Title: Something Good
Summary: Emma and Snow take a break from researching.
Note: I am a bad writer. I totally forgot which one of you prompted this: "I was going to ask if Regina still having her vault was going to come up, and Graham calling Snow out on that one as a possible prompt." However, this is a Snow-Emma moment. Hope you still enjoy!

"Emma?"

Emma set down one of the books on the table, feeling her head throb slightly at the sound of her mother's voice. They were at a better place, to be sure, but all she wanted at this point was to go back to Granny's and back to Graham and Henry. Even Maggie had been a little much for her right now.

They had spent the better part of the day researching into what could motivate Zelena. They hadn't made much progress, especially on account of her friend being there. Maggie had wanted to be involved as much as possible with the investigation. Emma knew it was thinly veiled excuse to make it easier for them all to leave this town, to get back to where Maggie knew they all felt more like themselves.

But she couldn't take looking over the books to her mother's sad face without considering all the pieces involved.

Maggie left earlier, under Emma's insistence that she check up on Henry. She had only perfunctorily protested. Emma had no doubt the Maggie felt the tension in the room, and was at least half willing to let Emma subdue it.

"Sorry, Mary Margaret," she said, and pulled a hand through her hair. "I guess I'm just getting frustrated."

She bit down on her lip, hands covering her belly. "I understand that," she said softly.

Emma sighed. "I want to get this figured out. You don't understand how much. And I feel like we're getting nowhere."

She turned to the window, her large eyes reflecting a hefty amount of worry. "It scares me how much she wants the baby. I don't think … I can't go through that again," she said, her voice cracking.

Emma looked down, bright pain flashing through her. Her own baby kicked out in response to her rapid heartbeat for a moment before twisting to settle. She swallowed thickly and blinked away the sudden rush of emotion. "And it would be out of your hands this time. I won't let that happen to you."

She turned sharply to her, brows knitted. "Emma, you don't think …. We didn't choose."

She bit down the bitter feeling stirring in her. "Off topic," she warned, and shuffled through her papers.

She persisted, reaching to touch her hand. "That night, the night the curse came. Do you know what would have happened?"

Emma grimaced. She didn't want to talk about this, about the curse and about her "best chance." She shook her head and refocused the topic. "Zelena is obviously obsessing over this. She's too interested in my new kid, too. There's gotta be a link. We'll figure it out. We'll get through this."

Mary Margaret sat down. "Emma."

She sighed and shut the book firmly with a soft thump. "We don't have time for this."

Her mother looked at her pointedly before hesitantly continuing. "Regina, she—she knew you were to be the Savior. Everyone did. You would be the one that would break her curse, her revenge. If you were—if she got rid-." She swallowed. "It wasn't that we wouldn't remember …. Emma, the curse wasn't all we were saving you from, you know that right?"

Emma cocked her head to the side, studying her. Her face was paler than usual, the rosiness lost and her eyes bright. She looked desperate to convey, even though she couldn't force the words out.

Emma turned this new piece over in her head and felt her stomach twist.

Oh. Oh.

She looked away sharply, numbness tingling through her. "If that's the case, we need to consider just what Zelena has in mind for our children," she said, her tongue heavy as she tried to stumble past it.

It wasn't sinking in. She had been abandoned so she could be the Savior, right? She was left alone to fulfill some destiny. That was all; she was just some cog to be used. She was just someone that people needed to fix their own happy endings and to use to protect themselves. This was her truth, as much as she's known for over a year now.

She pictured Regina's face, the expressions she had pulled in order to invoke sympathy in the months after the curse broke. She worked hard at twisting her narrative, at making herself the victim. The stories she'd concocted became even harder to swallow once she knew all that she'd done to Henry, to Graham. The faces Regina made before her mask dropped once she saw Graham were probably the only thing she needed to know how she veiled herself in her own narcissism.

And Emma knew she was a murderer. She knew it. So why wasn't this solidifying in her mind?

She would have killed her before she ever had a chance to be anything: Savior, mother, daughter, wife, friend, any of it.

An infant, a newborn. She would be willing to murder a newborn for revenge.

Emma felt sick.

She wasn't sure who she was more upset with, she thought as she curled into herself. Regina, of course, was the easy target for her anger, and would indeed receive the brunt. But she felt furious with herself that she could have believed so little in her parents.

They had to choose, or else she would be dead.

"Emma … yes, we need to be sure they're safe," Mary Margaret conceded. She glanced away, wringing her hands uncomfortably.

She bit down on her lip and then cleared her throat. A few tears slid down her face and she quickly swiped them away. "We should see if there are any spells involving newborns," she said hoarsely.

"Children of true love," Mary Margaret clarified, and then curled a hand around her wrist. "I'm so glad you found yours, Emma. I'm worried what it will mean for him or her, though, after all we went through with you."

She frowned, and took her hand back to rest over her belly. To hear it like that was something so unnecessary. She didn't like using those terms for what she and Graham had. And something about the way Mary Margaret framed their child, framed her, in the terms of that relationship was even more unsettling.

She still wasn't sure how her mother felt about her with Graham specifically; she always spoke of True Love, but not about the man he was. It reminded her how Mary had spoken of Neal before, so certain that he was The One because of Henry that she disregarded their actual interactions.

And Graham … Graham was so much more than just what he was to her.

But that wasn't what had her pausing. She pieced through the idea of True Love children, of what she knew of the curse, and it twisted her stomach into knots.

"I need to know something," she said, and grasped her bracelet.

"Anything," Mary Margaret insisted.

She twisted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to piece her thoughts. "Did you need to have me to combat the curse?"

"Have …." Her mouth parted, shock registering on her face. "Oh, Emma … no. No, of course not. It was our honeymoon. We didn't even know of the curse until I was eight months along."

She ducked her head, letting that surround her. "Really?"

"Sweetheart," she said, and grasped her forearm. "Is that really what you thought? Oh, Emma, we knew Regina was plotting something, but we had no idea. We had no idea that you'd be the Savior until we spoke with Rumpelstiltskin. All we cared about when we found out was that we were so happy to have a child."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to stem back her emotion. She was wanted. She was wanted?

Timidly, Mary Margaret reached out, brushing back her hair from her face. It echoed in feeling, the last kiss on her forehead before she left past the town line. "We loved you from the first moment, Emma. If it hadn't been for the curse, we would have showed you that every day for every moment of your life."

She let out a muffled sob, and turned her head away. She stood up, the chair scrapping back noisily as she stomped to the back shelves. She took a few gulps of breath, trying to calm herself back down. It was the hormones, that's all, she told herself. It was the damn hormones.

She still felt sick, those sharp rolls in her stomach like early on in her pregnancy. Carefully, she remembered to filter her power out through her fingers, letting it trip up and down the lights.

She blinked rapidly, needing to temper down. She had to. This wasn't the time or the place.

Mary Margaret was silent the whole time, but she could feel her eyes on her. Finally, her musical voice broke through. "You had the chance with Henry, now. I can't help feeling a little jealous."

Emma scrubbed her face with her fingertips, leaving red streaks on her pale face. She could take this. This was different. It didn't focus on them, and it allowed her a chance to explain. "It's good, to have those memories. But it doesn't always feel real," she said hoarsely.

She nodded. "I could see that." She hesitated, standing up slowly. "And you don't feel like you're replacing Henry now, do you?"

She grasped her stomach, and her head shot up. "No," she said firmly.

She smiled softly. "You love this little one in a new way, and it's not any better or any worse."

Emma realized what she was saying, and she rested her fingers on the spines of the books in front of her. "I know you're not replacing me. I know it," she said.

It still hurt, a dull ache in the back of her mind, but she knew it. It had nothing to do with the mere fact that they are pregnant, but instead had to do with the cave. The confession. The I want to pretend like I'm okay with that and I'm not.

It had felt like replacement, then.

"Did you … were you trying?" she asked timidly after a beat.

Mary Margaret pressed her lips together and then reached over to rest her hand on hers. "Yes," she said honestly. "Were you?"

A couple tears dripped down her face and she sniffed hard as she rolled her eyes. "No. We weren't being careful, but we weren't trying."

"You wanted this," she stated.

Emma hesitated. She had never really admitted anything to herself about that, why she hadn't refilled any prescription or insisted on protection.

Because she had, hadn't she? She hadn't even been positive that he could get her pregnant, but she had wanted it. She wanted a baby with Graham, even though she had thought it might be too soon. She wanted something that cemented them in their reality, wanted the proof of them as a couple. She wanted to see Graham in a new little person, wanted a chance to raise a child with him, wanted Henry to have a sibling. And she wanted normalcy; she wanted what the baby made all soon-to-be-four of them as a family.

She crossed back to the table and sat heavily. "I—" she stumbled, and brushed her cheeks. "Yeah, maybe I did."

"It's scary, isn't it?" she said softly. "Wanting, not knowing what could happen."

She swallowed thickly and rested her hands over her stomach, feeling him twist and shift. "Yes."

"I want so much for him. I have such hopes … similar to the ones I wanted for you," Mary Margaret said. She flicked her eyes up with a sad smile. "And I am so excited to see all that you are getting, Emma"

Emma stared at her, her heart breaking a little. "I'm excited, too," she admitted. "And I want your kid to have the kind of life you wanted me to have."

Her hand came forward, but she hesitated before brushing back her hair. "I wish—"

"No sense in that," she said quietly.

She gave a pointed look but didn't press. "I felt a little jealous," she said. "When I see how happy you were in those photos … I felt jealous."

Emma twisted her hands. "I might be a little jealous, too."

Mary Margaret sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to be there for your firsts. Every one of them. And when I finally found you this time, I've realized I missed even more of them."

She gripped the table with white knuckles, and let a shoot of power dim the lights. "I know."

She looked up at the electricity and drummed her fingers over the counter. "I missed your wedding."

She grimaced. "Yeah," she said. "I—I wanted you there."

She smiled sadly. "I wanted to be there."

Emma took that in a moment, feeling that same wash of grief that had struck her when talking with Henry as she was getting ready for that day. She had missed her, them. As happy as she was that she was married, she definitely wished she could have had a couple extra guests that day.

Mary Margaret brushed her cheeks. "I think I found the photo of your wedding."

She sniffed back her tears. "The bubbles, right?" she asked.

She nodded. "And the big group." She picked up her phone and scrolled through the photos. She looked down fondly at the one. "You were already pregnant?"

Emma wondered for a moment if there was judgement in her tone. "You found the one with Henry pointing to his sibling?"

"Yes, that one. You looked radiant, Emma."

She grinned, and a little of the uncertainty melted away. "It was good, that day."

"It's not what I wanted for you, though," she said hoarsely. "You were supposed to have a grand wedding. In the castle, flowers everywhere, a dress with yards of silk, with—"

"That's not what we needed, though," she interrupted. Something about the vision of that was nice, but it also just didn't fit with her reality as she saw it now. "We just wanted to have it on paper, really. We didn't care much about the ceremony. When it came down to it … honestly, I couldn't have imagined a happier wedding."

Her head bowed.

She pressed her lips together and then gave a half smile. "Gia made us go to this ridiculously expensive place for the reception. It was forest themed and stunning, but way too over-the-top. So we did get a little extravagance, too," she said with a shrug.

She was silent for a second more. "More friends," she murmured. She twisted her hands. "Maggie was there," Mary Margaret said, her voice a soft, fragile thing.

She looked up. "Yeah, she was. Maggie's … I've known her for twelve years. Ever since Henry was born."

She worried her lip.

Emma twirled her ring around her finger. "She's been there for some of the hardest moments of my life. And that's why she's here now."

"Yeah," she said absently.

Emma sniffed, and thought about how much she had leaned on her, how Maggie had leaned on her back. "She's my best friend."

"I was that, once."

Emma felt her heart sink as she remembered that feeling.

"I felt like we at least had our friendship. The time before the first curse broke. And now," Mary Margaret trailed off, her tears falling down her face.

Emma's head throbbed. "I liked that, too," she said. "In that first life, you were the person I felt closest to."

She brightened. "Really?"

She nodded, her heart stinging. "It's just gotten hard."

"I know that," she replied softly, and her eyes shaded.

Emma wiped her face and gave her a pointed look. "With Regina especially."

Mary Margaret twisted her hands together. "I am so sorry about Henry."

She nodded jerkily. "I know you are," she whispered. "And I know you think you're trying to do the right thing. But you do realize what she's done? What she's still doing?"

Her brow creased, and she looked away. "I know Henry doesn't feel safe around her."

She sighed. "Yes." Her head ached. She pulled her hair from her face and glared down at the table as she braced herself. "This woman would have killed me. She did kill my husband. She hurt my kid for more than a decade. I just don't get why you still feel the need to be by her side," she grit out.

"I'm trying to protect you, Emma," she insisted.

She looked up, her brow furrowed. Anger was so much easier than hurt, but she pushed it down as much as she could. "You could help me by distancing yourself."

She turned away.

She blew out a low breath. "I don't feel right around you when I know you're around her. And I'd at least feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if I knew you'd support me at the time when I can throw her in jail."

Mary Margaret was silent a beat. "I will support you, Emma. But I want to keep her tempered at the moment. At least until we catch Zelena."

"She's trying to go after Henry. And she's been getting too close to Maggie," she pressed.

Her mouth opened to speak before it abruptly snapped shut. She shook her head. "I won't let her hurt you."

Hesitantly, Emma stepped forward. "Mary Margaret … I know you were able to before, to protect me, that first time. Just barely. But haven't you also not been able to stop her?"

"That was when I was fighting against her," she said stubbornly.

"And I don't think you realize that Regina is still just as much of a threat, if not more so, than Zelena," Emma said firmly.

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, and then closed it. She looked thoughtful, her brow creased, before she met her eye. "What did she do to Graham?"

Emma pressed her lips together, spine steeling automatically. She placed a hand over her stomach, their child, to gather strength, to push past the mute terror. Her mind scrolled through the stories she'd pulled from him, the scars over his body, the paralyzing pain when he'd collapsed in her arms. "You were the target, Mary. But there were people that made sure you didn't fall into her grasp," she said simply.

She looked pained, her eyes closing. "I left them all there," she said, barely audible. "I left them."

Emma felt another spark of her magic leave her, another attempt to settle. "Why?" she finally asked. When Graham had described it, how Regina had been captured, how her parents let her free … she didn't understand.

Mary Margaret grimaced, face shattering. "I didn't know what to do! I thought … giving her mercy …."

Emma's head bowed. That was her mother, now, wasn't it? Do something that seemed so good-hearted for one person, forgetting that others did not have those same intentions. "You expect her to react as you'd react to mercy. She didn't. She won't. Her whole life view is set on what is good for her."

Her face crumbled, and she sat heavily. "There was once a time—"

"And then she crossed a line she can't return from," she said firmly. She just couldn't understand letting her go, letting her be in her castle with everyone she'd enslaved.

Mary Margaret ducked her head, short strands of hair falling into her face.

Emma came forward, blowing out a low breath. "She still has the vault, doesn't she?"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Her vault?"

Emma nodded. "The hearts."

Her mother's face grew paler still. "She can't. She's … after everything … she can't still have them. …Right?" she pleaded.

She sat down and folded her hands on top of the table. "Maybe you need to see before you start getting your hopes up."

"I can make it right," she whispered, nodding to herself.

Emma looked at her warily. "Yes, you can. But you can't depend on Regina to help you, there. She doesn't like giving things up."

"I know," she said miserably.

Cautiously, she reached out and covered her hand. "If you are serious … I can help. I'd want to help, and Graham likely would love to, as well. We can make it part of this whole thing."

"This whole thing?" she questioned.

She gave a half smile. "The Savior thing."

She laughed a little, and she could see some of the tension leave her as a few tears escaped down her cheek. "Yes, Emma. You have no idea how proud I am of you for that."

She shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, well."

She leaned her head down on her shoulder. "My daughter," she breathed. "I am proud of you for so much."

She grimaced, feeling her face heat. "Thanks," she said simply.

"Can we … do you think we'll ever be the same?"

Emma gripped her hand and rested her head on top of hers. She missed what they had, both before the curse and after. It felt so distant, something she could barely grasp. "Probably not. But we can still have something new, something good," she said honestly.

She could feel her nod more than see it. "Okay. Yes. Something good."

They could rebuild.