Chapter Nine

This is Your Life

She was lost. She was cold. She was still.

She was dreaming; endless, painful dreams, a mirror of her life held up to her, each memory breaking her already shattered heart a little bit more, each piece adding to the mirror, making it bigger, scarier, showing yet more horrors from her past.

Some weren't that bad. Some were nice, normal pieces of her life she didn't even know she remembered, and some she definitely couldn't have remembered.

Others were that bad.

But there were certain memories that kept coming up, slipped in amongst many others every so often, ripping the breath right out of her-metaphorically of course; she already knew she was technically dead-and sending her spiralling into the darkness at the edges of her mind.

And that was where they came to the forefront, the same key memories playing out in her mind over and over and over again.

She knew it would drive her mad.

But what more could she lose?

She was already dead.

"Charming? Charming, where are you?" Snow called in exasperation, practically dancing from room to room.

"Everything alright?" he asked, coming in from the balcony, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck.

"Snow, what's wrong?" he asked quickly.

She pulled her head away, revealing the tears trickling down her pale cheeks.

"It's alright, whatever it is, we can fix it," he said with a warm smile, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, her chin cradled in his hands.

"No, Charming, it doesn't need fixing. Oh, it's so wonderful!"

"What?" he asked, half in annoyance, half in amusement.

"We're going to have a baby," she whispered, her smile lighting up the entire room, the entire world in James' opinion.

He laughed shakily, one tear escaping his own eye.

"That's…I-a baby? Our baby?" he breathed.

She nodded, still grinning.

He lifted her closer, twirling her around the room, the two laughing and crying together.

That night, they lay beside each other, their hands entwined on Snow's stomach.

Tiny as she was, Emma felt her parents' love, and it stayed with her forever, for no curse was strong enough to eradicate true love.

"Emma! No, please, no! Emma, wake up!"

"I wager my best stallion it's a boy," James said smugly, crossing his arms from his place in the doorway.

Snow laughed. "A mother is always right, and I'm telling you, it's going to be a girl. We'll have a little princess on our hands."

James made no reply, instead rolling his eyes and turning to leave.

"Even Doc says it's a boy," he added teasingly.

"How silly of me, I forgot that Doc resides in my womb with the baby," Snow said acidly.

"Boy or girl, we'll love it all the same. I just want to prove I'm right."

"You mean prove Doc's right?"

"You'll see," he called cheerfully over his shoulder as he left the room, no doubt to consult with Doc again.

"Ignore your father. He doesn't know these things, he's not like us girls," she whispered to her stomach, resting her hand lightly on the bump. "We'll prove him wrong, Emma. My little Emma."

"Find Doc now, before it's too late!"

"Goodbye, Emma," the woman called softly, her features blurred, her voice a long forgotten memory.

"No," Emma cried, her tiny hands outstretched, waiting for the woman to reach back to her like she always did and hold her close.

"You're going to a new home, one where you can have someone's full attention, where they can look after you properly, where you can come first."

The excuses fell from her lips easily, one after another. They were the first in a long line that Emma would hear.

A baby cried behind the woman, drawing her attention with an anxious glance.

"Goodbye, Emma," she repeated, raising her hand in farewell, turning away, walking away, leaving her.

She was placed in a carseat, a kind voice telling her to sleep now, it would be a long ride, everything is alright.

As soon as the car began to move, she screamed.

"It's already too late. The curse could only have broken if her heart stopped. She is dead."

He was kissing her, his lips warm and soft on hers, his hands resting against her hips, Emma's arms around his neck, her hands running through his hair, pulling him closer.

"I love you," she murmured against his skin, and she never wanted anything more than this.

He made no reply, but instead kissed her again hungrily, pushing her every so slightly back against the bed, pulling off her top as she undid his belt, throwing it into the corner of the room.

In the morning he was gone.

Two days later so was she.

"She can't be. She was supposed to save us. She has to survive, she's going to save us."

She was alone, crouched in a toilet stall, shuddering against the cold and her fear, clutching the tiny white stick like a lifeline.

Drawing on every ounce of courage she had, she glanced down.

Her heart plummeted, her stomach heaving as she twisted on the floor, her throat burning as she threw up for the fourth time that day.

She was pregnant.

She was screwed.

"She already has. Just not in the way we had hoped."

She was in the back of a police car, her escort to her new home. They'd promised she'd be looked after, her and the baby.

She was so scared she didn't even notice when she began to cry.

When the car finally stopped and the door opened, she only cried harder.

"No. NO!" someone was crying, screaming, repeating the word like a mantra, punctuated by sobs and moans. "Emma!"

"Push, Emma," the nurse commanded, ignoring Emma's glare.

She screamed, tears running down her face from the effort, from the pain, from her panic.

Her heart was pounding, she was pretty sure she'd lost half her body weight in sweat, and after six and a half hours, the moment she was dreading and/or dreaming of was close at hand.

"One more, Emma, and you're all done," the nurse said soothingly. "Now!"

She pushed, letting out one last scream of agony, and fear, and regret.

There was a moment's silence, her heart leaping into her mouth, and then she heard it.

God help her if it wasn't the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.

"You have a healthy baby boy, Emma," the nurse told her gently, as the baby was taken off to the side to be weighed and God knows what, Emma hadn't asked.

All she'd asked for was someone who could take it away.

But now she wasn't so sure.

The crying was driving her crazy, but not in the way she'd imagined. She wanted him to stop crying, wanted to hold him and soothe him.

But she wouldn't, else she'd never let go.

This was no life for a baby.

This was no life for anybody.

"Would you like to hold him?"

She didn't even want to look at him for fear it would break her resolve.

And even as she told herself this, she heard her voice say, "Yes."

Her hands were clumsy and tired as she took him in her arms, laying him across her chest.

"Hey, kid," she whispered, not even attempting to fight back the tears falling thick and fast now.

"I know you probably want to stay here with me, and God knows I want that too. But you deserve the best, and you're never going to get that with me. I don't know if you'll ever find me-I never found my parents-and I can guarantee you'll never find your father."

"You don't have to do this right now, Emma," the nurse murmured, gazing at the grief-stricken girl with compassion. "You can have some time to-"

"No. Take him. Take him now. I don't want him to be able to-I don't want to see him. Or whatever," she mumbled, though her arms tightened, holding him closer, as though by simply resting him on her heart she could keep him there forever.

"A closed adoption?"

"Yeah."

The nurse pursed her lips. "Very well. There's a social worker on site right now, if you want that. I can find her, and we can have him taken away right now. It's all up to you."

"I want that," she breathed.

The nurse nodded, leaving mother and son alone for the first time.

Any composure she had fled the room with the nurse.

Her silent tears turned into full-blown sobs, each one racking her frame and tearing at her chest a little more.

"I love you so much, but I can't keep you. You deserve so much better than me, so much better than any of this. You'll be adopted by someone who will love you and take care of you the way you deserve to be. And I'm so sorry. But no matter how much they love you, no matter how many times they tell you that, I loved you first, and I will love you until I die, ok? You remember that. I love you. I will always love you. And that's why I have to let you go."

She bent her head forward, kissing his forehead lightly.

"I love you, I'm sorry," she whispered tremulously, starting as the door opened again.

"Hello, Emma, my name is Ali-"

"I don't care," she said brusquely. "Just take him, please, take him away from me."

Ali-whatever the rest of her name was, Emma didn't care-blinked in surprise.

"Right. Well, we can arrange the paperwork at a later date when you're feeling…better. Or maybe someone here could do it? A probation officer perhaps?"

The nurse-she didn't know her name either-moved forward, resting her hand softly on Emma's hair.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked in that same gentle voice.

"No. But I'm going to do it anyway."

"Would you like to name him?"

She hesitated for a moment, teetering on the edge of speech, but to name him would make him hers.

"No."

"Alright then."

The nurse removed her hand, reaching forward to take the baby from Emma's arms, cradling him close as she followed the social worker out of the room.

Left alone, Emma closed her eyes, ignoring another nurse's calls for her to move to another room, offers of new clothes, was she hungry, was she ok, did she need anything.

Instead, she held her hand to her heart, wondering how it could continue to beat when it had left her body forever as soon as her son had left her arms.

"Bear her body to the castle as is fit for her. She remains our princess even in death."

"She is not dead! She can't be! Not now, not when we were finally together again. She is-"

"Gone, Snow. We were too late. Emma is gone."

"You didn't name him?" Mary Margaret asked in surprise, folding the laundry into neat, little piles as Emma flopped down onto the bed beside her.

This was when Emma liked to talk to her. This was when she could almost believe Henry was right about Mary Margaret being her mom.

"He wasn't mine to name," Emma said flatly, turning on her side to face Mary Margaret.

"Emma, be serious."

"I am. I was giving him up, I didn't have the right to name him."

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking in Emma's forlorn expression, the downturn of her mouth.

"You'd already chosen one, hadn't you?"

"I'd always liked it anyway. And despite how many times I told myself I was giving the baby up as soon as he was born, I couldn't help but think about it. As soon as they put him in my arms I knew it was perfect."

"What was it?"

"It doesn't matter now," Emma said hurriedly, getting off the bed and heading for the door.

"Emma."

She froze, taking a deep breath and feeling the twinge in her chest that had become as familiar to her as her own flesh.

"James. I wanted to call James."

"Goodnight, Princess," a voice whispered softly in her ear, driving away her memories and filling her with an emotion she couldn't remember, leaving her warm and safe and peaceful, and she craved to hear the voice again, to wrap herself in its beauty as her world began to turn to darkness, night falling in her mind, unconsciousness beckoning to her kindly, dulling the pain her memories had left behind.

She was convinced she was already in heaven despite any previous doubts she'd had about an afterlife, and this was surely some angel sent to greet her, for no other man could have a voice so divine.

And as her mind finally faded to completely black and she was on the edge of sleep, he spoke again.

"Sweet dreams."