It wasn't easy, Mary Margaret learned (or was it Snow again?), to find a past life returning to you. To be completely honest, there hadn't been much of her current life to remember, the past just filled the empty slots at first. It wasn't until later that her head had begun to feel like it was exploding; worse than any migraine she could remember having. Not that she could actually remember any specific instance in the first place; she was just accustomed to assuming she had them, because that was the norm.

At the moment, the biggest problem was trying to distinguish her past from her present. And it wasn't as simple as it might have seemed. There were markers of course, that helped her figure it out, but then her conception of reality and subconscious was even more difficult to sort through. So she had called in sick to work, because it was engrained in her head that she was a teacher of children; that was real. She also knew this; the second time David – no, James – had addressed her as Snow, she'd felt inclined to respond. And so, Snow had realized, she needed to apologize to her husband, because that too was completely engrained in memory that she wondered how she ever doubted it in the first place.

Leaning over the counter, she decided as soon as she had finished the last of the tea and done the dishes, she'd be on her way. To his house was her best bet, but wasn't sure what to do if she came face to face with Kathryn, and while that thought made Mary Margaret nervous, Snow White's tenacity would prevail - until the fit blonde came walking through the door toward her.

Just as Snow opened her mouth to chastise Emma for not locking the door behind her, Emma spoke first. "I did something," she said, looking like a child who'd broken her mommy's favourite vase.

Snow almost chuckled, but the urge washed away as she realized this was the first time she'd ever seen the expression on her own daughter's face. Tears threatened to show as this realization was sinking in, pure emotion as she shakily asked, "What?"

"He looked really sad, and I mean, I couldn't just leave him there, I'm not a total jerk. He's broke and has nowhere else to go, and I'll make sure he doesn't even talk to you if you want. But it's just for tonight – not like when I said I'd just stay for one night, but actually one night, I promise, okay? Don't be mad."

Snow blinked; not very much of Emma's ramble had been clear. "What are you talking about?" she asked slowly.

Emma didn't answer immediately, walking back to the door and opening it wide, revealing the man who had been told to wait there until she came for him. James stood, looking rather small as he waved hello to his wife. "Don't be mad," Emma repeated. Snow felt a smirk creeping upon the edges of her mouth; the two of them looked so alike just then, faces pleading for a pleasant reaction. It must have taken too long for Snow to respond, because Emma continued speaking once again, mortified. "Oh my God, you're mad."

"No, no, I'm not mad," Snow said hurriedly. "If he really needs a place to stay, I don't mind." Emma let out a noticeable breath of relief, as she led him into the apartment.

"I'm going to go get a blanket and some sheets for the couch," she told them, but Snow grabbed a hold of her before she could go further.

"Emma, he's still injured."

She looked around. "… Oh. Okay, you can take my bed."

"Oh no, Emma. I couldn't-" James protested.

"Take my bed, or you're back on the street," was Emma's response.

James looked unsure of how to answer. "But-"

"Seriously, don't argue with me."

"Emma can sleep in my bed with me," Snow piped in.

"See? Problem solved," Emma said. Snow straightened up, surprised at how easily Emma had agreed to that. It made her elated to know that her daughter felt comfortable with such a proposition; she wasn't comfortable with close physical contact.

James found himself quite content with this turn of events, if a little surprised. But, looking at both women, he knew that if Emma was even a tiny bit like her mother, she would never have been able to leave him out on the street. "Thank you, Emma. You're very kind," he told her, braving to place a reassuring hand upon her arm. For just a moment, he had felt inclined to put a hand to her cheek soothingly, but didn't dare act upon it.

Emma looked like a deer in headlights as their eyes locked. "Okay, yeah, w-whatever," she sputtered, looking down at the floor and backing away. "Uh, I'll just show you where my room is."

As Emma climbed the stairs, James lingered for a few seconds, glancing toward the other woman in the room with an inquisitive smile. Snow smiled back, nodding once. It was all he needed to know he had his wife back.

"What the fuck is going on?" Emma bellowed, forcing Henry to get behind her on the off-chance that the house would explode.

"Emma, language!"

"No!" Emma said, pointing her finger briskly at her mother, looking a little crazy. It's clear that she was having difficulty with the lack of sense in the situation at hand. "No! What the hell did you two do?"

Emma was rendered silent as the glowing began to dim, and in the place of the tattered house, was a rejuvenated cottage, bright and colourful upon the murky green backdrop that was the forest. Under the windowsill, flowers had begun to sprout, the wood no longer seemed dry and creaky, but had a hint of shine in the sunlight.

"Seriously, what is going on?" Emma's voice was now quiet, overwhelmed.

"Emma, we were telling you the truth," Snow said, directly in front of Emma. "I used to live her, for a while, I must have sparked something. I don't know exactly." Emma clung onto her refusal of belief, shaking her head rapidly. "Emma," Snow said forcefully, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Look at James," her eyes flickered toward him then back again. "You have his eyes."

Emma shook her head. "No, I don't have his eyes," she said quietly.

"Yes, you do," Snow said calmly but confidently.

"This is too much," she breathed.

"I know," Snow murmured and encased Emma within her arms. "I know."

Author's Note: I know, the second half is much too short but this was the final flashback scene, as you can see, it has come full circle to the first chapter of this story. And actually, the second bit is just the beginning as we explore Emma finally accepting the truth. I'm trying really hard to find a muse, but it's terribly difficult at the moment, which why all the slow and short updates. But I'm trying! I swear! Leave a review; they help, I swear, even if it's just sharing what your favourite part of the story is, or commenting on my writing style, or flaming me. But be warned, I will answer your flames with passive-aggressive self-justification. Just drop me a comment!