Chapter One: Wake Me From My Dream

Something didn't feel right. Then again, it never did. Eyes closed against a slight headache, hand pressed to her temple as she tried to will it away; it never went away. For the past year, she had been suffering from headaches. Some were minor annoyances, and some were worse than migraines, so much that she would be sick all night and not be able to go into the station until early afternoon the next day. This one didn't seem to want to make up its mind; if it was coming, Emma wished it would just do it already. If it wasn't going to, it needed to go away so she could go to sleep. She had a long day tomorrow, and her fiancé did, too. She didn't want to keep Regina awake tonight with her headaches and her writhing around in bed in a way that was entirely unpleasant for both of them.

It didn't seem to be working out that way at all.

"I'm fine," was Emma's immediate answer before Regina could even ask if she was all right. She had said it before she even looked up, not realizing that it was Henry that had opened the bedroom door to peek in and ask for his Gameboy back. He was young, but he was smart; Emma never used the word "fine" if she was, indeed, okay. It was something he had learned in the early stages of her relationship with Regina, when the two had fought more than they had supported each other or spent actual quality time getting to know each other.

"Mom?" Henry asked tentatively as he inched into the room, closing the door behind him. Emma's hand dropped from her head as she looked up, wincing a little at the movement, and the light making her head throb even more forcefully. Migraine it was, then; she could feel the nausea starting, and prayed Regina would hurry in the shower. She didn't want her in there if Emma was going to be sick. The look on Henry's face was concerned, though, and that was what Emma tried to focus on for the time being as she reached out and settled her hand on his shoulder as he sat on the bed next to her.

"I'm okay," Emma said softly. "I just have a headache." Henry knew of her struggle with head pain; it was kind of hard not to, considering it had become something of a constant in all of their lives. More than once, Regina had to take Henry to school because Emma couldn't see straight enough to drive. More than once she was violently sick all day instead of making it to parent day. It was something she secretly loathed herself for, but it was also something that Henry seemed to take in stride, and with an unbelievable amount of understanding.

"Maybe Mom can make you a potion," Henry said quietly. It was a shock to Emma, to say the least; Regina had given up magic completely for Henry's sake, and they lived a completely detoxed life. They were still in Storybrooke, and the curse was broken, but things seemed easier this way. Better. It upset them a lot less, and there were no threats of anyone crossing to one side or another. But Regina had only done it for Henry, and the boy had made it clear that he wanted it to stay that way. He had given Regina an unpleasant look when Emma's brunette fiancé had even absently mentioned a potion she knew of that could at least assist with Emma's head pain. It hadn't been brought up again since.

"Henry," Emma said gently, hand moving to stroke through his hair. "I don't think Regina wants to make a potion. She's happy without magic…or at least coping." And there was too much of a risk…right? She was almost positive that Regina thought too much on what it would be like to revert back to her old life. It wasn't that she didn't love Emma – at least, the blonde hoped that was the case – but Emma could tell that everything would just be easier for Regina if she didn't care anymore. It almost seemed like a physically painful struggle to hold on to some self assurance, now that the curse was broken and there was magic everywhere but inside of her.

"You're in pain," Henry said with a shrug. "I don't want you to be in pain. If a potion will do it…she's helping. Not hurting. And that's all I want."

The boy was too smart sometimes.

"We'll talk to her about it together tomorrow," Emma said with a half smile. He moved into her embrace, careful not to jar her head, before getting up and saying his goodnights. He knocked on the bathroom door to say goodnight to Regina, as well, before disappearing back to his room. Emma, for her part, went back to pressing her hand gently to her temple. She was glad she had already changed into her camisole that she would be wearing to bed; it would be next to impossible to deal with so much movement now. So instead of further pushing it, Emma reached for the glass of water on the end table and took slow, steady drinks. She vaguely heard the shower turn off in the bathroom, but the blood was starting to rush in her ears; it was time to lie down.

The act was more difficult than Emma liked to admit, and it took a little more effort than she liked to maneuver under the blanket and rest her head on the soft pillow beneath her. Usually she had trouble sleeping when it was like this, but, surprisingly enough, she was out like a light within minutes. Exhaustion, on top of stress, barely let her stay conscious; no matter the circumstances. Regina hadn't even come to bed yet, and the blonde would probably be gone until the next afternoon at the least.

The loud, jarring noise of an alarm clock blared in the distance, and Emma Swan let out a growl of annoyance as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. When had she fallen asleep? The last thing she remembered was a pounding in her head, shifting herself to lay down to wait for Regina, and then…nothing. She must have fallen asleep before the brunette had even exited the bathroom. Had she been fitful all night? Did Regina manage to get the sleep she needed before her meetings this morning? Guilt tugged at her insides before her eyes even opened; a fantastic way to start her day. The room felt surprisingly stiff and empty, so Regina must have already been up and out of the house for work. But where the hell was that alarm coming from? She hadn't had one that sounded like that since she lived in –

Boston. Shock tore through Emma's system when her eyes opened so she could reach out and click the alarm off, and she was most definitely not in her bedroom anymore. Not the one she shared with Regina, at least. It took a few long moments of registering her surroundings before finally recognizing it as the loft she had taken up in Boston, back before Henry had found her and dragged her into a life she had never imagined would become so right for her. Slow blinking followed her initial reaction of shock, attempting to get her eyes to focus better. She wasn't in Boston. She couldn't be. How the hell had she gotten from the bed she shared with her fiancé in Maine to the bedroom she had once occupied in Boston?

As Emma shifted to sit up, a tug on her body drew her attention as it made it a little more difficult to get herself into a vertical position. Frowning, she glanced down at herself; blanching when she saw the source of the tug.

What the fuck!?

Pushing herself from the bed, Emma looked around quickly, spotting the full length mirror she had owned – and shattered, how was it here!? – on the wall by her closet. Hurrying over to it, she stopped, gaping at herself in absolute shocked horror. The red dress cinched around her waist, stopping at her knees and showing off her figure beautifully. This was impossible. Emma had put this dress on for a dinner date she'd had in Storybrooke, back when she and Regina were just having sex, and Regina had practically destroyed it while fucking her the same night. Some kind of claim over her body, and demands that Emma not go on dates while she was still sleeping with her. The dress had been absolutely ruined, stained wet and ripped at the straps by the time Emma huddled into her car to return home the next morning.

There was absolutely no way Emma could be wearing it right now.

Emma's hair was different, too; she had cut it back in Storybrooke, not too short, but definitely shorter than this. Her eyes were still bagged with the strain of her job as a bail bondswoman, and she still had the cut down the side of her arm that had been acquired by catching her skin on that idiot's car door. The one she had been chasing down the night Henry had come to her…

Spinning, Emma bolted from the room, taking a moment to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. The first thing she did was snatch up the remote in the living room and turn on the television to the Boston news station. "Come on," she muttered as the anchor rambled about some murder that happened downtown, eyes glued to the top corner of the screen until – there it was. The date.

October 24, 2011.

Two days after her twenty eighth birthday.

What the fuck was going on!?

Throwing down the remote, Emma was halfway to the kitchen before a sudden bareness on her fingers caught her attention. Looking down at both hands, it took her a moment to suddenly realize…her ring was gone. The beautiful engagement ring Regina had proposed to her with, small but absolutely expensive, and the prettiest silver Emma had ever seen in her life. And it wasn't on her finger. Eyes widened, and the panic really started setting in at that point; she needed to figure out what the hell was going on, and she needed to find her fiancé. Now.

"Wait," Emma muttered. "If it's October 24th, where's Henry?" Her eyes glanced around, as if the kid would be asleep on the couch or the floor, but she saw no one. "And what the hell happened…was I sleeping for two days?" She didn't even have anyone she could ask those questions to. Nothing made sense, and she didn't know where to go for help. Could she call Regina? She knew her number by heart…but would Regina have the faintest clue who she was?

No, her head reminded her. And she's not your fiancé right now, either. Remember how she treated you before you two got involved.

"Rumplestiltskin," Emma whispered finally. She was going to have to go to Gold. He would probably be a little confused, but not the least bit surprised. Shucking the rumpled dress entirely, she tore through a now-unfamiliar closet in search of jeans and a sweater to pull on, and it took five extra minutes just to find her keys and her phone. She had gotten a new one since this time, and holding this one was just strange to her. Boots on, she was yanking open the front door before being forced to halt, a familiar, and much younger head of brown hair with a hopeful face staring up at her. Emma's eyes widened, and she stared, completely at a loss for words. This was definitely not how she had expected this to go.

"Are you Emma Swan?"

Shit.

So I haven't decided if I'm going to continue this one yet. The idea came out of nowhere, and I thought I'd try it out. Thoughts? Comments? Between this and Lovely Dying, I think I'll have my hands full for a while.