

"Are they mad?" Emma asks eventually, her voice quiet and guilty. Regina shakes her head before tucking herself into that comfortable place between Emma's neck and shoulder.

"They're just confused, Emma. And a little hurt. No one understood why you just... left. Without a word." When Emma remains silent, she continues softly. "I know why, now, and I'm sorry that we never saw... that we never realized you were struggling. You were always so strong and independent on the outside, Emma. You just kept giving and giving—"

"And then I had nothing left to give, and no one needed me anymore," Emma finishes quietly. She can feel Regina stiffen and tightens her arm around her shoulders, not wanting the brunette to sit up and pull away from her. "I know. I know that's not true. But it's how I feel, and it's hard to believe differently when I've grown up with that mindset. Going to Storybrooke, being the Savior— it made me feel useful for once. Important. But at the end of the day, it was no different than what I've grown up with. Sooner or later, I'd outlive my usefulness and people would leave me again."

Turning her head so that her ear is pressed to Emma's chest, Regina breathes in deeply and takes some measure of comfort in the steady heartbeat she hears. Emma may still have a long way to go, but she's here with her right now, and that's enough.

"All I ask is that you come home, stay with us, give us the chance to prove otherwise."

Emma makes a humming sound, noncommittal, and Regina finally sits up, pulling away from the embrace and barely hiding a smile at the other woman's look of disappointment. Everything else aside, it's a relief to know that Emma still loves her and craves their closeness, even if they've both been blind to each other for so long.

"Come home with me, Emma," she says softly, her eyes pleading. "If not for the others, then for Henry and I. We need you. I need you. Please..."

Emma swallows. She's never heard Regina beg before. The Queen never begged for anything, yet here she is after months of scouring Brooklyn, searching for her, pleading for her to come home.

Her heart is still too afraid to believe, but she wants to. And maybe that's the first step. Being brave enough to try.

"Okay," she says. Regina smiles, her eyes shining with hope, and for now... For now, that's enough for them both.