Big THANKS to KayleeThePete for beta-ing!

Title: Broken Places

Synopsis: All of her life Emma Swan had to be strong, but in Storybrooke, Maine she finds herself overwhelmed. Emma one-shot; between Desperate Souls (1x08) & True North (1x09).

Spoilers: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (1x07) & allusions to Desperate Souls (1x08).

Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and all related characters are property of ABC and Kitsis/Horowitz. No copyright infringement intended.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places."

-Ernest Hemingway - A Farewell to Arms, 1929

All of her life Emma Swan had to be strong. If 16 years in the foster system had taught her anything, it was that no one could be trusted, especially with her emotions. She was the badass bail bondsperson from Boston; she wasn't supposed to be weak. Emma was of the opinion that what didn't kill her certainly must have made her stronger, because how else could she have kept her sanity this long? She knew what the consequences of letting her guard down were, and quite frankly, they sucked. But in the still of the night, after Mary Margaret had long gone to bed and all of Storybrooke was fast asleep, Emma wept. If for no other reason than to keep from losing her mind, she dropped her tough-as-nails façade and let her emotions take over.

She wept for Henry, the only reason she ever came to this twisted little town. She saw so much of herself in him. There was such desperation in his eyes, a longing for the truth that Emma knew all too well. He told her she was going to bring back the happy endings, that she was the savior. Emma buried her head in her pillow. How could anyone think she was going to fix anything? "Poor kid," she whispered through silent tears. Everything inside of her screamed to leave this place, but Emma was determined to show Henry that good could win… curse or no curse.

She wept for Mary Margaret, a woman whose eyes conveyed a sadness that betrayed her sweet demeanor. Emma felt a strange connection to this woman who had graciously opened her home to her. She felt comfortable with Mary Margaret, like she could tell her anything and somehow she would understand. Emma had never felt that way towards anyone before. Trust was not something she gave out freely, but this woman seemed to coax it out of her. No… not coax, she absentmindedly shook her head as she considered this thought. It just felt right, and Emma wasn't sure what to do with that feeling. She had made a friend – a real friend – and it scared her to death.

She wept for Graham, the only man who had truly captured her heart in the last decade. Emma had known better than to let down those walls Mary Margaret spoke so knowingly about. It got her exactly what she thought it would – heartache. How could this happen? As much as she wanted to believe the autopsy, Emma knew a heart attack at his age was ridiculous. Everyone in this town was under Regina's thumb, why not the medical examiner? Her heart raced and her blood ran hot as she thought about Regina and what she might have to do with this. What was wrong with this woman? How did she get like this? Emma felt no pity for Regina, but what she did feel was an overwhelming hatred. Regina may think that she's got everything under control, but Emma knew the tides were turning. Madame Mayor was going to regret that day Emma Swan ever came to Storybrooke, Maine.

Emma wiped at her swollen eyes and sniffled quietly so as not to wake Mary Margaret. They would both need to be up for work soon, and Emma would rather only one of them go stumbling through the day. She lifted her head from the now damp pillow and glanced at the bedside clock… 4:12. "Really?" Emma let out an exasperated sigh and covered her face with her hands. She knew that sleep would more than likely elude her so she flung off the covers and quietly crossed the room to switch on a lamp. Spying a small cardboard box in the corner that remained unpacked, she sat down cross-legged in front of it. If she wasn't going to get any sleep, she could at least be productive for the next two hours.

Emma reached in blindly and her fingers were met by a familiar softness. She pulled the blanket out slowly and draped it over the side of the box. Tracing her finger gently over the purple ribbon that had so carefully been woven along the sides, her gaze fell to the name stitched in the corner. Her name. Emma. Already red and burning eyes again brimmed with tears as she tried to imagine why anyone who was going to toss away their child would take the time to embroider a blanket. Clutching it to her chest, Emma began to let the tears flow freely. This time, however, she wept for herself.

[end]