So so sorry about the delay of this chapter! I kept reaching a certain point and then I would just get stuck and then I couldn't find the motivation to finish the scene. It's probably obvious as you read where I started to find it difficult but I hope you guys like it anyway! :)

Alas, I do not own OUAT.

The silence that ensued following her weighty statement indicated to only one of two things: either Emma had been stultified by the admission and couldn't form the strength to construct a sentence, or it was completely lost on her and she was already coming up with a plan to get them back to Neverland. By the look of determination on her face, Snow immediately knew it was the latter. The pinched forehead that mirrored Charming's frequently, the eyes that burst with purpose, the clenched jaw, were all classic signs of Sheriff Swan and if there was one thing Snow had learned about Emma, it was that when she was in that mode, she was dogged in her pursuit of her goal.

It was clear as day that her daughter saw their predicament as a problem that needed to be solved and no sooner than the words "My worst nightmare" had left her lips, Emma was pacing from side to side, her head bobbing in all directions looking for an out.

"Emma, stop," Snow ordered calmly, placing a gentle hand on her forearm.

"How do you suppose we get out of here?" she quizzed, stopping momentarily. "Do you think they can see us?"

The brunette shook her head, gazing back at the scene and feeling as though all of her burdens had positioned themselves atop her shoulders. "I…don't know honey. We're…we're not really here." But it felt like they were. God, it felt so real.

The smell of cinnamon, the intricate designs of the room, the noise of the frantic guards racing along outside of the room yelling, "The curse is coming!" – they were all there, able to be sensed by them. If this was a daydream of some sort, it was one hell of a vivid one.

"Okay, but what does that even mean?!"

Snow twisted her head to look her fully in the eye. "You said Hook warned you about whispers, about transforming dreams into reality, did he say how? Or how to undo it?"

"No…I don't…I don't think so. He just said to be careful. He thought I was vulnerable and that…" she trailed off, her voice a mere whisper, "I'd listen to the whispers. It sounded so stupid that I didn't think it was real."

"And instead of you falling prey to it, it was me," Snow finished, moving her hand down from the woman's forearm to hold hers. Emma was cold to touch and instinctively, Snow rubbed circles on her knuckles as a means of garnering up some heat.

The room that day was cold too. She remembered it as such. It was as if the curse had sucked all of the warmth from the land like a giant vacuum leaving a freezing, barren world in its wake.

The Evil Queen? More like the Ice Queen.

Emma moved in closer to her mother. "Okay so you're controlling this…stop it."

"Emma I can't just stop it! I don't know how."

The blonde shook her head, her locks falling around her face. "Think about something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "puppies, rainbows, hot chocolate-"

"Seriously, Emma?" Snow interjected with a roll of the eyes.

"Well," her daughter drawled, her expression unsure, "how do you suggest we get out of this then? I don't wanna be here, Mary Margaret."

"And you think I do?"

Bloodcurdling screams erupted from the other side of the room, yanking them from their moment. Snow watched herself cry out in agony, her dear husband trying desperately to soothe her, pleading with her to hold on until the wardrobe was finished. Every time she cried out, Snow jerked back as if what was happening then was an extension of herself in the present and her poor darling daughter had never looked so spooked.

"Seriously, we need to get out of here," the blonde advised, her voice high-pitched, as she clung to her.

"Maybe we can't. Maybe we have to be here," she whispered in reply, gazing into Emma's eyes.

The woman straightened. "Now's not really the time to be cryptic."

"Pan wants to mess with us – this place wants to mess with us. It wants to get us to a point where we are on the brink of giving up, where we are at our weakest. But that's just it; maybe to beat whatever this is, we have to let it play out. Show him that it doesn't affect us." Her tone was calm and assured, but on the inside, her heart pounded so loud that she was sure it was trying to escape from her body. She couldn't show her fear to Emma though; she had to remain strong and steadfast because that was what her mother did all those years ago when she was on her deathbed – she never let her see the damage. And Snow wanted to set that example for her own daughter.

She had to stay strong no matter how difficult that may be.

Suddenly, as if it had hit her like a bolt of lightning, Emma pulled her attention to the scene in front of them, watching wide-eyed as her mother sobbed with the news that she had to deliver the baby.

The look of sheer heartbreak on her father's face as he kissed his wife's head and struggled to keep his reassurances in check was truly painful, and the way the tears streamed down her mother's face uncontrollably brought tears to her own eyes.

She really didn't want to be here.

In fact, she'd rather be anywhere else than planted in that room, watching that unfold before her very eyes, knowing the outcome, and knowing how much watching this would kill Mary Margaret.

She was scared.

No, more than scared.

Terrified.

Petrified.

It was as if her eyes were glued to the passing moments, unwilling to be distracted, unwilling to be torn away. No matter how many times her head screamed at her to blink, to look away, she couldn't find it in her to do so. It was unnerving to be so engrossed in something so painful; it felt wrong. But she couldn't look away. Not now.

She still remembered all the thoughts that swarmed her mind right in those moments. Besides the obvious pain she was dealing with, protecting her child – protecting Emma – was always prominent. She just wanted to hold her, smell her, look into her little eyes and feel her heart burst with an all-consuming love that could break down walls and defy all the odds with its strength.

From the corner of her eye the brunette watched as Emma took a tentative step forward, rapt withal. Her hands shaking, Snow reached out and grabbed a hold of the blonde's, tugging her slightly to her side, not voicing the comfort she so desperately needed, and Emma responded with a watery smile.

They stood like that, hand in hand, hearts beating to the same rhythm, breaths coming in quick spurts, tears threatening to fall, as it all revealed itself before their eyes.

Her screams were piercing, the agony twisted into her features as she tried so hard to hold on. David's voice was strangled, his expression a mixture of panic and calm as he held his wife close, feeling himself break under each one of her wrangled cries.

Finally Gepetto burst through the door, his eyes alight with the news. "It's ready," he announced with a beckoning hand.

The utter relief seen in David's face was alarming as he repeated the declaration. A smile timidly forming, he draped one arm around the woman and the other underneath her legs and moved to lift her off the bed, but a warning hand from Doc paused the action.

"It's too late," he proclaimed with a shaky voice. "We can't move her." He appeared troubled by the whole thing, a small man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But before David could launch into protestation, Snow let out another sharp shriek, her body writhing forward and backward, her teeth barred. "I have to push!" she insisted, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes, push," Doc urged, moving around the bed into position.

"It's okay love, I'm right here," David assured, kissing her hand that was sewn to his. "Push."

It took several minutes and a number of deafening squeals but eventually a tiny cry was heard and baby Emma was delivered, wriggling around as if in search for something.

Her parents.

A new life, an innocent babe; through chaos and desolation, hope was born.

It was beautiful; symbolic in its own way.

"Welcome Princess Emma," Doc whispered as he cradled the squirming child, cleaning her up and wrapping her in the baby blanket Granny had knitted especially for new member of the royal family.

Snow and Charming, Mother and Father, were overjoyed as the bundle of love was passed over to them, resting comfortably in her mother's arms, like she was always supposed to be there.

A perfect fit.

And it was as if time stood still. Like there was no curse, no evil, nothing spoiled in the world they lived in. Emma's birth had brought so much more than love into their lives; she had brought hope, and that hope was palpable throughout the whole kingdom for just the briefest of instances.

For one swift, fleeting, second everything was forgotten. Everything was okay.

And then, suddenly, like a dark cloud obscuring the sun, it wasn't.

Charming, enamoured by the sight of his daughter, of his family, planted a kiss on Snow's forehead, basking in that feeling of being complete but Snow's low, uneven voice pulled him from his reverie, back into the darkness.

"The wardrobe," she murmured brokenly, her eyes leaving their child. "It only takes one."

Ominous crashes and brash yelling from down the hall caught their attention and they fixed their stare at the door.

The oncoming storm was heading right toward them.

"Then our plan has failed," Charming breathed, realization dawning. Holding back his tears, his heart aching at the sight of his wife's anguish, he rubbed circles on her back in the hope of comfort. Though, he was far too aware of how futile that was. Everything they loved was about to be ripped away from them, and for the first time, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. "At least we're together," he supplied, grasping at the only thing keeping him going.

Snow fell silent for an instant, her resolve breaking through her pain. When she spoke again her voice was shaky but dripping with tenacity. "No. You have to take her – take the baby to the wardrobe." There was truly no doubt that it was the most difficult, agonizing decision she had ever had to make. Her eyes shone with sorrow as she gazed down at her beautiful daughter.

"Are you out of your mind?" the man questioned, looking at her with incredulous eyes.

"No," Snow insisted, shaking her head defiantly, "it's the only way. You have to send her through."

"No, no, no you don't know what you're saying-"

"No I do!" she retorted emotionally. "We have to believe that she'll come back for us." Sniffing, she swallowed hard. "We have to give her her best chance."

Tears that had threatened to fall for so long finally made their escape and began to tumble down her cheeks. David, losing hold on his restraint, gave in to his tears too, recognizing that his wife was right. The air was heavy, weighing them down as they bore into one another's eyes. Understanding clicked between them.

The man leaned over and kissed his daughter, the cries of battle booming ever closer.

Time was running out.

Snow, with a most pained smile, knew that this was her last moment with her baby. "Goodbye, Emma," she whispered before touching her lips to Emma's forehead.

Knowing that if she held on anymore she wouldn't go through with it, Snow passed Emma to Charming, already breaching the barrier of distress. In an impassioned moment, he kissed her urgently, his own tears soaking her face.

With a profound sense of purpose, Charming broke away and raced to the door with his child cradled in his arms. He grabbed his sword from where it sat and gave a loaded parting look to this love of his life before darting out of the room, into the war.

And then it happened.

Snow collapsed back onto the bed, guttural sobs wracking her body as she cried and ached and yearned for her child. Her whole self shook uncontrollably, each moan laden with a sense of despair. Her world had to be taken away from her. Her happiness evaporated in one minute.

Her life empty.

The moment Emma left her arms, her heart shattered into a million pieces, broken beyond repair.

And then everything became hazy; blurred images and faraway noises filled the space between them as the wind kicked up again, swirling around them violently, causing the two women to lean into one another.

One minute they were in the nursery in the palace, and next they were thrust back into the blackness without even so much as a warning.

The cool air of Neverland pricked her exposed skin and then, as if they had dropped out of a portal, they were back in the same place they had started like nothing had happened. Like it had all been some elaborate dream she had had.

Emma didn't have time to process what she had seen. Hell, she didn't even have time to process her mother's reaction to what they had seen. How could she even describe what had taken place?

She had been subjected to the single most heart-breaking thing she had ever seen and would ever see.

Every sound, every flicker of movement was replayed every time she closed her eyes for more than a second but it didn't make it any easier to understand, or make it easier to connect to. It was a lot to take in, a lot to sift through and ruminate on.

She had watched her mother make that decision to send her away.

She had watched her cry out in sorrow after her child.

She had watched the exact moment her life had changed entirely.

And yet, despite all of the emotion welling up inside if her, she couldn't find it in her to say anything. She couldn't find it in her to pass remark and discuss and allow herself to feel.

Her parents sent her away – that was the truth she lived by every single day of her life and yes, she understood the reasons and had even found a certain amount of admiration towards them for it, but she didn't want to see it happen. She didn't want to live it. She felt the heartbreak, she heard the pain, she sensed the pressure but she never wanted to. It was easier for her that way to hate it. It was easier to be removed from it. The removal, the distance, provided the gravitas for her insecurities and her feelings of worthlessness – outlooks she had practically defined her life by. Those states created the identity by which she lived. She was an orphan. A child sent away for a greater purpose. She resented being sent away – always had; and not knowing the specifics of when she was given away meant that she could forever feel that way and fashion a life out of that resentment.

That was how she lived, day in and day out.

But now? Seeing it with her own eyes?

Well that changed everything.

How could she be angry at them? How could she accuse them of not loving her? How could she continue being the Emma Swan she had constructed out of what her life was like?

Emma Swan the unloved, tough orphan no longer existed.

Sure, the orphan title would still factor in, but the unloved part? No way.

Her whole basis of her life had been thrown asunder and now instead of being on the road of discovery, she was left flailing around in uncertainty.

Maybe Pan's way of messing with them was working after all.

As if checking to make sure she was alive and not stuck in some weird limbo, the blonde patted down her arms, examining her clothes and her body for any kind of tears or scratches – anything that would suggest that she wasn't in full and proper condition. Thankfully, everything seemed to be in its right place.

One could never be too careful when dealing with the island's whispers.

God that sounded so utterly ridiculous.

Mary Margaret was silent next to her. If it wasn't for the sight tension in the air between them she would have thought she wasn't there at all. Barely passing a comment was not exactly common for her mother and best friend and all it did was put Emma more on edge.

If that was even possible.

She was frightened to look at her, to see whatever was in her eyes, to watch her despair, to feel her love.

That she was not ready for.

Because she knew she'd see it as soon as their eyes clapped.

They shared a bond – one of the strongest bonds she'd ever forge – but sometimes that connection was terrifying and would especially be now as she was lost in her own mass of confliction.

What was she feeling?

There was just so many diverging things going on inside her head and her heart and she understood that she had to speak, she had to say something, she had to look her mother in the eye but…she couldn't.

She wasn't ready.

As if on cue, Emma felt the lightest of touches on her arm and reflexively, she snapped her head up and was met with the most tender expression she had ever seen. "You okay?" was all the woman had said and she waited, expectantly, for a reply.

Too bad she wasn't going to get the one she wanted.

"We better keep moving."

Emma cursed herself as she strode ahead, wishing for once in her life she wouldn't be so afraid to talk about her feelings.

Okay so I got slightly carried away with the ending there; I was trying to tease out Emma's sense of identity and examine it with regards to this new development and I know that in theory it should help her understand better and dislodge any feelings of resentment she had left towards her parents but for some reason, as I was writing, I just felt her character wanted to fight that and go a little deeper. In doing so, I made it far more complicated for myself! Haha. But she has somewhat allowed herself to create an identity out of her resentment – she's tough and guarded and inquisitive and she doesn't trust easily and she doesn't love easily – and I just thought that seeing the moment that her mother made the decision to send her through would make her question herself and her sense of who she is, as well as understanding/forgiving her parents.

Anywho that was long-winded! I do hope you enjoyed it regardless and if you could drop a review to let me know what you though it would mean the world to me :)