A/N: Things are going to start heating up quite a bit from here on.

Disclaimer: Not mine . . . as usual.

Over the line, can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around...

(O.A.R., Shattered)

Stay with me

I think you could save this beast

...After all these violent days

You still love

And I still take

(Barcelona, The Takers)

The Hope: Selfish Love

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina saw the door to her office fly open with enough force to bang back loudly against the wall. Had she not been expecting a visitor, she might've flinched. Rapid, clipping footsteps echoed slightly in the open room, and just as Regina moved to set aside a more glorified issue of the Daily Mirror, a glittering object was tossed brusquely onto her large and finely polished mahogany desk—right between her spread forearms.

"Congratulations, Madam Mayor," said the visitor bitterly. "Today's your lucky day."

Regina eyed the Sheriff's badge on the desk suspiciously before glancing up into the defiant face of Emma Swan. "And why is that, I wonder?" she pondered aloud, a smile curling her lips as leaned back in her chair to better see Henry's biological mother, read the answer in guarded hazel orbs.

Emma folded her arms. "I officially resign as Sheriff of Storybrooke. So you can do all the necessary paperwork, hand the badge over to Sidney, throw a victory party and invite the whole town—I don't care. Just as long as I still get to see my son."

Regina's eyebrows raised. "You're leaving," she said bluntly, dubiously, though it wasn't a question. She pushed herself to her feet and rushed on before the former Sheriff had a chance to interrupt. "You really expect me to believe that, Miss Swan, after everything you've done here—"

"No." Emma felt her jaw muscles tighten involuntarily. "I don't, not in the slightest," she scoffed. "But you should. Because I am leaving. Tonight," Emma added at enduring the burning glare Regina carelessly threw at her.

Regina met the former Sheriff's gaze and pretended to take the news with partial difficulty for a moment. "I assume Henry knows nothing of your plans," she mumbled accusingly. Then her voice took on a tone of curiosity. "What, might I ask, caused the sudden change of heart?"

Emma nearly laughed—she knew Regina honestly didn't care whether she lived or died, let alone the reason why she'd decided to leave Storybrooke—but didn't, forcing it down with a hard swallow almost immediately when it rose in her throat. "Does it matter? You've wanted me gone since I set foot in this town, so fine. I'm going. But here's the thing." Emma took a few steps forward—enough to get Regina's attention and make the Mayor understand her sincerity, she hoped. "You hurt my son, I hurt you. And I'm sure you'd do the same. So what's the point in standing around, acting like you suddenly give a damn about what happens to me?"

The Mayor flashed a gleaming smile. "You're right," she agreed, much to Emma's surprise. "But I do care about Henry, and I'm not so sure you have the right to see him if you willingly choose to leave him behind."

"I'd take him with me, but you'd never agree."

"Did you really think I would?"

"Why do you think I didn't bother asking?"

Regina uttered a sound of content—something between a laugh and a sigh. "I'll consider it."

Emma frowned. "I leave tonight."

"So I've heard," Regina continued, still smug, as if she hadn't heard the former Sheriff. "I'll have my answer by then."

Emma dipped her head once and turned to leave. Just as she placed her hand on the door handle, Regina's voice stopped her, smoother than velvet:

"Oh, and Miss Swan?" Emma could hear the smile in her voice, the victory in her words even before the Mayor said them. "I'm sure Mr. Gold will be fascinated to learn you've resigned as Sheriff." The former Sheriff looked over her shoulder, and she could see Regina had resumed her scanning of the newspaper on her desk, settled down into her black chair. "I know he . . . burned a lot of bridges to land you the job."

Shock washed over her, and Emma could have sworn her hand had frozen to the door.

Emma pressed her foot down on the brake, put the Bug into park, and slumped back against the driver's seat after killing both the engine and headlights, trying to slow her breathing. The Sheriff glanced out the window and noticed the side mirror was barely attached to her brightly–colored vehicle, practically hanging on by a thread. Emma let out a frustrated sigh. How could she have let him get to her? Again?

Of course Mary Margaret looked wide–eyed and concerned when she opened the door to her apartment, finding Emma angry and distant, her voice hoarse, her throat raw. She ushered her friend in, offered to make tea, but Emma declined hastily, saying she'd swing by Granny's to get hot chocolate.

And then her eyes fell upon the other two people in the room.

Henry, the biggest smile she'd ever seen plastered on his face, stood from his seat at the kitchen table and hurried over, grabbing her hand in his smaller one. He towed her along until they reached the table, where he urged her to sit down. A large dish of pumpkin pie sat the in center of it, topped with a generous blob of whipped cream. Emma's stomach growled, and only then did she realize how hungry she was. Mary Margaret brought over four plates and forks, started to cut the dessert, when she seemed to acknowledge David Nolan's presence again.

He glanced awkwardly from Mary to Emma and back again, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I can go—"

"No," Emma said firmly, surprising both Henry and the schoolteacher. She cleared her throat. "I mean, stay. I need to ask you a few questions."

David instantly raised his hands—a gesture that could mean he meant no harm, or that he was innocent. The Sheriff couldn't discern which. "If this is about the other day, I swear I didn't—" He broke off suddenly, turning away, looking guilty.

Emma met Mary Margaret's troubled gaze. "Could you take Henry home for me?" She pulled the keys from her pocket and set them on the table. "Take my car and she won't know the difference. Just drop him off at the street, make sure he gets in okay."

"But I didn't even get to eat the pie we made," Henry pointed out.

A little shaken at realizing she would be driving up to the Mayor's house, Mary grabbed the keys, wrapped the dessert on the kid's plate in saran wrap, and whisked him out the door, saying he could eat on the way. Emma waved and watched the door close behind them.

Then she got straight to the point. "Look," she began. "I know you didn't break into Mr. Gold's shop, but what I don't know is what you were after. Did he . . . take something from you?"

David sighed and folded his hands on top of the table. "Honestly?" He shook his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. Forgive me if this sounds odd, but I saw this . . . replica. Of a windmill. I knew I'd seen it somewhere before, and it helped me remember my life with Kathryn, so I guess I thought . . ."

"It would help you remember other things?" Emma supplied.

David nodded.

The Sheriff sighed tiredly. "Well, the good news is I won't be arresting you tonight, David. As far as I know, Mr. Gold isn't even aware someone tried to break in. But realize if this happens again, you'll be charged with breaking and entering. And I can't let you off with a warning then."

David nodded again, once. "Thank you, Sheriff." He pushed himself from his seat, the pie on his plate somehow already gone, and opened the door. "Goodnight."

Emma smiled. " 'Night."

Only after he'd gone did Emma lower her face to her hands.

The sun, hanging directly overhead, wasn't needed at noon when Emma decided to wash her car before she left town; the Bug was already yellow—which stood out like a neon sign in the dark, she thought—and it would only pale in the sunlight. It might help dull the color at night, but the imperfection could easily be seen during the day.

Relinquishing her position as Sheriff had seemed like a good idea when she realized it would help Henry if she left town. Only now, she wasn't so sure. Sidney Glass followed Regina around Storybrooke, went wherever she asked him to go, did as she wanted. Giving him the reigns as Sheriff was like handing the badge to the Mayor, in a sense, and though it felt wrong on every level, Emma knew she wasn't the only one that would be unhappy with the arrangement. While Regina obtained control over the new Sheriff, she lost her son to Emma for short periods of time. Regardless of the Mayor's decision, the former Sheriff promised herself she would come back for Henry, see him in secret if that's what it took.

If there was a way, she'd find it.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Just hearing the conversational tone almost made Emma want to spin around and throw the soapy rag in his face. Instead, she caught sight of his smiling reflection in the rear window and covered the space with white suds so she wouldn't have to see it, no longer caring what he thought of her, what he wanted.

He tapped his cane a few times on the sidewalk. "In all my years, I don't recall anyone ever being so persistent in avoiding me."

"Maybe you should've paid more attention," Emma mumbled after a moment, tossing the rag into a bucket of water nearby, some of the liquid spilling over the sides. She picked up the hose from where she'd left it and aimed for the windshield. "I'm sure you missed a few hundred." The former Sheriff sprayed off the front half of her vehicle, then noticing he still hadn't spoken, she paused and half–turned toward him. "You can stand there all day if you want, but I'm not going to offer you anything else."

Gold appeared wounded by the statement—either from the fact that she'd suggested he wanted to make a deal, or that she'd refused to make a deal with him, though Emma was suspicious of the latter—but quickly recovered. "Perhaps not," he agreed quietly. The pawnbroker lifted his cane and turned away. "But at least I'm not running away."

Emma whirled around instantly. "You think I'm running away?" She scoffed and took several steps toward him. "I'm doing what's best for my kid," the former Sheriff continued in a lower tone, though still laced with anger. "And if that's leaving Storybrooke, then I'll be damn sure to do it."

Mr. Gold lifted his right index finger from his cane and looked skyward, reminding Emma of someone who was trying to do math in his head. "Yes, but not with him."

"No thanks to you," Emma shot at him, resuming her washing of the Bug. "None of this would be possible without your convenient refusal to help. Breaking our deal is bold, even for you, Gold." She smirked over at him when she detected his smile had slipped from his face. "Now, in what world isn't that selfish?"

"As if you have room to talk, dear," said the pawnbroker, ignoring the subtle accusation that he had been conversing with Regina behind the former Sheriff's back. "By striving for what's best for your child, you yourself are selfish."

A heartbeat of silence. "What?"

"His happiness is your happiness, Miss Swan."

Emma sighed heavily. "Taking care of my son isn't a game, Gold, it's my job—a job I'm not willing to lose. And in case you haven't noticed, I love him."

"Of course," the pawnbroker mumbled. "But it's of the selfish variety. And I think we both know love isn't forever, dearie."

Emma began spraying off the second half of the Bug. "I think you think you know that. But I don't care about power or glory or anything but him. And if that makes me selfish according to you, then I'm the most selfish person on the planet." She tossed the hose aside, finished, but did not break eye contact with Gold. "There. Happy?"

"Not quite."

The former Sheriff pretended not to have heard him, circled around to the driver's side. "You owe me a new mirror, by the way," she said, holding it up before setting it gently back against the door.

This time, he ignored her comment. "I'm afraid there's still the matter of our agreement."

Emma waved a hand toward the apartment. "You want the box, take it."

"No, no. Not yet." She could see he wasn't very keen on the idea of her keeping it hidden at Mary Margaret's place, but Emma didn't care. "You really think you can leave town? Come and go as you please?"

It wasn't a threat, just plain curiosity, his voice stained with doubt. Emma crossed her arms. "You certainly can't stop me," she said anyway, casting a victorious glance at his cane.

Mr. Gold smiled toothlessly. "But that doesn't mean I won't." And he shifted his weight to turn his back on her, cane tapping with the movement. "Good luck, Sheriff Swan," he murmured, almost too softly to catch. He continued down the sidewalk in the direction of his shop, limping along on his own, never once glancing back at her frozen form.

Emma frowned deeply. His tone had been light, as if he'd only been half–serious about preventing her speeding out of town. But she was certain his wishing her well had been sincere, though it had been something of a goodbye too, which made her wonder just what role he had played in her life. He couldn't miss her anymore than she could bring herself to miss him. She hated him, or at least disliked him. The feeling was obviously mutual—had always been.

Yet she found herself watching as the pawnbroker disappeared out of sight.

As expected, Mary Margaret didn't take the news lightly.

"That's not a solution to your problems here, Emma," she replied instantly, as if she had been preparing herself for the moment when her roommate would tell her she had resigned as Sheriff and was leaving for good. "How do you think that helps him? You're in his life now! Going away will just leave him heartbroken!"

Emma shook her head, stuffing the rest of her things into a bag. "I've already made up my mind, Mary Margaret, and I'm sorry. Really. But I have to do this, whether you agree or not." She opened the door and walked down the stairs and out of the apartment, aware of the footsteps sounding behind her.

"But he just got out of school," the schoolteacher pointed out, desperate now. "You can't leave without saying goodbye."

The former Sheriff tossed her things into the backseat of her Bug and grabbed a wrapped object from under the passenger seat. "Here," Emma said, holding it out to her friend. "Give this to him for me. He'll understand."

"Emma—" Mary started disbelievingly. She was interrupted by a hug from Emma herself, shocking her temporarily. Anger and disbelief drained out of her on cue, and she hugged back, realizing she really wasn't her mother and that Emma had to make her own choices in life.

Mary Margaret was just glad she'd come to say goodbye.

"Keep an eye on him for me, will you?"

Mary nodded. "Of course." She watched as her roommate approached the driver's side. "Goodbye, Emma." And she turned away, unable to watch.

"Hey."

The schoolteacher stopped.

"If I had the power, I'd give the badge to you."

Mary whirled around, but the Bug's engine had already caught, and Emma was pulling away, vanishing down the street in the sunny car—a vision that had once made Mary Margaret laugh.

She was nearly on the edge of town when something darted out in front of the Bug and got swallowed up by the vehicle. Emma thought it might have been a deer, or some other animal with a dark fur coat. She slammed on the brakes, turned off the engine, stepped out of the car as if she were in a dream.

The body lying directly in front of the car, sprawled on the ground, wasn't a deer's. It was a human's.

August Booth's, to be exact.