Part 8
Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don't own the characters/show.
Author's Note: First off apologies for not getting this out sooner, the real world unfortunately has had other plans for me lately. That being said, considering we don't know for sure just how much time has past since the beanstalk and the last ep to air for the purposes of this story consider the scene from the last episode a day or so past. Enjoy!
"Great! I'll go get Mar-Snow!"
The words leave her mouth before she realizes just what they mean.
She'd just voluntarily agreed to go find the woman who made her feel the most exposed. Purposefully or not, the fact that her once best friend turned mother could still dismantle those walls would have usually sent her running in the other direction.
Yet here she is, walking towards the last place she'd seen her.
Because maybe you want her to tear down those walls, for good, that small voice inside whispers, a voice thought long forgotten in the face of the world's harsh reality.
But you aren't in that world anymore are you? That voice persists, and with it that damn tingling is back. She'd been able to push it away in the face of giants and magic compasses, but now it's stronger than ever.
Yet not around her, I wonder why that is? Why was it better when you let her comfort you? When you opened up?
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Emma hisses back, rounding a tree to finally spot Snow atop a small incline. An incline much like the one from that night after the beanstalk, her stomach lurches at the thought.
She hadn't had time to consider that night since. They hadn't rested long before heading out again, trying to put as much distance between them and Hook as possible. But she can still remember waking up feeling more refreshed than she had since she'd twisted her ankle.
Because she was there, that voice reminds her, presenting memories of those nights in vivid Technicolor. How comforted she'd felt, at peace like she never remembered being before. And once awake after each time she'd jumped away as if her mother was an ogre. But try as she might she can't stay away, like when she'd hugged Snow first, a moth to the flame.
Now you're getting it.
But there are other more pressing matters to attend to, and she shakes herself of the emotional thoughts, squashing that small voice as it protests deep down. She can have this catharsis at another time with preferably more alcohol. Right now, time to deal with the problem at hand.
"Whadda doin'?" she calls out.
