Emma Swan never liked being sick. Not that most people do. When she was younger she didn't mind it quite as much because none of the foster parent's she had had ever cared about her enough to make a fuss. She would shoplift some DayQuil or Pepto Bismol from whatever convenience store was close to the foster parent or group home she was staying in at the time and keep it quiet.

It was never very hard.

But, since coming to Storybrooke and acquiring a slew of people who actually did care about her she did everything she could to keep the attention off of herself.

Emma had gotten a lot better at bringing her walls down and accepting help when she

needed it, unhappily, but letting people help all the same. It was still so hard for her to let people in. But when it came to being sick, to being vulnerable, she still kept her walls up 10 fold. Especially when it came to her parents.

Since baby Neal's birth it had been easier for her to fly under the radar, but that didn't mean her parents stopped keeping an eye on their eldest daughter, who always seemed to have something she was hiding from them.

Emma sighed as she sat up in bed that morning. Everything hurt. Her head pounded like the bass line of speakers that were turned up to crank at a party and her nose felt like sandpaper, burning with every breath.

"Son of a bitch," she said, blowing her nose dramatically, "I don't have time for this."

Having just gotten back from Hades purgatory, there was a lot of paperwork to be done at the station. There was no way her dad would let her work if he knew she was in this condition, but she had to work. She was the savior. She may not have been able to save Killian…but she could at least keep her mind off her own heartbreak while trying to help the people of Storybrooke.

Gripping the headboard for support Emma stood up. Her legs wobbled as she became perpendicular to the ground, but she held her balance. She struggled to get into her work clothes, eventually managing to get into some loose jeans and a comfy shirt and pulled on her red leather jacket over the top. It was still a little wet from the night before. Her chest protested loudly at the movements she made as she reached for the jacket and her breathing became rapid. Pain came with every breath, causing her to double over coughing and again grab the frame of her bed for support. She had not felt this sick in years and was seriously regretting walking home last night in the freezing rain… without an umbrella… or a raincoat.

Her mother had needed Emma's car yesterday to take Neal to an appointment, so Emma caught a ride to work with her dad. She didn't mind and did anything to help her mother out, so she didn't think it was a big deal.

She could count the times on one hand she had fought with her father. And even then It was mostly because she did something stupid and rash. But this time it was different.

She had told her parents, and Henry, and Regina, and basically everyone else she knew not to mention what happened with Killian. Not to bring it up or even hint to it.

They had been home one day and her father already broken her rule.

They were sitting at their desks, the sun already set and the skies crying with a deep passion from above. Emma had already felt like crap that day. Her head ached from the moment she woke up, her nose was runny and her chest tight. She had sneezed about a dozen times on the way over. When her dad had asked her if she was okay after about the 5th consecutive sneeze, she'd just said she had allergies. She didn't really have any allergies but her parents didn't know that, so he seemed to accept this explanation.

Emma had figured she'd probably just picked something up in the underworld or quite possibly from her son; she knew what kind of germs kids in school were exposed to these days. Needless to say, her temper was not the best.

So, when they got to the station and her dad decided to get all fatherly and check in on his daughter, he got an earful.

"I'm not talking about this right now, dad. I'm not talking about him," she had said, her eyes determined to keep staring at the sheet of paper she held in front of her.

"Please Emma, please just talk to us. Talk to me. Your mother and I just want to be able to help you, but we can't unless you tell us how you're feeling…what you're thinking," David pushed.

"Fuck, dad just let it be!" Emma yelled, slamming down the file she was holding and standing up. "I am dealing with a lot right now and I am not ready to talk about this. I just lost someone extremely close to me, someone I was just beginning to open up to. I asked you not to bring it up and I really thought you could respect that."

"Emma Marie Swan," David started, his voice more stern than Emma had ever heard before and his eyes wide with anger, " I do not care how old you are, or what you are going through; you do not speak that way to your father. Ever."

If looks could kill, the look Emma received from her dad would have shot her dead. She had immediately realized her mistake when the word came out of her mouth but at that moment she did not care. That was not the issue here, and he knew it. Instead of maybe saying he had made a mistake in bringing Hook up so soon he decided to get her for one slip up? Really?

Now her head felt as though it was actually about to burst from the pressure. She could feel her anger rising and knew if she didn't get out of that room she would either pass out or do something with her magic she really didn't mean to do.

"Go to hell," she said to her dad, grabbing her bag and sprinting out the door,slamming it hard behind her. She knew this time she was the one who had been too harsh; but Emma had tried to say the one thing that would make her dad not follow her. Afterall, they'd just been to hell, or close enough to it for any of their liking.

Emma's heart pounded as she felt the tears start to flow shamelessly out of her eyes. Pure anger, sadness and guilt from what she had just said to her father shook through her body. As her face met the cool air and rain she felt it calm her almost instantly. She'd always felt at home in the rain. Somehow it always seemed to settle her down. Maybe it was because she felt as if the sky understood some of her pain. That somewhere out there, there was someone, or something, that felt for her. Something that couldn't talk back.

Home was a 20-minute walk, tops. Emma did not feel like seeing her father again that night and certainly did not want to share a car with him, giving him the chance of a follow-up discussion. So she started walking; the rain already drenching her leather jacket and weighing down her golden hair.

Suddenly she heard a slam behind her. She looked back at the station to see her dad opening the door and walking out under the awning.

"Emma, come inside!" David ordered, "You can't go anywhere in this weather. Please, just come inside, let's talk." He finished, softer this time and very much willing his daughter to come in from the rain and the cold.

The tears kept streaming down her face as she tried to take a deep breath. Her chest, however, did not allow this and it quickly turned into a loud bout of coughing instead. Regaining her breath, Emma looked at her dad through blurred vision. She could tell he heard her coughing and now looked even more concerned. Great.

"I can't talk about this right now dad. I just told you that," she said through clenched teeth, "Please just leave me alone." And with that she turned on her heels and continued to walk towards home.

"Emma!" David had shouted, now pleading for Emma to turn around. "Emma come back!"

But Emma kept walking, through town, past Grannies', past Regina's office. It was only when her red jacket was soaked through and her teeth chattered from the cold did she realize her umbrella was still tucked in the first drawer of her desk, along with her raincoat.

Before entering the apartment, Emma squeezed the water from her hair in an attempt to hide just how soaked through she was from her mother, who always over-worried about these things.

It was fall and just beginning to get dark earlier in the day. Even though it was barely 8 o'clock, it looked as though it were midnight. Not seeing a ton of light coming from under the apartment door Emma figured her brother and possibly even her mother were already asleep. Mary Margaret had been so overwhelmed with joy to be reunited with her son, she'd been trying to do everything with a baby in her arms. Much like when Neal was first born. So the idea of her already asleep before 9 was not that unrealistic. She opened the door slowly, not seeing any signs of movement inside. Stepping in as quietly as she could, she closed the door behind her and made her way to the stairs.

Her foot was just about to reach the first step when she heard her mother gasping softly behind her.

Dammit.

"Emma…" she started quietly, not wanting to not wake the baby in her arms,

"Why are you so wet? What happened? Where's your father?" The questions started flowing.

Not even turning around to meet her mother's gaze as tears threatened to leave her eyes once more, Emma responded.

"He's at the station, why don't you ask him why I'm soaking wet." She snapped and continued up the stairs to her room, coughing all the way up.