A/N: Okay so let's say this takes place after they've defeated Zelena and Storybrooke is kind of dealing with the aftermath (no time travel stuff) and Emma has yet to return to New York. As for the SVU timeline, it's some time after Beast's Obsession... So umm... basically it's an Emma/Olivia brotp and an Olivia/Regina OTP. But I'm still dubbing it Fearless Swan Queen, because why not. Unedited so I apologize for any mistakes.


"Hey! This is Emma -"

"And Henry! I live here too you know!"

She laughs as she continues "Swan. And yeah, the kid lives here too. Anyways, obviously we're not here right now. We're probably doing something more important than sitting by the phone waiting for a call. So yeah, leave a message at the annoying beeping sound and we'll get back to you... if you're lucky."

Henry's laughter is heard in the background followed by an incredulous "what?!" from his mother before it cuts off with a loud beep.

"It's me, again. I've probably left you about a hundred messages by now. I can't seem to get through to your cell, either. Did you change your number? Where are you? I haven't heard from you in weeks... I'm getting worried." She sighs, running her fingers through her short brown hair, "I don't think I did anything for you to ignore me. Unless you're angry with me about perjuring myself, I'd explain if you let me... but you stopped answering before that so I just... It's not Henry is it? Is he alright? Are you? Can you -"

The line cuts off then. It's not the first time. Messages are supposed to be short and simple. But when you've called as many times as she has, and to no avail, the words just tend to pour without filter. God knows how many of her cut off messages have been saved in that machine by now.

She hangs up and sets the phone aside with a frustrated sigh. She really needs to talk to someone right now. Someone she could trust, but of course there was no one left, not outside the precinct. Emma was the only real friend she had left. And she really, really does not want to talk to Dr. Lindstrom right now. She just needs a friend. And more importantly, she needs to know why she hasn't heard from the blonde in such a long time, it just isn't like her to disappear. Could she really have tired of her so suddenly?

She thinks, not for the first time, that perhaps the drama with Lewis had managed to ruin yet another aspect of her life, but there's a nagging feeling that tells her that no, Emma wouldn't do that. She and Emma understood each other, they were alike in many ways. Despite her tendency to run, she wouldn't just leave without a word. Not unless something had gone terribly wrong.

She purses her lips in thought, staring at the bookcase across the room. She sees the book, the one with stories and photos that Henry had made her for her birthday. It was such a surprise at the time, she hadn't ever mentioned her birthday to Emma. She always hated her birthday, there were very few good memories related to that day of the year. And yet... somehow the blonde had figured it out. Of course, it shouldn't have surprised her, Emma was excellent at her job, she would have made quite the detective if her life had taken her down that path.

She makes her way over to the bookcase, picks up the book and returns to her place on the sofa. As she looks through the pages for the umpteenth time since she first received it, she can't help but smile.

It's as she's looking at the silly picture - selfie, as Henry calls it - of the three of them, cheeks pressed up against one another, laughing for reasons she can't recall, that she decides that she needs to do more than call. She needs to do more than wait for a response. Something has to be wrong for her to have left without a word. She sets the book down, grabs her coat, puts on her boots and walks out the door.


After some manipulation and authoritative demands - okay, yes, she used her badge - the building manager finally used his key to let the Sergeant into the Swan residence. She did try the traditional method of knocking on the apartment door and even calling her phone, but as expected, she received no response, and there was no way she was giving up, she had to know. So now here she stands, in the foyer of her friend's home. She searches the rooms quickly, hoping that she might just find her friend asleep, hoping the blonde had simply been ignoring her all these weeks.

Of course, the quick sweep of the house does nothing to ease her worry, instead she notes the layer of dust on the counters, the untouched dishes in the sink, which had obviously been there a while, and finally, clothes and other belongings thrown haphazardly about Emma's room. Her closet is wide open, her bed made but with clothing thrown carelessly atop it. The mess is nothing to be too concerned about, however, it's quite simply... well, Emma. Though it is quite obvious that no one had set foot within the apartment in quite some time.

She continues to look around, keeping her eyes pealed for any clue as to where she'd gone. There's nothing in her room though, nor Henry's. Just mess and dust and quiet. She heads back to the kitchen then, opening the fridge only solidifies her earlier assessment, most of the food within it is rotten now. She scrunches her nose in disgust and closes it. That's when she sees the notes held up against its surface by varying magnets. Most of them are quite normal of course; reminders to buy milk (a few too many, some bold and underlined with several exclamation points), doctor's appointments, and reminders for Henry's upcoming trip. She continues to look through them, unable to stop the laugh that escapes when she catches one that reads "MOOOOM! DON'T FORGET THE M-I-L-K OR I'LL STOP GROWING AND HAVE 2 DROP OUT OF SKL!"

She plucks it off the fridge and shakes her head, "God, Emma, you're worse than I am." She's about to put it back where it was when she notices a crumpled paper just below where it belonged. Something about it attracts her and she reaches for it. She straightens it out as much as she can, unintentionally dropping Henry's note as she does so. She doesn't bother pick it up, though, but rather chooses to examine this note instead. There isn't much on it, just the word "storybrooke", but something tells her it's precisely what she's looking for.


It took a few days and about a dozen dead ends, but at last, she had made progress. She was about ninety percent certain she knew where Emma had gone. Storybrooke wasn't much of a lead, it was incredibly frustrating, the databases at work were useless, as were her contacts, but Emma's apartment, well, after her fourth visit - inspection, really - she had finally found what she needed. And now here she is, driving down an endless road in the middle of nowhere in Maine.

It was nowhere to be found on a map or the internet, but Emma's notes - fragmented and confusing as they were - led her to believe that this was where she needed to be. It turns out Storybrooke is a town, or at least that's the conclusion she'd come to during her investigation. Problem is, there was practically no proof and she's mostly going with her gut instinct. But she has the time, a few weeks, really, so she figures it's an instinct worth following.

When her radio turns on unexpectedly, flipping through stations at random, and she begins to lose control of her vehicle, however, she begins to question if it was a bad idea. Leaving state alone to the middle of nowhere without telling anyone where she was headed (not that anyone would care, she had no family, her "friends" were alright but none of them treated her the way they used to, they all look at her with either pity or distrust now and it has been getting on her nerves) almost seems reckless now.

She tries to regain control, tries to stop the car but nothing seems to work. She grips the wheel tight, her knuckles visibly white and she curses and she tries and tries but she can't reclaim control. And then suddenly it stops. Everything stops. And all she feels is her heart pounding so hard and so fast she thinks it might pop right out of her chest. It doesn't though, obviously. She closes her eyes tightly, her grip on the wheel never loosening and she tries to catch her breath, tries to calm the nerves and push away the fear.

After what feels like a lifetime, her heart rate calms down, it's still a little faster than normal, the adrenaline still quite present, but she's not so afraid anymore. She opens her eyes, lets out a deep breath and slowly releases her hold on the steering wheel. She looks down at her own body, checking for any visible damage but she sees none. She breathes again, it's long and deep and it aids in alleviating the pressure she feels on her heart.

She closes her eyes once more and thanks whatever the hell is out there, if anything at all, for her survival. She doesn't have a whole lot of faith these days, never really has, but there are moments like these where she wonders, and she can't help but silently thank whatever. Destiny, the skies, herself, whatever it is that has her survive time after time. She moves her right hand up to her neck, only feeling true comfort when her fingers wrap around the pendant she wears.

Fearlessness.

Perhaps it's silly, but that word, this necklace, it's her most valued possession. Even though its not the one she'd had for years, this newer one still holds the same power. It's managed to get her through quite a lot and it's presence is enough to anchor her, to remind her that fear is merely a distraction, something to fight, not run from.

She opens her eyes again, this time making a point of looking beyond herself and the confines of her car. She looks out the windshield to see the same endless road lined by an equally endless forest. But this time it's different, this time she smiles, because among those trees is an old sign, one that reads "Welcome to Storybrooke" and it is such an incredible relief that she almost wants to cry. Almost.

Instead she fights the weakness, fights the uselessness of tears and focuses on the good; she was right, Storybrooke was real, and she had found it. And soon, she would find Emma and find out what the hell had brought her out here and why she hadn't bothered to call.

She turns the key in the ignition, ready to continue her journey, but of course, it doesn't work. The engine sputters and makes a few sounds but the car won't start. She tries a few times more before she gives up with a frustrated huff and a hand that slams forward, honking the horn in the process.

She gets out of her car, pops open the front and checks the engine. Of course, her knowledge of cars isn't the greatest and she ends up slamming it shut once more. She pulls out her phone to call for help, but her day really, truly, has become quite the lucky one. There's no cell service. Not even a single bar. She tries walking around, holding it up in different directions, but nothing. She sighs and returns it to her pocket.

It's not long after that she decides to walk the rest of the way, or at least until she finds somewhere she can make a call, maybe rest a little. Okay, it's not really much of a decision, there isn't exactly another option. She definitely has no desire to sit and wait in the hopes that someone will show up and save the day. The fact that she's in the middle of nowhere isn't even the main reason, she just really doesn't need to be saved, she's never fit the role of damsel in distress well. Even in times where she had been, no one would save her but herself, and only because she knew she had a purpose; people to protect, voices to return. She's not so sure about her purpose anymore, but she's certainly not stupid enough to wait around for someone to tell her.


She's been walking for what feels like days now (she hasn't, she knows, but it certainly feels it), but at last she's found some form of civilization. It's not a large town, not that she was expecting it to be.

She makes her way towards the diner as soon as she spots it. It just seems like the best option. Hopefully they have a phone (her cell still can't catch a signal), and she would be able to ask if anyone had seen Emma, and, well, she wouldn't be opposed to a cup of coffee.

The abrupt quiet is hard to miss upon entering the establishment, the number of wide and curious eyes upon her even harder to ignore. She smiles lightly, however, attempting to alleviate the strange tension in the atmosphere. She averts her eyes quickly enough after the attempt, focusing instead on the elderly lady behind the counter. She orders a cup of coffee, sits on the only unoccupied stool and sets her bag down in front of her. The quiet is slowly replaced by a hum of voices. They're whispering, most likely about the stranger that just walked in. Most likely is an understatement really, it's blatantly clear that they are indeed talking about her, but she does her best to ignore it. It's not like she hadn't been subjected to this treatment before, the media coverage after Lewis was extensive and the damage seeped into every crevice of her life.

"There you go," the older woman says as she places a mug of coffee on the counter before her, "can I get you anything else?"

"Thanks." And this time when she smiles, it's less awkward and more genuine. "This'll be fine for now."

The older woman narrows her eyes, studying her briefly before she nods and tries to start up a conversation. Well, pry is a better fit for what she asks, "What brings you to Storybrooke?"

She doesn't hesitate to answer, she had fully expected the question, especially after the... welcome she'd received upon entering.

"I'm looking for someone," she answers, lifting the coffee to her lips, she takes a sip, hums in approval, and then continues, "perhaps you might know where I can find her."

The woman smiles at her and she can feel the eyes staring from behind her, the whispering continues but it's even quieter than before and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Her name is Emma, Emma Swan."

The recognition is instant. Olivia sees it in the other woman's eyes, the way they widen just a little before she quickly regains control over them and narrows them in suspicion.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was, Miss...?"

"I didn't. Sorry." She sets the mug down and extends her arm offering the woman her hand, "Olivia Benson."

The older woman stares down at her extended hand before finally reaching out herself. They shake hands briefly and she smiles, although the suspicion remains. "Everyone here calls me Granny," she offers.

A moment of silence passes between them, only interrupted by a sound from behind, a door, she supposes, and the clicking of heels, but she doesn't look away from the older woman.

"What is it you want with Emma Swan?" she asks finally, a little louder than necessary.

Olivia doesn't miss the warning within the woman's eyes and she most certainly doesn't miss the fact that she's no longer looking at her, but rather somewhere past her.

She doesn't answer, simply studies the woman's face, a face which is so clearly conversing silently with a third party.

"Well?" the question is delivered with a hint of impatience but it most certainly did not come from the elder woman before her, it came from a rich voice behind her. And so she turns, slowly, at last and she finds herself looking at an elegantly dressed dark brunette with bright red lipstick.

"Go on, dear, answer the question." She smiles, and it's the type of smile she is all too familiar. Fake. So very, very fake. A little cold and warning, too. Defensive. Practiced.

She parts her lips to respond, not to answer, but rather turn the interrogation on its head, when the shuffling of feet is heard before an all too familiar voice makes its presence known.

She turns just in time to see the young boy's bright smile as he gleefully calls out "Aunt Liv!" before running towards her and wrapping his arms around her.

She's a little surprised to see him, but also incredibly relieved and she simply can't stop the grin that spreads across her face when he hugs her. She chuckles lightly and responds with a light, "It's good to see you too," as she ruffles his hair before returning the embrace.

"What are you doing here?" he asks curiously as they part from one another's arms.

Him she answers without a second thought. She's known him for less than a year, but she'd grown to love him within a few weeks of meeting him. "I was worried about you and your mom so I came looking."

"Oh, she didn't tell you we were leaving, did she?" She gives him a tight lipped smile and he shakes his head in acknowledgment. "Sorry, this whole trip was really sudden."

"That's okay, I'm glad to see you're okay."

"Yeah," he tilts his head slightly to the side, "but how did you find us? How did you-"

"That," the dark brunette cuts him off, settling her hand on his shoulder protectively as she pulls him toward her, "is a very good question."


A/N: So... this was only going to be a short thing to get it out of my system... it sort of took a life of its own though... I've decided to continue with it and see where it goes but just know it's most likely going to be Regina/Olivia endgame. Reviews would be appreciated.