Ab Initio

All you need to do is write, she told herself, Just write and it will all come out. Everything will be okay.

…

The first thing she remembered was her new home, probably. It was cramped and moldy and the porch had white paint chipping off in clumps, but she loved it nevertheless.

Sometimes she'd like to hide in the boxes that came to their doorstep. She hardly cared about the toys inside; it was just fun to make her own little world inside the cardboard where no one could see her. After awhile she'd get bored and pop up like a jack-in-the-box to see if anyone was watching her. When they laughed, she laughed, too. She loved to get a reaction out of them. Quite the little drama queen, she was.

On cold nights she could smell the aroma of the wool blanket wrapped around her mother and her while they read stories. The yellow light gave the small room a cozy feel in the middle of winter. Her mother's belly was getting bigger. She would pat it and curl into it again. Then she would yawn and pull the blanket tighter and her eyes would flutter as the pictures of her storybook slowly faded into black. She wouldn't wonder where her father was. She didn't really care. He'd be home soon, anyway.

A couple of days later, her mother started wailing and her father panicked and drove her away, leaving her alone. That was okay. The neighbor next door came over soon enough and she had company and dinner for a few more days.

Her parents came home soon after that with a car seat and some blankets. She peaked inside them. Maybe they had gotten her a toy. The little doll she thought she saw blinked at her and made a hiccoughing noise. She stumbled back and her mother laughed.

A few days after that, her daddy left again.

But the next day, he came home. However, another person was with him. She had short blond hair and a friendly smile that made the little girl opposite her immediately relax and welcome her into their home with the invitation of a beat-up Barbie and a toy car. The woman smiled again and said something to her father that she didn't really understand. The next moment, she felt a gentle hand leading her up the steps and into her room.

She heard crying downstairs and wondered which of her parents had gotten hurt. It sounded high-pitched - much too high to be coming from either her mother or her father. Could the doll be making that dreadful noise? Now confused, she sank down onto her tiny blue bed and tried to listen to what the amiable lady was telling her.

It came in muddled bursts, the point of the conversation forgotten altogether, but the tone not quite missed. She'd heard that pitying voice before. Whenever her mother couldn't buy something for her at the store or her father couldn't take her with him on his trips, she'd heard it. She knew what to expect, and yet, she wasn't expecting it when the woman took her hand once again and pulled her back down the steps, a navy duffle bag thumping along behind them.

All of the sudden, her mother pulled her into a hug with tears in her eyes and she felt the vibrations of her father's deep voice whispering sweet words into her hair. The atmosphere changed and she was not pleased. Tears filled her eyes and she started wailing like any three-year-old would when thrust into a complicated situation that they didn't understand. She took notice of two miniature fists waving in the air as she was heaved out of her home and into a car she didn't recognize.

Her parents waved and-

…

"Uh-huh…" Archie said as he leaned back into his leather chair. "I see. So, you like to write about," he gestured to the crumpled lined paper he was holding in his hand, "…this…in the third person?"

Emma slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position and ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah. I don't really like talking about it…I kind of like to…" she trailed off.

"Distance yourself from it," Archie finished, nodding. "Yeah, I-I get it." An uncomfortable silence passed and Emma shifted on the couch.

Archie coughed. "So…what made you decide to come to me? After all this time. I thought…" he laughed lightly, "I thought after everything that had happened you…put it behind you."

Emma shifted forward again. "Yeah. I thought so, too. But…I guess this" she gestured articulately with her hands, "…suppressing my emotions…will always come back to haunt me." She tried to laugh to hide her discomfort. She was never really good at talking about her feelings. She always thought that journaling and slumber parties were weak and time consuming things middle school girls did to vent about why Johnny-what's-his-name didn't look at her that day. Her thoughts might have changed over the past year or so.

Archie smiled and leaned forward to put a comforting hand on Emma's knee. "Well, I'm glad you came to me. I think journaling and cognitive therapy will really help you in the long run. It might not be able to fix all of your problems…but…I can try." He squeezed her knee and leaned back to collect his papers, almost missing the slight, broken smile Emma gave to him.

He cleared his throat again. "Well, Emma, it appears our time here is up, but I'll be happy to make you another appointment for whenever you'd like." He set his planner on the desk and moved to get a pen.

Emma blinked in surprise. "Yeah! Okay, um…how about Thursday at 4?" She scratched the back of her head and knotted her eyebrows in unease.

Archie swiveled around and smiled. "Sounds good. I'll just write that down…"

He set his pen down on his planner and got out of his seat, extending a hand to help Emma up from the couch. "I'll walk you out. I'm going to get a quick bite at Granny's before my next session, anyway."

"Okay," was Emma's only response.

They stomped down the steep steps in comfortable silence. Emma welcomed the fresh air as the door opened. She closed her eyes and tried to forget everything that being in therapy made her feel. As she exhaled, she felt a body slam into her's.

"Would you please watch where you're going, Miss Swan. Some people have better things to do than mull about on the sidewalk with their eyes closed."

Emma scoffed. "Well, sor-ry." She made to move past Regina but a notion that just crossed her mind stopped her. She spun to face Regina. "Wait, is Henry still in therapy? I thought everything about the curse was cleared up."

The Mayor stiffened. "I don't really see how any of this is your business, Sheriff."

"Like it or not, Regina, I gave birth to the kid. He's still my son and I want to know how he's doing. Answer me this: Is Henry still in therapy."

Regina narrowed her eyes at the woman standing opposite of her and sighed, turning away. "No."

Emma stood there, taken by surprise. "Then why are you-"

"I suggest you be on your way, Miss Swan. There's still a town to 'protect'."

And with that, Regina shrugged past the leather-clad Sheriff and entered the musty building.

…

She had seen Archie walk past, but she didn't bother to ask whether she was allowed to go straight in to his office. She'd done so before, so why should this time be any different?

Regina pushed open the unlocked, hard oak door and went about setting her things beside her on the couch, the pesky blonde still on her mind. What was she thinking, anyway, standing outside Archie's building doing nothing? Did she know that Regina was in therapy? She sighed. No, of course not. The Sheriff seemed moderately taken-aback when she answered that it was not Henry who had the appointment. But the question still remained. Why was Emma Swan loitering outside of Archie's office?

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, a crinkled piece of notebook paper caught her attention. Should she? No. Her eyes flicked over to the fluttering paper and she glanced at the Latin inscription written at the top. Well, now she was definitely hooked. Checking behind her for any sign of the timid therapist, she reached out and grabbed the paper and began to read.

She stopped halfway through; the realization of what she had just read slamming her in the face like an oncoming train.

This was Emma Swan's life story.

She really shouldn't be doing this. This was an infringement on her rights.

And yet, the temptation of learning about her adversary, made her pick the paper up and start reading again.

Knowledge is power, and, well, one could never have enough of that.

*Author's note: This is set after the curse was broken, but a few things have been switched around. None of the events in Season Two have taken place, and Regina still has Henry, so it's kind of like a whole new beginning. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Please review! :)