Author's Note: Kay, so I found this in The Archives of Old & Lost Fanfiction. It's back from November 2014, before the two hour special in season four when Emma was struggling with her magic because Crazy Dairy Queen Ingrid made it all sparky, haha. I was about to post it before the episode aired, but I never did. And then it got lost in The Archives, and now here it is. Figured I'd post it now to end the year (2015) and ring in the new (2016, in case you were unawares). Enjoy, I hope.

Title and plot driven by Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the thoughts in my mind and the dirty, dirty sex scene. That's all mine. Dammit, A & E.

Nothing Lasts Forever (But This Is Gonna Take Me Down)

Say you'll see me again, even if it's just pretend

A monster.

Different.

Wrong.

That's what she is. That's what they called her. What they think of her.

God.

And they're supposed to be the people that care about her, that love her most.

And right now she just feels like Regina always says she feels; alone, having nothing and no one.

Maybe they could hang out. She, at least, probably wouldn't judge her for her accidental ill performance with the magic she once praised so highly. She'd probably make some snide remark about it, but she likely wouldn't judge.

Wouldn't look at her as though she were a villain.

All she can remember is the look on her mother's face after she hurt her father, the pain in David's eyes after the lamppost had hit him, the way her mother had recoiled away from her and had held the baby in her arms tighter as though she feared Emma would harm him, the way that they'd looked at the mess she'd caused with disgust and fear in their eyes.

The way that Killian had called her a monster.

Well, not her, necessarily. He'd asked what 'that monster' had done, and even though she knew he'd been referring to the Snow Queen...she'd done it. It still hurt that he felt like the person that had caused the damage was a monster.

It hurt because she thought he lo...cared. Thought he cared about her.

Well, she thought they all did.

'They love me,' she'd told the Snow Queen.

She was wrong.

And that's why she's here, now. Sitting in her car in the dark in the Storybrooke forest overlooking the town. She's far enough away from the Merry Men's camp site to worry about any of them finding her, but close enough to town to feel safe.

Safe.

Ha, like she should feel like that anymore, here in this town.

She feels like a cornered animal, prey, and she's frightened almost to death of the impending doom and implications of the wrath of her once so-called family.

Because she knows how they see her now.

If it weren't for the damn ice wall surrounding the town, she'd be out of here (and she supposes that's a jab to her character development-but she'd wanted to stay and this is how she's treated now, and she can't-). It's not as though she'd be able to hurt anyone if she were gone, and Henry would have Regina. A mother who wouldn't be able to hurt him.

Though definitely one that had previously been labeled a monster.

Perhaps she should talk to her.

It's cold out and the heater in her decades-old bug is shot to hell. It's around midnight and she knows she's got about fifty unread texts and around twenty voicemails but she's not checking them. She doesn't want to be found. And that's why no one has. Probably because no matter how much they say they care, no matter how much they act as though they love her...they still fear her. And that thought, the thought that the Snow Queen was indeed right in most aspects of her speech, the thought that she's feared.

It's even worse than the thought that she was unlovable.

That revelation just might be the most terrifying one she's ever had.

And she's had a lot in her life.

He's devastated.

Well, that's a bloody understatement.

She's gone and he has no idea where she went. It's been hours since he'd last seen her, and even then it hadn't been in the best of circumstances. The last he'd seen of her, she was frightened and her magic had been out of control. But he knows that in no way was that her fault.

Apparently, however, she did not know this.

Hence; her being gone.

He's sitting in her parents' loft, after spending the last six hours searching for Emma with David and Elsa, and Mary Margaret is giving David a long speech about how the two of them had failed their daughter today.

She might be Snow White and Queen of the Enchanted Forest back in their realm, but right now, all he wants to do is yell at her. He knows she's hurting, but she's forcing David to share the weight of her burden, the weight of her suffering at the knowledge that she hurt her daughter. She and only she. Her yelled reprimand at Emma for losing control of the magic that makes her oh, so wonderful was the (well, as Emma's told him is a saying in is world) straw that broke the camel's back. As soon as she'd uttered that, something in Emma's eyes had changed. He'd seen the frightened woman there the entire time they'd been talking to her, but the moment her mother had yelled at her, her eyes broke with such an intensity of heartbrokenness and betrayal that he wasn't quite sure he wouldn't be blown over by the force of it. Then her eyes had glazed over with hardness and she'd fled the sight, without even giving him a chance to stop her.

David welcomes the burden, which he supposes is a "True Love thing", not that he's entirely certain (he's never had one), but every person in this room and Rumpelstiltskin knows that the fault lies within Snow White only.

No wonder Regina had hated her so long.

He shares a look with Elsa, who appears to be thinking the exact same thing (which doesn't surprise him, considering when the former Queen of Arendelle had been speaking about loved ones fearing those with magic, she'd been looking directly at the fair Snow). When he looks away, though, he can't shake the feeling that he's held a part in hurting her, as well. And as much as the thought of hurting her disgusts him to the very core, perhaps he'd done it unintentionally when he'd called the Snow Queen that had destroyed the Sheriff's Station a monster, unbeknownst to him that the "monster" had actually been the woman he loves.

However unintentional it may have been, however, Emma wouldn't see it as that.

Bloody fucking hell.

Now, he knows that he's completely, utterly, and irrevocably devastated.

He can only hope that it's not too late for him to fix this.

Hopefully.

She hurt Henry.

Hurt her son.

The thought runs through her brain like a mantra designed to kill her.

She hurt him with the very magic that made the people she held so dearly fear her.

She has to get rid of it.

She has to.

He's traipsing through the forest (as he usually does whenever she's involved-the thought makes him smile), trying to pinpoint exactly where Henry said he'd seen her earlier.

She might not still be here. But he hopes she is.

Henry had gone to the woods to find her earlier (against everyone's wishes, might he add), and with her magic still out of control, Emma had hurt him. The boy had been fine and hadn't blamed his mother, but she'd blamed herself for causing him pain. She'd dropped him off at the loft, and before anyone could talk to her, she'd left, once again fleeing the scene.

He knows how good and pure she is, and he loves her for it. He knows it's not her fault.

But she doesn't.

So he has to find her. He has to convince her just how bloody amazing she is.

He's walking quickly and thinking of numerous things (never a good combination) and he's not looking where he is going. That's when it happens.

He stumbles through a bush and curses loudly, and that's when he sees her.

She whirls around to face him and expels her breath in a puff of air. She looks wild and frightened, and her eyes widen in shock as she takes him in.

She's even more lovely standing here in front of him than she'd been in his wildest dreams.

"Emma," he starts quietly, a soft smile creeping up on his face.

"Stop." She says firmly, holding her palm out before her, as if to halt his movements. "Don't come any closer. It's not safe."

Confusion mars his features, just as his brows furrow. "Emma, what are you talking about?" He asks her gently.

"I hurt Henry!" She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "I hurt my son and he didn't even do anything. He just wanted to help me. My magic is out of control, and I don't want to hurt you, too." She steps away from him, then, retreating back into her own space.

"That wasn't your fault." He states firmly, taking a hesitant step towards her. "Emma, no one blames you for anything. I've seen what your magic can do and it's wonderful. You're wonderful. No one believes any differently." He takes two more steps towards her, more sure of himself with the look she gives him.

She looks at him with sad, frightened eyes. The words that he says calm her and make her feel loved, but the last part of his speech is a bit contradictory. At least, to her it is.

"No." She says, voice wavering with emotion, and staggers back away from him. She feels a tree pressed up against her back as she stares at him. "No, it's not wonderful. It's bad and wrong, and I have to get rid of it."

"What are you saying?" He asks.

"Don't you understand?" She pleads with him. "If the ice wall hadn't been here, if I could leave, I would have. I would have left last night and never come back." She finishes, her eyes disparate and wide.

Her words hit him like a truck, know king the air out of his lungs. And, he thinks miserably, he has never been happier for that damn ice wall Elsa built.

"Who would have looked after Henry then, if you'd gone?"

"Regina could have." She answers him. "She loves him and she's in control of her magic. She'd be happy to see me gone, too. She's wanted that for so long." She tells him, her voice sad and defeated.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He asks her, his eyes pleading with her to answer him, his voice a bit sharp at the thought of her rejection. Her leaving him. Forever.

"No one has ever wanted me!" She yells at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I was abandoned as a child, I grew up alone and unloved. Neal loved me, or so he said, and then he left me, too. Then I had to give up my baby and I couldn't have him, because I couldn't even take care of him! What the Snow Queen told me, hell, even what Peter Pan had said, it was true! It's all true! I thought that maybe it could be different, here, with my family and Henry. But it's not. Nothing lasts forever. I should have known that." She tells him, tears now flowing freely down her beautiful face.

It angers him immensely that she's had to feel this much hurt in her short life, but it hurts him even more that she still feels that nothing lasts forever. That she still believes she's unlovable and unworthy of happiness.

Because it is so not true.

"Emma," he starts, stepping close enough to invade her space. She looks down at her feet, and he raises the curve of his hook underneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She looks at him reluctantly, and he swipes the tears off of her cheeks with his thumb. "It can be different, it is different. Just because you made a mistake doesn't mean anyone thinks any differently of you. Your family loves you." He tells her earnestly.

She shakes her head and tries to escape his embrace, but he wraps his right arm around her waist and holds her to him. "No, no. They don't." She cries out. "They fear me. I could hurt them. My magic is wrong, I-I'm wrong."

"Emma." He says, debating whether or not he should tell her what he's wanted to tell her since the very moment he'd laid eyes on her. Maybe not that long, but certainly since that day. He decides he should, because she needs to hear it now more than ever. "Emma, I love you." He tells her honestly. Her gaze snaps up to his with an almost audible pop, and she stares at him in wide eyed disbelief.

"No you don't." She whispers, eyes afraid and voice uncertain.

"Oh, yes I do." He says, his voice husky with such raw emotion. "I have loved you since the day I met you, and ever since then. I loved you when you were gone and even when you hated and distrusted me. I've always loved you; every part of you. Even your magic. It's not wrong-it could never be wrong. It's good. You are a good woman, Emma Swan. I have always known that. And it's about time you realize it, too."

He gives her this piece of him with no hope for anything in return, she realizes, and the tears begin pouring out of her eyes just as sobs wrack her body. She buries her face against his chest and he holds her tighter against him.

"I'm sorry." She croaks, between the sobs she releases. "I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" He asks her gently, kissing the top of her head softly. "You've nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault."

But it is, and she knows that. She's already made her decision of what she wants to do, has to do. But in this moment, she also realizes that she loves him, too. And if she's going to have to lose him, she wants to remember him, and likewise, wants him to remember her.

She wipes her tears off on her sleeve, and looks up at him. His expression is soft and loving, and his eyes are concerned for her.

They're away from the town, away from the crowd and judging knowing glances and stares. He loves her, and he doesn't fear her. She wants him to remember her in this way-before she betrays him.

Nothing lasts forever, but she can still savor this.

'Live in the here and now,' is what he'd once told her, and she'll be damned if she doesn't take his advice now.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his lips down to hers, kissing him deeply, with unrestrained passion.

He returns the kiss with just as much urgency as she, but pulls back when she begins to push his leather jacket off of his shoulders.

"Emma," He gasps out, breathing heavily. "Are you sure this is what you want? I'm not sure you're thinking entirely clearly."

His concern for her is heartwarming, and she is certain that this is exactly what she wants. She pulls his face down to hers, close enough so that their foreheads are touching, and looks him in the eye. "I want you." She whispers.

He raises a questioning brow, and in response, she kisses him again. She deepens it, and he responds, pulling her flush against him and rocking his hips in time with hers. This time, he allows her to take off his jacket, and she clumsily unbuttons his waistcoat and shirt and allows them both to follow the jacket to the forest floor.

"God, " he groans as she palms his erection through his pants. "You deserve more than the forest floor. We should-" She cuts him off with her lips against his throat, sucking and licking hard.

"No." She breathes, pulling away to look him in the eye. "Here is fine."

He smiles brilliantly at her and kisses down her jaw to the hollow of her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He pushes her jacket off her shoulders, and hastily pulls her shirt over her head. He flings it over his shoulder, and she notices the way his eyes widen and pupils darken in a lust-filled haze. She uses his distraction to her advantage, and pulls off his own shirt whilst kicking off her boots. He seems to recover from his haze, and pulls her roughly against him, kissing her breathless. He places his hook between her breasts and tears her bra to shreds.

"Hey!" She admonishes, pulling back and slapping him on the chest. She only has one bra, after all.

"Sorry, love. Guess I got a bit carried away." He replies, sheepish grin on face.

She rolls her eyes and pulls him back toward her.

He picks her up, whilst kissing her, and carries her a few steps over to the spot where their jackets lay on the forest floor. He lays her down upon them and slowly begins to remove her jeans, all the while wearing a lovestruck grin.

Idiot.

He manages to remove her jeans and panties swiftly (with hardly any problems really-except for the fact that he had wanted to rip her thong to shreds, if the hungry, lustful look in his eye was anything to go by, yet, thankfully, she'd stopped that quickly. She was already out a bra-she didn't need to go walking around Storybrooke commando, hell no).

When she's finally bared to him completely (body and soul-if their little heart-to-heart only minutes before counted-it did, she knows it), he simply drinks her in with his eyes, as if memorizing every little aspect of her. As if he wants to remember her for all the rest of his days, to picture her in his wildest dreams for years to come.

And, if he knew everything going on in her mind at that moment, that is exactly what he would do. What he will do.

As it goes, he doesn't, yet his look is all a little to close to home for her liking, and before it all becomes too much to bear and she breaks down crying, she grabs him by the back of his head and pulls his lips down to hers, catching them in a passionate, searing kiss, desperately trying to let him know how he feels through the course of her actions.

She hopes he understands.

(In her mind, she knows he does.)

She feels his length nudge her entrance and she's glad that he's not bothering with foreplay. Their entire romance has been built on pent up sexual tension and flirtations and banter that has been enough foreplay to last forty couples an eternity. Or at least, it feels like it. He breaks the kiss to look her in the eyes as he enters her, slowly and fully, allowing her to feel him completely-hard and long and wide and God, she's not one for sappy, ridiculous nonsense like this, but it feels like he's the missing piece that was always supposed to be there. In her, around her.

Like they're meant to be.

Which just makes all of this so much harder.

When he's fully seated within her, he stills. She glances at his face and sees this look of awe plastered upon it. He is looking down at her as though he'd never believed that this could be possible, even in his wildest dreams.

Looking at her like he loves her.

(And he does.)

She jerks her hips up just a tiny bit, and it's enough to spur him into motion. He pulls out of her almost completely, then plunges in again, repeating this pattern a few times until he's set a pace. She gives as good as she gets, hips raising each time he comes back to her. It's push and pull, calm, like the tide of the sea he loves so dearly at dusk.

She reaches up and grabs the back of his head, pulling him into a crushing and unforgiving kiss, which he happily reciprocates.

Being with him is everything she could have ever wanted and more, almost enough to make her rethink her decision.

Almost.

But she's already made up her mind. It's the only way.

When she wraps her legs around his waist, and hooks her ankles together behind his back, he begins to go harder and faster, plundering her completely.

He whispers "I love you" into every inch of her skin, with each brush of his lips against her collarbone, her neck. Each kiss against her lips. Each press of him into her. She feels his love throughout her entire body and within her soul.

And she hopes that he can feel it, too. In her every breathy moan and crushing kiss. In her movements. In her arms clutching at him, nails scratching down his back. In her eyes as she looks into his.

When he pulls back to gaze into her eyes, staring at her with such openness, such love, she shatters. She falls apart with a shout and her walls clamp down around him. He catches her lips in a bruising kiss and plunges into her once, twice more before he comes as well with a loud groan into her mouth, sharp enough that the vibrations go straight to her core, allowing her to bask in the waves that follow her orgasm.

He collapses atop her, and they hold each other for a moment. Together. Naked. Vulnerable. In love.

And it's perfect, for a moment.

And then he pulls out of her and rolls onto his back, pulling her with him and tucking her into his side. And despite the chill of the afternoon-there is an ice wall around the town, after all-she feels nothing but warmth.

He tells her that he loves her once more and she kisses him fervently in response. And soon after, lulled by the repetition of running his hand through her hair, he falls asleep.

She lays there with him for a moment, basking in the aftermath of their lovemaking, before she kisses his forehead and stands. She dresses quickly and quietly. When she is ready to leave him, as she's done to countless men after so many meaningless bouts of sex-it's different with him, she knew it would be, he's it-she stops and stares at him. She wonders if she's making the right decision and knows just how easy it would be to get undressed and lay back down with him.

But she knows she can't. She has to go.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, and then makes her way through the forest back towards town.

The bell jangles above the door of the building, signaling her entrance. From behind the counter just a few feet before her, the most vile and treacherous man she's ever known raises his head and acknowledges her.

"Ah, Miss Swan." He says in a smug and condescending tone of voice. "Took you longer than I thought it would. But then, I guess the twig in your hair would explain why."

She stops before him, only the glass counter display between them, and raises a hand to pluck the twig out of her hair from the spot in which he is pointing.

Rumpelstiltskin raises an eyebrow and smirks at her, once again with a condescending quality to his features.

"So, Miss Swan," he begins, reaching down to pick up a brass candlestick and an off-white rag to polish it with. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to get rid of it." She tells him in a rush of air. When he raises an inquisitive brow, she elaborates. "My magic."

He chuckles in disbelief, until realizing just how serious she truly is. "You are the product of true love, Miss Swan. Your magic was not garnered by curse or relic, it runs within your veins. In your blood. It won't be easy to rid of."

"I don't care. I want it gone. Whatever it takes." She counters, an unwavering determination set in her sea-green gaze.

"Well, I can see there'll be no arguing with you. You've set your mind to it." Mr. Gold says, glancing at Emma, who quickly nods her head. "Stubborn woman you are. Guess you got more from your father than his tact."

He puts down the candlestick and rag and walks to the back of his shop, disappearing behind the curtain. He's gone for only a moment, and when he returns, he's holding a small glass vile in his hand.

He holds it up to her as he reaches the counter. "This is a Cor Contritum, known to the common folk as The Broken Heart. It has the power to shatter the ties that bind true love. It can end a romance, yes, as to whether or not it can destroy your magic...well, that I do not know."

"This potion can break a heart?" She asks skeptically.

"Yes. It was considered to be myth for many years, but I found a way to create it. And I saved it...for a rainy day." He replies with a secretive smirk.

"So, if I drink this, it could destroy my magic?" He nods his head. "Or it couldn't?" Again, he nods. "Then what will it do to me?"

"It will break your heart, of course." He states matter-of-factly. "It will sever the ties you have to your love. Whether or not it destroys your magic, well...I myself am not sure. The question is, Miss Swan, are you willing to risk your love to protect those you love?" He raises his eyebrow at her in a mocking manner.

She takes the potion in her hands, contemplating her options. She can drink it and possibly lose the magic that has been so detrimental to the well being of those she loves (a memory of Henry hurt and bleeding flashes before her eyes) and in the process, break her own heart. Lose everything she felt for Killian. Lose her love. Or she could give it back to Gold, and attempt to quell the power inside of her with the help of her loved ones.

She rolls the vial between her fingertips, and thinks of bright blue eyes and sex in the forest and infuriating smirks and "I love yous".

"So, what'll it be, Miss Swan?" Rumpelstiltskin asks her.

She pulls the top off and lifts the vial to her lips.

Killian starts awake suddenly, a gasp on his lips and an ache in his chest. His eyes are wide and his breathing heavy.

He turns to look at Emma, but he finds the spot beside him empty and cold. Her bug is still parked in the forest before him, but her clothes are gone and so is she.

His eyes dart around the forest but she's nowhere to be found.

"Oh, Emma. What have you done?" He asks himself, as he fears the very worst.

And in Mr. Gold's shop, one Emma Swan stands, an empty vial in her hands. She is magic free. And loveless.