"What really happened at the top of the bean stalk, Emma?" Mary Margaret knew this was neither the time nor place to ask her daughter about that day. "His speech at the cell made me think…"

"Nothing happened." Emma snapped, biting down on her bottom lip to conceal the tremble. "Nothing's ever going to happen." Her mother's hand brushed over her shoulders, hesitating for a moment before she departed.

The blond waited, breath held, for what felt like an hour as she stared down at the ground. She was alone, amongst rows of stone markers, mere remembrances of lives lost. And today one more joined their cold unfeeling stares.

"I'm not done with you." Emma choked on her own words, bending over and gripping the tombstone to keep herself upright. "We can't be over. Not like this."

"Emma?"

She jerked around at the quiet breeze like whisper. There was no one there but him. Not seen, but there.