Thank you all so much for your feedback! How could I not continue?

Okay so I plan on updating within this established story rather than create a new one if that's okay for you all. It's just easier that way!

This is set a few months after the events of the last chapter and will continue on in the same vein. I actually had to go back and quickly read through what I had done with this story so that I didn't confuse myself with what the show did and what I did – because they are completely different! So anything that happened on the show past 2x03 didn't happen in this! Haha anyway I hope you all enjoy what you read :)

Alas, I do not own OUAT.

The past few months had been calm by Storybrooke standards. Apart from the innate paranoia that seemed to eat at the town's inhabitants the more they realized that there was a world – another, real world - outside of their little haven, everything was running relatively smoothly. People went to work, hung out with friends and family, lived their lives as if Storybrooke had always been their home. Of course, every now and again, someone would bring up the Enchanted Forest and along with it, grumblings about missing home and finding a way back, but nothing ever materialized out of the disdain – which made Emma happy. The idea of going back to that land and living in a place that's so unbelievably different from the world she's used to was almost ridiculous. How would she even fit in? What would she do there? What would her purpose be?

She had her place in the small town. And she liked it that way.

And thankfully, much to her delight, her recovery had gone pretty well. Months of dressing and redressing bandages and basically learning her limits and testing her strengths had finally paid off one glorious Thursday morning when she clambered out of bed and stood upright without any pain whatsoever. There was something, dare she say…magical about it? The scars remained though; a not-so-lovely reminder that there was something lethal, something deadly lurking inside her body, able, at any point, to come billowing out in the most dramatic way and…well, kill her essentially. Emma didn't like to think too much about that. Having a number of near-death experiences tends to have that effect on a person.

Sometimes those particular events cropped up in her dreams, along with cameos from Cora and Mulan and Aurora, as well as random people she had never met before.

Emma hated those dreams.

She hated the thought of having magic.

And she hated the thought that her parents worried about her having magic.

Her parents. The famous Snow White and Prince Charming. Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan.

Calling them by their respective titles – Mom and Dad – was now a common occurrence. It's amazing how habits formed. Funnily enough, it suited them – it felt right. Like the perfect fit. As mind-bending as it was and utterly crazy on every level, having Snow White and Prince Charming for parents was something she had made peace with. Kind of. It's not like anybody called them that but the deep reverence and awe for them trickled through the town lines and could be felt wherever they were present.

It wasn't so much as who they were as much as it how old they looked. Sometimes Emma would catch the three of them in a mirror and shake her head at the truth because it looked…not normal. They looked more like friends or siblings more so than a mother-father-daughter combo and that was jarring to say the least. Like, the times when Mary Margaret would scold Emma in that strictly maternal tone, Emma could hardly deny the urge to bite back as if it was her friend telling her what to do instead of her mother.

It was getting easier; it just wasn't easy.

"Top left cupboard, second shelf." Bringing her mug of steaming hot chocolate to her face, Snow smiled wryly at her daughter. Despite living in their 'new' house for months, Emma still found it difficult to remember where everything was and it was amusing watching her bumble around the place like a lost puppy.

"Thanks," the blonde mumbled in response, retrieving a bowl from said place and filling it to the brim with cereal.

"How'd you sleep?"

"I could do with a few more hours," she shrugged, her back to the brunette as she poured in the milk.

Snow placed her drink down on the table and took a bite of her toast. "You say that every morning," she remarked with a full mouth.

Emma spun around, her bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. She quirked an eyebrow. "That's because that's how I feel every morning," she replied in her usual manner.

Though the woman's morning disposition was hardly sunny, Snow found herself smiling nonetheless. Every day she was learning more about Emma; and with each and every mannerism or tone of voice or titbit of information of her past, she found herself loving her more…if that was possible. "Well maybe you should go to bed a little earlier," she supplied innocently.

Emma dropped her head, narrowing her eyes.

Snow narrowed her eyes right back at her, used to these types of clashes. In fact, she rather enjoyed them, but that was mainly because she always won. "Just a suggestion," she tagged on as she took a sip of her drink.

Her daughter, her eyes never leaving Snow, took a seat opposite her and stirred her cereal aimlessly with her spoon. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Pushing her half-eaten toast to the side, she folded her arms onto the table, leaning forward. She could almost feel the scepticism bounding off Emma in waves.

"Whatever it is, can it wait until I'm at least awake?" Ah, the immediate protestations.

"You haven't even heard what I'm going to say yet," she said.

"It doesn't matter. I know that move," she gestured with her spoon to the brunette's posture, "that's your whole 'serious discussion' pose and I don't think my brain can handle a serious discussion right now."

Snow sighed. "But we need to talk about this. You're busy patrolling the town line with your father today and I have plans with Ruby and would really like to sort this out before either one of us leaves this house."

Emma raised her head, searching all around her. "Where is he anyway?"

"He had to meet Leroy early and don't change the subject," she warned, pointing at her with her index finger. Emma was the master of deflecting and Snow had fallen into that trap on more than one occasion. She was finally getting better at catching it.

"I wasn't."

It was amazing how a twenty-nine-year-old – who insisted very regularly that she didn't need to be 'parented' – could revert back to a moody teenager in the blink of an eye.

Nevertheless, the woman continued. "Your father and I have been talking and we think it would be a good idea to have Regina help you learn how to control your magic."

Snow was certain she'd never seen someone close themselves off so quickly. Emma shifted uncomfortably as if she was poised to dart under the table and hide away at any given moment. All she could do was to keep eye-contact; they needed to sort this out. Every time she caught sight of the scars on Emma's hands, her heart ached a little bit, her mind wandering to a much darker time a few months back when she wasn't sure…of anything. Just having Emma at home, breathing, living, was worth celebrating and revelling in but it couldn't completely detract away from the burgeoning issue: Emma's magic.

Sometimes it was easy to forget about it and to just be around each other and figure out the familial waters as best they could. But they couldn't just ignore it. Magic was very real and Emma's magic was dangerous. More than dangerous. It could kill her.

And in no way was Snow prepared to go on just hoping that there wouldn't be another occurrence. Living in a constant state of fear and worry was tiring and upsetting. Every minute of every day she monitored her daughter's movements, praying that she would be okay. None of Charming's assurances helped to ease her anxiety much; nothing he said or did lessened the fear that gripped her heart whenever Emma got in any way emotional.

That was the only thing they understood about her magic: emotion was the trigger. And trying to keep someone like Emma Swan calm and unemotional was like swimming against the tide. During a hurricane. In the middle of a nuclear disaster.

The woman got angry when she reached the end of a bag of chips, as if she expected there to be to be a never-ending ream of them.

And don't even get her started on her watching TV shows. Snow had learnt – all too well – in the early days of their friendship that the blonde was ever so vocal on her particular thoughts and feelings about plotlines and characters and scenes. It was constantly surprising to see the cold, tough woman so invested in a fictional relationship and it was equally frightening to witness her rampage when the show ended in a less than ideal way.

They kept a tub of chocolate ice cream locked secretly away in the back of the freezer for events such as those - safely out of the boys' view of course.

No, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Emma Swan was about as emotional as one could be.

And since things were going so well Regina lately (by 'going so well' she really meant they were as civil as the two women were ever going to be) Snow and Charming had agreed that she would be the best to turn to for assistance in dealing with the issue. Though it wasn't exactly an endearing skill of hers, Regina's ability to wield to magic was second to none. The woman knew how to cast a spell and more importantly, how to keep it under control.

Emma's eyes were set tight as buttons. "No way in hell."

"Emma," the woman pleaded, "this is not something we can keep on ignoring. I know we all agreed to leave it be while you were recovering but now that you have I think it's time to confront it."

"What's there to confront? It's been months since the accident and nothing's happened. Maybe it's gone away."

Snow shot her one of those are-you-kidding-me? looks. "Don't be ridiculous, Em. Magic just doesn't disappear, especially if it's inside you."

The blonde pouted, repeatedly scooping and dropping her cereal back into the bowl in a steady rhythm. "I just don't want to think about it."

And there it was – the admission. Her daughter – her beautiful, stubborn, brilliant baby - was afraid.

Taking a chance, Snow reached over the table and covered the woman's hand with her own, similar to the way Emma did a long time ago when Mary Margaret was broken up about David. Holding hands had become a form of communication between them; a way of linking them together and bridging the emotional gap.

With her other hand, the brunette tipped the blonde's chin up so that she could look directly into her beautiful eyes. "It's going to be okay, honey. I promise."

"But what if it's not."

Sometimes, not always, Emma said or did something that seemed so un-Emma-like. Almost childlike. Like, for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure of anything and needed the guidance, or direction, or permission from her parents. The prospect both thrilled and saddened Snow at the same time.

"It will be. I believe that. I know it's not ideal and there are a million other things you'd rather do than listen to Regina, but it would really put our minds at ease." She ducked her side to the side, looking at her from under her eyelashes. "And I think it will help you too."

Emma moved back just a little from her mother's touch, as if snapping out of a daydream. Snow tried to mask her rejection. It was silly to feel that way but everything was still so new and confusing that she couldn't help but feel those slight instances deeply on a personal level even though she knew it wasn't really to do with her at all.

"What makes you so sure she'll agree to help me?"

"I might have already mentioned it to her…"

"You spoke to her without talking to me first?" Emma asked incredulously, accidently dropping her spoon into the milk and cursing while she fished it out.

"I didn't mention specifics; I just ran it by her. If it makes you feel any better she didn't like the idea either."

Her spoon rescued, Emma shovelled a large pile of cereal into her mouth. "Then why are we even talking about this?" she sputtered with a full mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Snow scolded. Her parental tone was clearly taking shape as the blonde swallowed quickly. "And we simply persuaded her to see that it was a good choice."

"How?"

The woman shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her hair hastily. "Well she was aware of how…dangerous your magic is and that coupled with Henry's well-being made it an easy decision."

"So you manipulated her?"

"No. No, she understood immediately that the issue has to be resolved. She of all people knows what magic can do. That doesn't mean she has to be happy with the arrangement though."

Dragging her hand across her face to wipe any spilt milk away, Emma rose from her chair, bowl in hand. "Join the club. And I don't like how you call it 'the issue'. You make it sound like I have some kind of disease."

Snow crossed her arms. "Just please think about it, I really think it's the best option."

"Whatever."

"I need you to be safe, Emma. Okay? That's all that matters to me. Even if safety means having the Evil Queen teach you a thing or two about wielding magic." Her voice softened immensely, emotion seeping through. "I don't ever want to come that close to losing you again. Please, Emma."

Her daughter supplied a sheepish smile but didn't say anything else about the subject. Snow decided to keep her mouth shut, not wanting to push the issue. She just hoped that it all would all be okay.

That's all she ever wanted - them to be okay.

"You okay, Emmy? You've hardly said a word since we left the house," her father questioned as they sat in the patrol car at the town border.

Emma, after her accident, resumed her duty as Sheriff under one condition: David had to be her deputy, and thankfully, he was very much up for the job. And though she enjoyed most of their time teaming up to keep Storybrooke relatively safe from malicious crime, she hated being on border patrol.

Like, seriously.

It was arguably the most excruciatingly boring hours of her life.

Paranoia swept through Storybrooke like an outbreak of the plague and almost every resident feared the outside world. Aware that they'd lose their memory once they cross over the line, thanks to an experiment on poor Sneezy, extra precautions were put in measure to monitor the goings-on at the site.

Emma didn't understand the hullabaloo though; according to Gold, Storybrooke was shielded from the rest of the world. Whether that shield was penetrable or not she had no idea but the odds of anyone entering the town were very, very slim, making border patrol so annoying.

"Emmy? Since when do you call me that?!"

David shrugged, a sly smile breaking through. "Just trying it out. I think it's cute."

"Yeah, if I was a five-year-old."

"Well, sometimes you act like a five-year-old," he retorted playfully.

"Well I'm not."

"I can see that. But I like it. I think I'm gonna stick with that."

Emma whined at his happy expression, rolling her eyes and staring out the window at the misty forest. It had been raining non-stop for weeks and everywhere was coated in a slick sheen. Visibility sucked though as the mist hovered over each part of the town and Emma wondered if she'd ever see the sun again. She was beginning to forget what it was like not having to wear a coat.

Her father chuckled softly. A low, melodic sound.

Though she rarely admitted it aloud, she loved spending time with her dad. Getting to know him had been scary at first, but now she couldn't imagine her life without him. He was her dad and a friend all in one – and she loved that about their dynamic. Most of the time anyway.

Except when he called her things like 'Emmy'.

"What? You don't like nicknames?"

"Never really had one," she admitted reluctantly.

His face started to fall but he collected himself quickly, reaching over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Well…you better get used to it." He smirked, which invited one from her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. "So, what's bothering you?"

She dropped her gaze to her feet, admiring the laces on her boots. "Nothing."

"You are just like your mother: a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying."

"Sure you're not."

"Dad," she droned.

"Emma," he mimicked.

A growl emerged from her throat, her eyes narrowing. "Fine," she relented. "I'm annoyed."

"At what exactly?"

"How about you and Mom booking me magic lessons with the queen of evil behind my back? I mean, what part of that plan sounds good to you?"

The man dropped his shoulders, his nose locked between his thumb and index finger. "I should have known it was this. Look Emma, we're just worried, that's all. You can hardly be mad at us for that."

"Wanna bet?"

"It's a serious thing that we have to consider."

Exasperated, the blonde smacked her legs. "Why do you both keep saying that? Nothing has happened in months! Nothing!"

"But that doesn't mean that something won't happen!"

"I-" Her retort was cut short by a loud, screeching noise in the distance.

Almost simultaneously, both David and Emma fixed their stare on the windshield, listening intently on the noise that seemed to be growing louder by the second.

Within moments a car swam into view, its speed ever increasing.

"Dad," Emma said, her voice worried.

The car continued on, blind to their car sitting right in the middle of the road over the other side of the line.

"Dad," she repeated a little louder.

It was going to break through the shield.

"DAD!"

David shifted the car into drive. The other one fast approached, showing zero signs of easing the pace. Emma's eyes flashed to David, the car, and then back again at rapid speed, her body tense.

They were going to collide.

He swerved the car to the left just as the other one jerked to the right suddenly, as if seeing the patrol car for the first time.

Narrowly avoiding a head-on collision, the other car –which was a beat-up sedan – clipped the back of David's car, the force chugging it forward.

The air was filled with the screeching of tyres and the crash of metal. Birds flocked from the trees.

And then there was nothing. Just silence.

"Emma? Are you okay?" Her father asked, panicked. He unbuckled his seatbelt, ignoring the fresh pain in his neck and placed his two hands on her shoulders, forcing the blonde to face him.

She mumbled something incoherent back to him. She had a headache.

"You're bleeding," he remarked, his voice drenched in concern as he rubbed a thumb over her eyebrow.

"I'm fine," she insisted eventually, her vision becoming clear. She must have hit her head against the window in the impact.

"It doesn't look too bad but we should get Whale to check it out just in case."

Emma moved within his grasp to lean forward for a look at the other car. "We should see if they're okay," she said, gesturing to it.

His eyes roamed her face. "Okay, I'll go check and you stay here."

"I'm fine."

"You've hit your head."

"And I'll live." She squirmed out of his hold and climbed out of the car. She could hear David's long-drawn sigh from behind her.

The rain spun all around her, clinging to her skin and hair, soaking her through and she threw her hood up as she approached the car. Her steps were slow as she tried to shake off the immediate shock of the crash.

The driver was moving in the front seat – always a good sign.

She cleared her throat to mark her presence. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Yeah," the man replied, "no damage done." His back was to her as he rifled through the glove compartment.

But Emma recognised the voice and her blood ran cold. "Neal?" she squeaked, disbelieving the name that escaped her lips.

The man stopped what he was doing and spun around to face her, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in her face.

"Emma?" he breathed.

Welcome to Storybrooke, Neal! I had planned to bring Neal into my original story but my plot always seemed to go in a completely different direction, so I thought, why not do it now and do it in wholly different circumstances? I'll just have to see where this takes me now considering I don't really ship Emma with anyone per se! Ha :)

Anywho, I hope you guys liked what you read and please feel free to tell me any ideas that you have! Oh and if you'd like, please drop me a review ;)