"His behavior has been off tact lately and teachers, including I, are worried about him."

"What are you saying?"

"Not to sound rude but he has been becoming a nuisance in some of his classes."

"So? Kids usually are, let alone teens. So forgive me, but I don't see the problem here. He's being a bit defiant, ok… I can set that astray. But you're making this sound more serious than it is."

A heavy sigh releases from her mouth; more of frustration than resignation. She avoids the other's gaze for a few moments going over things of what to say in a delicate manner. Ever since her majesty's death the sheriff has been more than a little temperamental. "Look, Ms. Swan if I may,"

The blonde tenses at that. Her jaw clenches as she subtly hides her balled fists in her lap clenching and unclenching at erratic paces. No one, no one has her called her that in so long that it tightens her chest threateningly.

"Please, just sheriff or Emma." Her voice is constricted and devoid of emotion that it even sets her off some.

"Yes, my pardon. Emma…. Just talk to him. I'm sure it's still rather tough on him that his other mother is deceased, but much time has passed for his grief to dissipate some at least. He's going to need a firm hand to show him the correct way."

"Are you insinuating that my parenting is lacking?"

"No, not at all. All I'm saying is—"

"Forget it. I'll talk to him. Thanks for this impromptu chit chat." And with that all that was left was to get the hell out of this place and supposedly talk to her son.

They were in the cruiser now—since she was called down to the school during patrol—and was warily letting her eyes wander over to her son in the passenger seat. He was turned away from her staring blankly out the window sighing lowly every few moments as if something was on his mind. He wasn't that little boy that showed up at her door step year ago or the boy that was flustered on asking a girl out on a date back in Camelot. No. He simply wasn't one to recognize anymore really if Emma was frank.

He was now her height with hair long need for a cut. It was never groomed but more feral and occasionally dyed to his liking; an angry red. Currently there were shades here and there. His clothing attire wasn't as it were before but now heavy blacks and greys and few colors if he was up to it and you were around to witness it. They were detached, he and her. She gripped the steering wheel from these reeling thoughts in her head. Her everlasting mantra echoing in the back of her mind, 'Where did I go wrong?' But if the blonde was being candid, she knew but didn't want to delve into that; that's how much of a coward she became. So much so that she was berating herself in her mind when quiet was around (which was practically every day at the station with occasional phone calls rescuing her) and staring for long at her reflection almost every morning getting herself and the kid ready. You can say she was depressed, downcast, and crestfallen from another's perspective. But to herself she was simply an empty shell waiting to be blown away like ashes of the deceased. Hollow. Admittedly though, there was a void in her heart and life that neither anything nor anyone could fill; not herself, her parents, friends, husband, or her son even. In fact, just knowing that even Henry couldn't fill that gaping hole in her somewhat was troublesome and just deflated her more as she spiraled into the unknown. She was respected, envied, filled with promises; full of life, and all that was scathed away from one person's death.

'No not a person. She was—is more than that.' A Savior. An Evil Queen. A curse. Then it went to… A Sheriff. A Mayor. Post-curse. Then… A friend and mother to a friend and mother with normal life—as far as normal can get in this town. A ghost of a smile traced the blonde's lips as she thought of that; the memory in the mausoleum and her confession of wanting to be friends. It filled warmth through her whole body that was more than welcoming dashing through her veins like a game of tag making her feel like the person who she used to be. And gone was it as fast as you forget a dream with remnants fuzzing hither and thither but not complete, the longer dwelled on the more agitated you became. She sighed, a little too loud…

"Shut-up"

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, and please shut-up"

To say the blonde was shocked is an understatement. Never has her son talked to her in such a manner. It reminded her how the foster parents she had growing up in the system treated her. She felt little, useless, unwanted, pissed.

"I don't know what the hell is up with you, but I tell you this: don't you ever tell me or any relative of yours to shut-up!" emphasizing the 'p' sound in the end with a sharp pop and a hiss.

"No you listen! I will tell whoever to shut their damn—"

"Henry. Daniel. Mills. Say one more word from your defiled mouth or so help me God—"

Slam.

Ok, maybe dumbfounded was the correct term. She barely registered that they were in front of the loft and that it was Henry that slammed the door to her cruiser. She watched as her son stalked off into the loft with a nice shove to the entrance as he made his way to MM's place. A deep, shaky sighed released from her chap lips.

'I'm going to have to pick up some chap stick later.'

Yup. That's all the blonde thought as she hassled her way out the car and to her mother's apartment. Truth be told, Emma was not only herself as of late, but her mentality at how she would handle things were way off too. Just the other day she received a call saying that Ms. Sonya's cat was stuck in a tree—for the "first" time. Emma knew the procedure: calm the lady, bring the ladder, coo the cat down, top off her little mission with a bear claw or some other processed junk she found appealing. But instead she: huffed and puffed at the lady for bothering her with petty shit, forgot the ladder so threw rocks at Mr. Stripes instead, yelled and made rabid dog—at least what she thought—noises to lure that troubled lazy fucker from the tree, and scrunched her face up at the thought of eating something shelf-life but instead ate a salad—go figure.

"Yea," she sighed. "Definitely not in my right mind."

Pep talks were genetically in her blood from the so called "Charmings". So it should've been easy to talk herself up some to prepare herself for dealing with Henry's wrath… or bullshit. Because this was just bullshit he was lunging her way; the clothing, the hair, the fucking attitude, hell, even the music he blared from his room non-stop. Something called Twenty-nun Pirates? Granted, they have a unique sound although she doesn't need to hear screaming coming out of nowhere when there was just whispering. Squaring her shoulders, locking her jaw, and putting on her best don't-fuck-with-me face the sheriff of StoryBrooke pushed her way through the apartment's doors ready for anything to hit her like the savior she was, 'No, is, is" She got this.

"I hate you!"

Smash.

Was this hell? Was she in hell? She must be because her whole body feels on fire like the sun puckered up and gave her a smooch. She feels heavier, like an anchor dropping to the depths of an ocean where no light seeps through to give her that whole different meaning than the darkness plummeting around her engulfing her lungs in the aphotic zone of the ocean. Already the tears were prickling the corner of her eyes, mocking her for her weakness and inability to keep those three words unshed from the mouth of her own babe. This-this was it. She failed. She failed as a mother, and a friend. Saying that it stung like hell was like giving herself a pat on the back, no, she felt nothing. Like her last emotion was sucked by a dementor and now she was nothing but a cold lifeless corpse. That was it though, she was nothing. Nothing. 'huh,' she thought, 'seems like an accurate caption.' The face of Emma Swan with the only thing under it saying everything she felt like for years and that deem right is her, nothing.

Coming back to the ever present living that was torture to even breathe around, she glanced at the ground seeing what were the shattered pieces of hate her boy so graciously decided to harpoon just inches away from her. To make herself feel tidbits of positivity, she told herself he actually wanted to miss the object hitting his mother. She scuffed the remnants of one Snow's vase with her boot and made way for the broom and dustpan. Normally, sadly, when Henry did get upset he would blare his music on high and be anonymous to the world for a few hours. But instead there was quiet seeping through the air; that gave the blonde an unexpected shiver trekking down her spine. Henry has been inconsistent lately and it was worrisome. Instead of hovering over that feeling, she shook it off and decided to let the little bastard—'Well he is… born out of wedlock so…'—be and gave in for a hot chocolate. Alcohol was going to have to wait for a few more hours before it was a feasible idea to feel buzzed. She was tired and was absolutely done with the day and everybody. Only peace, "psh!" and quiet can be remotely helpful at this time. Her gaze was focused on MM's bed and though it looked really comfy to flop on and subdue in, she then remembered walking in on her parents that first time… so the couch was perfect. Fluffing the pillows, grabbing the throw, and slipping off her combat boots Emma was ready to surrender to sleep immediately; no thinking, just closing eyes and…

XYLOPHONE. Xylophone. XYLOPHONE. Xylophone.

She needs a less fucking annoying ringtone or simply say fuck it to apple. The latter was looking nice…

Killian

That name. It always made her heart skip a beat and sent warm tingles over her body. Her breath would hitch leaving nothing entering or leaving her airways. Pools of desire would wash over her leading to her core. The thought of his voice—his Irish accent—was a revelation in its own. Just the image of him—scruff beard, sea blue eyes, his handsome features, and the guy liner that made his eyes pop—sent her head over heels crazy for him. Emma Swan was in love.

She snorted at this and belched a heavy chuckle.

That name. It always laced her heart with pain and ache sending shivers of possibly disgust and loathing over her body. Her breath would hitch from having the thought that she would have to speak to him where she gasped and sputtered for air. Pools of desire of leaving him would wash over her and leave her stomach unsettling. The thought of his voice—intertwined with alcohol so pungent that it was gagging—was a revelation that he truly was a pirate. Just the image of him—blotchy beard, glazed eyes from too much rum, and his sickly handsome features that put her to shame for even enduring the thought, with that mascara he always insisted wearing—sent her head over heels crazy for not having the courage to leave him. Emma Swan was miserable.

So instead of doing her wifely duties, she ignored the call. She stared at the device in her hand for a few beats contemplating if she should shut if off or leave it on. Shutting it off would be nice; she could rest and not worry for a bit. But that has the repercussion of missing a call for her sheriff duties and her manic mother getting an update of her whereabouts while being insistent upon it. Leaving the device on with its clamorous ringing cutting the silence at unpredictable intervals seemed as menacing too. It was a quandary.

'Vibrate it is then.'

Instead of the vociferous lyrics he would pound out of his speakers to drown out his thoughts—and irk Emma—Henry decided to sit with silence filling the room. The teen felt bad for expressing his "disapproval" at Emma; it was quite petulant for him. Let alone deliberately throwing one of his grandmother's vases. He winced slightly at that, the thought that it was mere inches close to hitting Emma. In any other circumstance he would've concluded the heavy sigh he released was a bit dramatic, but he thought it was well deserved. He could hear his mother's voice concisely tsk-ing him for his insolence. He smiled at that.

Since her death in the Underworld, things haven't been the same. He hasn't been the same. Emma hell of wasn't the same. Not even the Charmings. Even some of the town wasn't the same, but that was the minority. The ones that were happy or feigning sorrow were the shitheads this town was made of. His grandpa—Gold—was one, he can rot in hell. There was no respect for that imp left for Henry. Although Belle actually seemed sadden by the news that the Queen was dead, so that uplifted Henry some. Others that didn't know the Queen as well but happened to be swept by the curse were part of the majority. Speaking of others that weren't acquainted with his mother and unstirred of her majesty's death, Hook is one. A scowl of disgust marred the teen's face with a scoff accompanying it. That mono one-hand fucker was a disgusting excuse of a pig that deserved to heave in the ashes of hell for that crap he pulled the night of his death. The man atoned for his sins and that's all that can be derived, cased closed.

Well…

He was saddened by Killian's death not because he didn't deserve it—the deception of Rumpelstiltskin was incorrigible—but he made Emma happy and he was a pretty cool person to know when he didn't have his memories of his Storybrooke life. The man had his flaws no doubt, but he did help with some stuff like the rescuing mission of Neverland. Though there was probably nothing that the pirate did without the agenda of quid pro quo. Everything was fine until those final moments in the Underworld. Her death, Emma's lame comeback that there was no way to rescue the brunette, the kingdom's wedding of Captain Killian Jones and Princess Emma Swan, and just everyday life was a barrier to get through without a full break down. Tears prickled the corners of the boy's eyes as he replayed his mother's death over and over again. He was spiraling; he couldn't afford that. With that last on his mind he let his thoughts wander to other aimless things that could either make him happy or cause pain to others…

Jade and jaded eyes perceived the dark room fluttering momentarily to adapt to its surroundings. They scanned the room as if a possible threat was lurking in some unknown shadows, and when it became evident there was nothing they closed from the world.

Emma let out a sigh of sheer exhaustion before moving her limbs—letting her addled sleep mind synapse the rest of her neurons. That power hour, or hours, nap didn't do the sheriff any good. Her body felt tense from being in an awkward position on her mother's sofa and her mind was still reeling of events from past, recent, and begrudgingly future. It was obvious she overslept since the apartment was a bit dark and eerily quiet. She hesitantly checked her phone for any important things she missed; luckily nothing happened except for some miscellaneous notifications on game updates. She groaned as she cat stretched her lean body in the apartment.

Time for her and Henry to get going.

Climbing up the stairs ever so slowly she dreaded whatever was coming her way with Henry and possibly her husband's interrogation on where she was, what she was doing, and whom she was with during her day; but the thoughts halted as she hinted a light illuminating in the hallway from her and Henry's bedroom. She rapped on the door a few times before making her way in.

"Hey, kid it's time to get going."

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the lulling picture before her. Her son curled slightly into a ball clutching a pillow with a serene look donning his face and his boy-girl hair curtaining his face a bit. There wasn't a time she could recall with seeing her son so at peace prior to his other mother's death. It squeezed her chest a bit when she realized she couldn't even really comfort him to the extent of a possible restful sleep. She was a crappy mother.

Reluctantly fixing out her reverie watching the boy sleep, Emma lightly spoke to him while nudging his shoulder for some seconds.

"Henry. Henry… sweetheart wake up"

Jade and jaded eyes perceived the exact gemstones hovering above him. It took all his will to not flinch from the close contact Emma was giving. It was like she was expecting him to be dead and that stirred him in the wrong direction. The baffled face from sleeping slicked to one of annoyance and Emma winced at that. She hurriedly withdrew herself close from him and regained her ground.

"Hey, kid it's time we go home. Still gotta get food ready and stuff."

"I don't wanna."

"Henry—"

"Can't we just pick something up from Grannies and eat at the mansion? I miss it there and would like to spend the night there."

"I don't know…. Killian wouldn't—"

"This doesn't concern Hook," Henry rebuked vehemently, "all I want is to spend some time in my original home with my mom's things while spending time with my other mother. Is that too much to ask for?"

The blonde resigned at that. He just referred to her as his mother after how long? She wasn't going to burn the bridge at that. She could just text Killian that she won't be back until tomorrow and hopefully won't get a tirade of her absence and roll to fulfill her wifely duties. She almost gagged at the end of that thought. Yeah… a night at the mansion could be just the change her and Henry could use. Just the thought of being close to Regina's things elated her mood further.

"Yeah, why not? Pack a few things and we'll make our way to Grannies first, then to the mansion." A lopsided grin made home on her face at the end of her words.

"Ok, awesome! Thanks Ma!" And oh did her heart swell of those last two words. This was definitely worth it.

A/N: I want to give a helluva thanks to Gravity In the Air for helping me put my anxiety at bay over the reaction of this story and for helping me out, pretty much giving me actually, the summary of this story. No lie I can't stop reading the summary. l-/