Thank so much for the continued reviews! Sorry I haven't had time for many responses. Boring ol' life and whatnot. This one gets pretty angsty here. I'm not really used to writing angst, though I'll admit it's an interesting change for me, so let me know what you think!

She was in the quiet, foggy realm between sleep and wakefulness. When you can feel the world around you with growing awareness but you aren't quite ready to release the dreamworld you're leaving.

Emma didn't want to let go of the dream, because in her dream her mother was alive.

She wasn't entirely clear on why she was so tired, why her limbs felt like lead, why her stomach was unsettled or why her head felt near to bursting. Through short flashes of consciousness she knew she'd been carried. A part of her was appalled by the idea, but she just couldn't find it in herself to care. But she didn't know how much else was real because she could have sworn she heard her voice, felt a warm kiss on her cheek.

But that was impossible.

Pain, unbearable, all-encompassing, crushing pain ripped through her, leaving her breathless. Not even when she believed Henry had died had she felt this suffocating agony of loss, because she'd barely had time to understand that he was gone before her kiss revived him.

A kiss could cure someone of a poisoned apple, but not a bullet to the heart.

What made it all worse was if Emma knew how to use her innate magic, there was a possibility she could have saved her.

She didn't know what she was going to do. In the span of little over a year she'd come to rely so heavily on the woman that now that she was gone…Emma was truly lost. More lost than she'd ever really been in her whole lonely life.

The friendship, the understanding, the warm, inviting smile and an offer of hot chocolate, were all gone. The best friend who would stay up late just to talk to her, who was on her side no matter what, who kept her secrets, who listened without judging, who saw the good in her despite her messed up past, was gone.

And so was the mother she had only just begun to forge a relationship with. Who even though she barely knew her, loved her unconditionally and without reserve.

Emma squeezed her eyes tighter shut, unwilling to wake up to a world without Mary Margaret – without Snow White – in it.

Every time she'd had an opportunity to tell her that she loved her ran through Emma's mind like wildfire. Even the times when she should have just thanked her or voiced appreciation for the things she did. Mundane things like laundry, and making dinner, and cleaning up her damned room because she fell exhaustedly into bed each night after a long day at the station and complained the day before that she couldn't find her stuff.

The woman was a mother long before either of them knew it. Regardless of the fact that she was scarcely Emma's age.

And she thought about since learning the truth…all the times Emma pushed her away, refused to talk about her own past, shied away from words of endearment…all the times when calling her "Mom" no matter how awkward it would have been, would have absolutely made Mary Margaret's day because it was the one word she longed to hear and shouldn't have had to wait 28 years to hear it. Emma knew. She knew the moment Henry called her Mom.

Henry. How was she going to tell him? How could she tell him that she'd let his grandmother, that she let Snow White die?

Emma moaned, and curled in on herself, feeling hot tears roll down her face. She couldn't breathe. It was like the pain was crushing her.

A warm hand on her forehead and a soothing voice made her flinch violently. She recoiled from it, because it reminded her of the cruel dream that Mary Margaret stood before her, smiling despite the blood covering her body, looking at her in that way that no one else had in her entire life. Like she was everything.

Something cool and wet touched her face and she flinched again, this time in surprise. It was gently scrubbing at her skin.

Finally the waking world could be ignored no longer, and Emma slowly dragged her eyes open. They felt like they were full of sand.

When her vision focused she moaned again, because clearly she wasn't fully awake yet, and this was just her brain trying to torment her and drive her crazy by showing her the one person she wanted to see, who she would never see again.

"Shh…it's okay sweetheart, lay still."

Emma shut her eyes and couldn't restrain a pitiful sob. Maybe she really had lost her mind.

All at once her head and shoulders were being lifted and pulled into a tight embrace and she blinked in confusion.

"Don't cry, Emma, I'm here."

When she opened her eyes again she found herself being cradled as best as one could cradle someone their own size. Mary Margaret looked down at her with tear-filled, loving eyes and stroked the side of her face. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here."

"N…no…" Emma muttered, though she'd never wanted more desperately to believe something in her life. She couldn't help but be reminded of the moment she realized she secretly did wish her mother was Mary Margaret. "Can't…"

Mary Margaret let out a humorless chuckle. "Believe it, Emma. You did it, sweetheart, you saved me."

"But…I couldn't…" she whimpered, hearing that she sounded very, very young and very, very hurt. "I tried…but I failed."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "You didn't fail. You healed me, Emma, I'm alive. I'm okay."

For some reason it wasn't her face hovering inches from her own, nor the reassuring sound of her voice, not even the hand that was softly stoking her hair that convinced Emma. It was the tears that fell and landed on Emma's face that made her jolt into awareness and into a sitting position. "Y…you…"

This time, her laugh was joyful. "I'm okay, Emma. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

Emma's saucer eyes glanced to the left where David was watching them silently from beside a campfire a short ways away. He was smiling reassuringly while Neal and Hook were making shows of not looking at all.

She looked back at her mother, and without another second's hesitation, because who knew if she'd ever have another second to spend, launched herself into her arms, holding her so tight she might have been hurting her, but Mary Margaret only wrapped her arms around Emma in turn and squeezed just as tight.

Tear flowed unchecked down Emma's face. "Mom…" she whispered.

"I love you, Emma."

"I love you, too," Emma cried. "I thought I'd lost you."

Mary Margaret pulled back, brushing away Emma's tears with her thumb in a way that Emma was becoming accustomed to. "Didn't I tell you that we'd never lose each other again? Believe me, Emma, you're not getting rid of me that easily. One bonus that curse afforded us was that we can all grow very old together so not even age can tear me away for a very. Long. Time!"

Emma had to laugh at that, but the sound turned into a wheeze and suddenly her unsettled stomach heaved and she was scrambling away from her mother to retch into the bushes, her body shuddering violently.

"Emma?!" Mary Margaret's voice was high pitched with worry. "David!"

Emma felt her hair lift away from her face and neck while a hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. There wasn't much in her stomach to lose, but that didn't seem to matter.

When the attack was finally over, she could no longer bear her own weight and very nearly would have plunged into her own vomit had a pair of strong arm not lifted her up and into his arms like a baby.

"Emma…Emma…are you okay? Talk to me, please!"

Emma realized that Mary Margaret had been repeating her name over and over, crying worriedly.

"M' okay…" she mumbled, too tired to talk but unwilling to worry her mom too much. She was as limp as a ragdoll when David gently lowered her back to the ground.

"I think she'll be okay," Neal said, and Emma groaned when she realized he and Hook were hovering over her also. "This happened to my father, too. When he turned this man into a snail he threw up all night. She just…just needs to lie still, I think."

"You think?" Emma flinched at the unusually sharp tone of her mother.

"I don't know, okay?!" Neal was aggravated, though not at Mary Margaret Emma suspected. "Whatever…that was…it was a lot more than turning someone into a snail! I honestly don't know if he's ever gone through anything like that so I don't know the level of effect!"

Emma opened her eyes, forcing herself to stay awake and alert, and gratefully accepting a pouch of water from David. "What are you talking about?" she croaked, narrowing her eyes at Neal. "What…that was. What do you mean? Why am I sick?"

"Don't worry about it, Emma," Mary Margaret said, trying to get her to lean back against what she realized was David's jacket. She glanced at him, thinking he must be cold, but figured she'd pick her battles for now.

"Too late, what are you all talking about? Am I dying or something?" she'd meant it to be sarcastic, but didn't like the way everyone paled.

"Of course not!" Mary Margaret hissed. "You…you used your magic to heal me, Emma, you're not used to that and Neal says that it can make you sick. You'll be fine, you just need to rest."

"There's something you're not telling me," it wasn't a question. Maybe her superpower wasn't always so reliable, but she knew for sure that they weren't being 100% honest.

"We'll talk when you're better," David said. "I promise."

Pacified, Emma relaxed, and her eyes were growing heavy again from all the effort.

Mary Margaret sat beside her, her knees drawn up to her chest. Emma saw the blood caking her clothes, though it looked as if she'd tried her best to wash some of it off. It made her heart lurch.

"You'll be here when I wake up?" she hadn't meant it to sound so helpless and childlike, but in her exhausted state she couldn't help it. She just needed to know that next time she opened her eyes, her mom would be beside her and it wouldn't have all been another cruel dream.

"Of course," Mary Margaret whispered. "I won't leave your side. I promise. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Even still Emma couldn't close her eyes until she rolled over and clutched Mary Margaret's hand, needing the contact to assure her that she was there. After a moment she felt Mary Margaret shift, then lay down beside her close enough that Emma could hear her breath.

Only then could she sleep.