A/N: I'm sorry this update took a little while. I've been super busy with work and had a tiny bit of writer's block. I'm not completely thrilled with this chapter, but I decided to just bite the bullet and post it (because apparently people were worried the story was over - DON'T PANIC: there will be a happy ending!). Thanks for being patient!

The italicized portions are emails between Emma and Regina. I promise they won't be separated for too much longer.

xx

Chapter 18: Kansas

Dear Emma,

I know you perpetually leave your social media pages open when you're not actually online, so there's a 90% chance Miss Blanchard will actually be the one reading this, but I miss you so much I had to try. (Miss Blanchard, if you're reading this, could you please tell Emma to check her inbox, and maybe buy her a cell phone? Thanks.)

My dad and I are in New York City, which I suppose you already know is a very different place from Storybrooke. We've been doing a lot of really touristy things and eating large quantities of Italian food. I guess you could say it's a lot of fun; I'm glad to be spending time with him again after so long apart, but sometimes it seems like we hardly know each other anymore. I'm trying to talk to him like you suggested, but it's been difficult. He's trying so hard to be there for me, but every time I try to let him in, the words just won't come out. It turns out I don't know how to talk to anyone except you.

This is starting to get a bit long, and I don't know if you're even reading it, so I'll just finish by saying once again that I miss you. I miss you, and I love you. And I'm so sorry.

Love,

Regina

xx

"If she misses me so much, she could just come back to Storybrooke," Emma grumbles, furiously crushing Cheerios with her spoon.

"Emma, you know it's not that simple," Mary Margaret says gently from across the counter. "Regina has a lot of demons here that have nothing to do with you. And given your past attitude toward Storybrooke, I'm surprised you're the one advocating for her immediate return."

Emma groans. "I know; I'm being selfish. I just miss her."

"I know, sweetie. I miss her, too."

"Really? You miss her glaring at you all the time? "

"Well, maybe not the glaring, but I do miss her, and I miss how happy she made you. By the way, do you want any milk for that cereal, or are you not going to eat it?"

"Oh, right. This."

Without Regina, Storybrooke feels about as bleak and colorless to Emma as Kansas in The Wizard of Oz. Her days pass by slowly, and she feels like she's just going through the motions. Graham and Ruby invite her to hang out multiple times, but she mostly ignores them. She gets a C on her English paper, mostly because Miss French is understanding and charitable and surprised that she managed to turn in anything at all. (She sees Regina's paper, which she had completed a week ahead of the deadline, poking out from the bottom of the pile, A+ written in red ink on the top, and feels even worse about herself.)

In Pre-Calc, Emma carefully avoids looking at the empty desk next to her, almost as if she's afraid that Regina's ghost is going to pop out at her if she makes eye-contact. Idiot, she thinks angrily, it's not like she's dead.

Mary Margaret keeps assigning group work. The first time, Henry smiles at Emma and squeezes her hand, whispering that it's going to be okay and Regina will come back soon. The second time, he has to scold her to pay attention every five seconds. The third time, he just rolls his eyes and mutters, "I miss Regina. She was really good at helping disguise how useless you are."

Then he sees the hurt in her eyes and quickly backtracks. "I mean, without her, you're kind of useless, just because you miss her so much."

"It's okay, I get it," Emma says in a monotone, staring at her notebook. "We have to use the quadratic function here, right?"

The worst is magic class. Zelena is back in school, but she refuses to set foot in Gold's classroom or even speak to him, and Emma hears through the grapevine (Henry) that Tinkerbell quit studying magic for good after she found out about Mother Superior's role in Cora's death. So, Emma continues to be alone with the teacher who still vaguely gives her the creeps. At least Zelena's not there to comment on her numerous failed attempts at healing magic.

At any kind of magic.

She can't even light a fire anymore.

"And I had such high hopes for you, dearie," Gold says, shaking his head sadly. "You had so much potential. What happened?"

Emma shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know. Maybe my powers just disappeared. That can happen, right? And stop calling me dearie."

"No, dearie, your powers can't just disappear," he scowls. "You're born with them; they're in your blood, but something's blocking them from coming to the surface."

"Well, there you go. That's what happened," Emma snaps. "Now that we've established that, may I be dismissed from class?"

"We haven't established anything. I don't know what's holding you back, and that's a question only you can answer."

What's holding you back?

"I don't know," she admits.

"Well, you're probably not going to figure it out standing in this room. I suppose today's lesson is finished - you may go to study hall, Miss Swan."

xx

Dear Regina,

I'm horrible at writing (which you already know, because you've read my English essays), but for you, I'll try it. I'm glad the outside world is treating you well - maybe when you come back you could bring a slice of New York pizza for me? (You are coming back, right?) Storybrooke is Storybrooke. I still suck at archery. Mostly, I just wish you were here.

Love,

Emma

PS: Henry from math class says hi. Without you, he has to do all the work for our group (Also, I think he just misses you).

PPS: I will ask M&M about the phone.

PPPS: You don't have to apologize to me all the time, and don't worry so much about talking to your dad. It will happen when you're ready. Just focus on having a good time. You deserve it.

xx

She doesn't ask Mary Margaret about the phone. The last time she'd asked a foster family about using their phone, she'd gotten a long lecture about how much extra time and money she was costing them and how she should be grateful for what she got. She's almost certain Mary Margaret would have a slightly better reaction, but still, she's learned her lesson about asking for things. And Mary Margaret has been so good to her that she doesn't want to mess anything up.

She may be messing things up anyway.

"Emma, I'm a little worried about you," her foster mother says one night, holding up Emma's make-up Pre-Calc quiz that's only about five points better than the original. "I know math isn't your best subject, but I also know that you know how to solve these problems because I've seen you do it before. What's holding you back?"

What's holding you back?

There it is, that same question, and once again she has no idea how to answer.

"Like you said, math isn't my best subject," Emma mumbles. "And I'm not great at taking tests."

"I know that's not true, because up until a week ago, you were averaging As and Bs in all your classes, but now I've heard from all of your teacher's that you're falling behind and seem a lot more antisocial and withdrawn. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. Maybe this is just my true personality coming through."

"I see," Mary Margaret says slowly, nodding like she doesn't believe a word coming out of Emma's mouth. "So, what I think I'm hearing you say is that the Emma we're seeing now is the real you, and the last six weeks was just an act. Is that correct?"

Emma stares at her feet. "Pretty much." It wasn't exactly an act, she reasons, but it was certainly a side of her personality she hadn't shown much in the past. A side brought out by the safety and comfort and love she'd found in Storybrooke that she'd never had anywhere else. Now that she's lost a major source of that, it stands to reason that she'd revert. At least that's what she tells herself.

"I think that's crap," Mary Margaret says almost angrily. "I think grief can change people. It can make you lose yourself, but that doesn't mean you can't be found again."

"Grief? What do you mean?" Emma argues, confused. "What do I possibly have to grieve for? I barely even knew Mayor Mills, except for her trying to kill me. She was Regina's mom, not mine. I don't even have one."

"Well, I think that's part of it. I think you've been grieving that loss your whole life, and it's even harder to overcome when you can't put a name on it, when you're missing something you never had in the first place. But, more than that, I think you're grieving for Regina."

"It's not like I lost Regina. She's been gone for less than a week, and she's coming back," Emma says defensively. "At least, I think she's coming back."

"I think so, too," Mary Margaret quickly reassures her. "But that doesn't mean you can't miss her. And you're worried about her. I think that when you care for someone so deeply, you can feel their pain and take it on as your own."

Emma nods, trying to fight back the tears that are inexplicably springing to her eyes. "I just...I just want her to be happy," she whispers.

"I know," says Mary Margaret. "And I hope that one day, she can be happy and here. In the meantime, though, I'm sure that she wants you to be happy, too."

"How do you suggest I do that?"

"In my experience, the first step is giving a name to the problem."

Emma exhales. She can do that, at least. "I miss Regina," she admits. "It's not the same here without her."

"She was your best friend," Mary Margaret observes. "Even more than your love, losing your best friend hurts."

"You have experience with that?" Emma asks, eyes widening in surprise.

Mary Margaret smiles sadly. "I've been a high school teacher for a while; kids confide in me. But," she adds, "people don't generally take this job because they had the time of their lives being teenagers."

"Please tell me adulthood is better," groans Emma. "It is, right? I need some hope."

"It can be, but honestly, it's mostly up to you. Life is full of circumstances we can't control, but we can control how we react to them. Hope is something you choose."

Emma wants to protest that it's easier for some people to choose hope than others, but then she remembers that Mary Margaret lost her mother when she was in high school, so she obviously knows a little bit about what she's talking about.

"Did you leave town for a while after your mom died?" she asks.

Mary Margaret sighs, and her eyes fill with such incredible sadness that Emma immediately wants to take her question back. "That would have been better," she says quietly.

"I'm sorry, M&M," Emma says quickly. "I didn't mean to bring up anything painful."

"It's okay. I mean, I'm the one who started a conversation about grief. Just...I'll tell you about it someday. Now, let's focus on you."

"Right." Emma clears her throat and brings her mind back to the present. "What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should let me give you a hug and then go do something fun."

"You mean to take my mind off Regina?" Emma asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Of course not, I don't think that's even possible. But I think you have to realize that your worrying isn't going to make Regina better or bring her back to you any faster. She needs you, Emma, but what she needs is for you to believe in her. She's strong, she's resilient, and she needs a cheerleader, not a caregiver."

"I do believe in her," Emma protests. "And I know she's strong! She's the strongest person I've ever met, but I want to help her."

"I know, and you will help her. But first you have to take care of yourself, or how can you be in any position to support someone else?"

Emma gives her foster mother a small, sad smile and a hug. "You should be a therapist," she says. "Or, like, a mom. You give the best advice."

Her chin is resting on Mary Margaret's shoulder, so Emma can't see the way her foster mother's eyes fill with tears, but she does observe that the embrace grows tighter and it becomes slightly more difficult to breathe. She doesn't mind; it feels right.

That night, she goes to Granny's and plays darts with Graham after finishing most of her homework. She still feels a little empty, but she supposes she can continue living. She doesn't want Regina to return and think she's pathetic.

xx

Dear Emma,

I read your message, and now I can't stop smiling because I could hear your voice reading it to me in my head. I don't think you're horrible at writing at all (although archery is a different story), but I wish so badly that I could hear your voice for real. I'm still having a good time in the "outside world," but I miss you so much that sometimes it hurts. I think my dad's original intent in taking this trip was "healing" me from the loss of my mother, but every moment away from you grows more and more painful. It's crazy to think sometimes that it wasn't even two months ago that I didn't know you existed, and now it's as though I need you to complete me.

I'm sorry if this comes off as desperate or needy.

All my love,

Regina

xx

"So, Mary Margaret," Emma begins, awkwardly wringing her hands. She really doesn't want to ask. But this isn't exactly for her, she reminds herself. Regina needs to hear her voice, and for Regina she'd do anything. "There's something I was hoping to ask you about."

Mary Margaret looks up from her grading and beckons Emma to join her at the kitchen table. "Go right ahead," she says with a warm smile. "I actually had something I wanted to ask you about, too."

Emma sits down at the table, nervously tapping her foot. "Oh. Well, um...you first, then," she mumbles.

"No, you should ask first," insists Mary Margaret, dropping her red pen to give her foster daughter her full attention. "Is everything okay? You seem a little anxious."

"I'm fine, I just...would it be okay if I borrowed your phone? I mean, it's not a life necessity or anything, it's just..." Emma's voice trails off. She's sweating profusely and wondering if this was all a mistake.

"What?" Mary Margaret seems shocked. "Is that all?"

"I...yeah, that's all."

"You mean my cell phone, or the landline? Because you don't even have to ask about using the house phone: you live here - it's your phone, too."

Emma stares, wide-eyed, at the perfectly earnest woman across the table. "So, I can just use the phone whenever I want?"

"Of course! Emma, this isn't a prison. I have no desire to limit your contact with the outside world; I mean, I'd prefer if you didn't place too many hours-long overseas calls, but...did you really think I wouldn't let you use the phone?"

"No, I just...some of my past foster homes..." Emma mumbles under her breath, voice trailing off due to how stupid she feels. Mary Margaret reaches out to squeeze her hand.

"I'm sorry we never had this conversation before," she says softly. "Please tell me you weren't afraid to ask me."

"Well, I mean, to be fair, I didn't have too many people I wanted to call before," Emma says quickly. She knows she's rambling, but she can't stand to see the pity in Mary Margaret's eyes. "I was a bit of a loner before I moved here - still am, actually. It's just, you know, I want to call...someone."

"Regina?" Mary Margaret guesses with a small smile.

"So, what was it you were going to ask me?"

Now it's Mary Margaret's turn to start looking anxious.

"Well," the older woman begins slowly, so shakily that Emma is briefly worried she might faint on the spot, "it's interesting that you asked about using the phone, because I was thinking the other day that maybe I should see about getting you a cell phone of your own."

"You would do that?" Emma is floored. She's never had a phone of her own before; none of her past foster families would have even considered giving her something remotely valuable (or, for that matter, considered her valuable enough to spend money on).

"If you're going to be in a long-distance relationship, you're going to be spending more time on the phone; that's just a fact. Actually, if you're going to be in any relationship - Regina obviously isn't going to be gone indefinitely. Now, the question is, should I get you one of those flexible pay-as-you-go phones, or a long-term contract?"

"A long-term contract? As in..."

"Yeah, I was hoping that maybe, you know, you'd like to make this...this apartment...me..."

"Are you...are you asking what I think you're asking?" Emma squeaks, unsure if she's excited or elated or terrified or what. They're both fumbling for words, and she can see from the expression on Mary Margaret's face that the conversation is not going exactly as she'd planned it.

Mary Margaret takes a deep breath and looks Emma squarely in the eyes. "Emma, I've really enjoyed having you live here. I think that, what we've got going here, it works. You've helped me find something I didn't even realize I was missing, and I feel like I've seen you grow and blossom so much even in the short time you've been here. I think we could be happy together, and I'm asking if you'd like to stay here and be...and be a family."

Yes! screams Emma's brain. A home, a family...it's all she's ever wanted, and Mary Margaret is the best family she could have ever imagined for herself.

Unfortunately, her brain and her mouth seem to be momentarily disconnected.

"You mean you want to adopt me?" Her voice sounds frantic, like Mary Margaret just offered to give her the Black Plague instead of the one thing she's wanted since age three.

"Yes?"

Mary Margaret looks so scared, anticipating rejection or possibly worse, and Emma wants more than anything to dive into the woman's arms and call her "Mommy" and tell her that of course she wants to stay and be a family forever.

Instead she bursts into tears and runs out the door.

xx

Dear Regina,

No worries - your last message did not come across as desperate or needy at all, but this one is going to. Please send me your phone number ASAP (obviously I don't have it because I didn't have a phone before and Mary Margaret only has your house number). I really, really, REALLY need to talk to you about something really important, and I'm kind of freaking out.

I have no idea what I'm doing and I just really need you right now.

Love you so much.

Emma

xx