Author's Note: Again, you guys amaze me with your favorites and story alerts and reviews. They mean so much to me, honestly. I'm so glad that you're liking this. I hope you don't hate me after this chapter. As I said, I have a plan. Hopefully, I should have the next chapter up for you by Saturday if all goes well. Enjoy! And thanks to Pesterfield for catching one of my typos in this chapter.
Mary Margaret stood in the doorway, watching as Emma placed the old baby blanket on top of the box of her belongings. She was again struck by the fact that all of Emma's worldly possessions - her whole life in items and tokens - could fit into one cardboard box. Even after her time in Storybrooke, Emma hadn't added anything to the box. It really was as though her entire stay had been erased, or would be once Emma left.
"That's the last of it." Emma spoke without looking up, folding down the flaps on the box.
"Are you sure that you want to do this?" Mary Margaret asked, the same question that she'd been asking all week. "I know your memories aren't back yet but it's possible -"
Emma looked over at the brunette. She'd come to care for her in the last week and didn't want to hurt her. But Emma had long since figured out that it was better to hurt other people than to be hurt herself. "Lots of things are possible, Mary Margaret. What's to say that I won't get to Boston and remember everything and drive right back here?"
It was a rhetorical question. They both knew the chances of that happening were slim. Mary Margaret sat down on the bed, her shoulder bumping Emma's gently. "Well, it could."
Emma had already crushed enough hopes and dreams, so she just nodded. "It could."
"I know that you don't remember but," Mary Margaret looked at the woman who had quickly become her best friend, "I'm really going to miss you."
"I'll call. I'll keep in touch." Emma offered, but they both knew that it was a hollow offering.
"There's nothing I can do to change your mind?"
Emma leaned back until she was lying down on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling. "I'm not cut out for this Mary Margaret. I'm not cut out to be anyone's mother, let alone their savior. I run. That's what I do. And it's better that I go now, before I hurt everyone else even more."
Mary Margaret allowed herself to fall back onto the bed as well. She glanced over at Emma before focusing on the ceiling as well. "You're not leaving until the morning?"
"Early." Emma told her. "Before the sun comes up. Hoping to beat traffic."
"Be careful. The old road out of town is dangerous. Winding with lots of animals in the forest that like to cross in front of you. You wrecked the last time you tried to leave."
Emma let out a soft laugh. "I'm apparently a pretty bad driver when it comes to this place. Surprised I'm still alive."
"Just promise to be careful." Mary Margaret's voice was quiet and strained.
Emma looked over at the brunette and nodded softly. "I promise."
Mary Margaret wanted to make Emma promise to say goodbye as well, but something stopped her. Instead she just closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall asleep beside the blonde.
Emma dozed on and off for a while, before she finally rose from the bed, careful not wake Mary Margaret. As she looked down at the brunette, asleep with her arms folded over her stomach, Emma could almost see why Henry was so sure she was Snow White. She certainly looked like a princess, sleeping so peacefully there.
Emma shook her head. She needed to get out of here. Storybrooke was already messing with her mind. She hefted the box up and headed for the door, but found herself stopping at the threshold. She set the box down in the hall and moved back to the bed.
"Bye, Mary Margaret." She whispered to the darkness, before she carefully placed a kiss on the brunette's forehead, just as she'd done with Henry.
Mary Margaret mumbled out "Emma", but didn't wake up.
Emma scribbled out a quick note which she left on the kitchen table with the keys Mary Margaret had given her. She checked that the door was locked, loaded the box in her yellow Bug and started to make her way out of the town.
Mary Margaret had been right. The road out of town was winding and almost sinister in the dark with its quick twists and blind curves. A few separate times, Emma swore she saw a wolf just along the road, but whenever she glanced again, it was gone. Finally, the Welcome to Storybrooke sign came into her vision. For a brief second she hit the brakes as she imagined her car spinning out of control and hitting the sign. But nothing happened and once she composed herself, she pushed down on the gas pedal, leaving the town behind.
As she eased onto Highway 95, she expected to feel free, but instead she just felt numb.
Mary Margaret woke just as the sun was coming up. She didn't need to look next to her to know that Emma was already gone. She could feel it, in a way that went deep into her soul and that she couldn't explain.
She climbed out of bed and went down to the kitchen, her eyes settling on the keys and piece of paper left on the kitchen table.
The note was short and to the point - so very like Emma that it made her smile through her tears.
MM, I'm no good at goodbyes. Thanks for everything. - E
With a sad smile, she put the note on the fridge and then forced herself to go on with her morning routine, doing her best to ignore the glaring absence of the blonde.
As the entire town woke up and set about their days, everyone could tell that something was different - something had changed - but no one could quite put their finger on what it was.
No one but Henry, who peeked out his window and frowned as he looked at the clock tower.
The clock was once again stuck, time unmoving. This time though, it was stuck at 4:23, the time - Henry was sure - Emma had crossed over the boundary of Storybrooke. He only hoped that Emma was still safe and that nothing bad had happened when she left town.
Although it wasn't obvious to anyone else, Henry knew what had happened in the night. Emma Swan had left and taken all of the changes that she'd brought to Storybrooke with her.
The drive was uneventful and when Emma pulled the Bug into her parking spot outside her apartment in Boston, she did feel a slight calmness settle over her. She grabbed the box from the passenger side and lugged it inside.
"Home sweet home," she sighed as she tossed her keys on the kitchen counter.
Her apartment was the same as she remembered, only dustier and with a smell coming from the refrigerator that she guessed was spoiled milk. It was about the only thing she had in the fridge at any particular time, thank goodness.
Once she had cleaned it out and sprayed some air freshener, Emma finally picked up her phone and typed out a quick text, sending it before she could over think it. Then she tossed the phone on the counter next to her keys and moved into her bedroom with the box.
It was quick work unpacking, a fact she tried not to think too much about. Besides the clothes still hanging in the closet, her entire life fit into a box. It was a sad statement to be sure, but she didn't want to dwell on it.
This was her life, for better or worse. It was what she knew, what she remembered. It was all she really had. She was going to crawl into bed, sleep everything from the past two weeks off, and then tomorrow she'd get back to work.
She stripped down to her tank top and panties and crawled under the familiar yet unfamiliar sheets. Her head hit the pillow and she was sound asleep a few minutes later.
The clock read 8:15.
Mary Margaret's phone chimed at 7:55. She grabbed it quickly, glad that the school bell hadn't rung yet. The screen flashed up at her, a welcome but painful sight. 'New text from Emma'.
She clicked it open. Just like the note, it was succinct. 'Made it home safely.'
Mary Margaret frowned. She felt like Emma's home was in Storybrooke. Still, she was glad to know that Emma had made it back safely. She had been worried.
She had just flipped her phone shut when Henry came into the classroom, his face stoic.
"Good morning, Henry." She offered him a smile but he didn't return it.
"She's gone, isn't she?" He asked instead.
Mary Margaret nodded slowly. "I just got a text from her. She made it back to Boston safely."
Henry seemed even more upset at this news. "She was the only one who could leave." He mumbled sadly.
"I'm sorry, Henry." Mary Margaret offered.
"Me too." He slumped down at his desk, feeling like he'd lost everything. The book was gone, Emma was gone, and all hope felt like it was gone too.
Emma stared at herself in the mirror. She'd been back in Boston for two weeks, but she still didn't feel right. She'd never really felt like any of the places she'd ever stayed had been home, but she'd at least felt comfortable in her choice - until she didn't and then it was time to move.
Before the accident, Boston had been comfortable. The jobs were exciting, most times, and the apartment was nice. She hadn't minded it then. But now, she did.
She'd tried to do a few jobs, but found that she just wasn't into it. Her head still rebelled against her with vicious headaches at times and even when she felt fine, she didn't have the drive that she'd had before. She was used to feeling like something was missing - had felt that way her entire life - but now she felt it even more keenly.
Her thoughts drifted back to Storybrooke and Henry more often than she wanted them to, no matter how much she tried to stop herself. It was slowly driving her crazy. She could see it in her reflection.
She'd lost some weight and her eyes were sunken with large bags under them. Dr. Whale had removed the stitches on her last visit with him, but the scar was still there on her forehead, angry and red even as it started to fade. She'd followed up on her end of the deal, getting her surgical wound checked out by a doctor in Boston who'd declared that things were continuing to heal up nicely and had removed the staples. That wound, too, was still obvious.
"A hole in my head. Literally." She mumbled as she stared at herself and the still mostly bald spot where they'd shaved her temple to be able to drill into her skull.
Her blonde hair hung limply, pissing her off for reasons she couldn't even explain. But seeing how long it was on one side and then seeing none on the other really set her off. With a determined gleam in her eye, Emma grabbed the scissors she'd brought into the bathroom with her and started to attack her hair.
She was not a beautician by any means but she didn't worry much. Her hair already looked ridiculous, she couldn't screw it up much more. And watching the blonde locks fall to the floor was therapeutic in its own way. The old Emma was falling to the floor, just like her hair. And the new Emma was going to be better. She was going to leave Boston and forget about her son and the town that she didn't really remember but still seemed to be haunting her none the less.
It'd been a while since she'd been on the West coast, and rumor had it that there were some big ticket jobs waiting out there. She intended to find out for herself. So, with her box of belongings, another two boxes of clothes, and her newly short hair, Emma Swan packed up her Bug and started driving toward a new destination with the hope that it would give her a new outlook as well.
Anything had to be better than the past two weeks.