"The soul drifting in that sea may become a corpse. Who shall restore it to life?" - Les Miserables, Victor Hugo - Page 95

Her head swarmed with turbulent emotion, thick and heavy. Just yesterday, she thought she'd gotten a handle on her life: her parents, her son, her love life. It seems simply for thinking so, fate has spurned her, twisted her along the the banks of loneliness all over again.

Regina hated her, but that only stirred fear for how she might lash out. It was everyone else that had made this experience so isolating. Her mother was disappointed in her. Her father was trying not to get in the middle. Henry was upset. And Hook … well, she'd pushed him away in the interim. She couldn't handle having him around; he kept choosing the wrong words, the wrong actions, and it only served to heighten her anxiety rather than soothe it. He didn't feel right. She was sure it was just her, but still she found that being away was better than having him there.

And still it was nothing compared to what Marian was going through, having returned to see her husband and son with the woman that had threatened to kill them and nearly succeeded in killing her. Her tolerance of Regina had snapped in seeing it, especially after her reaction.

Emma reached the beach, its chill seeping from the waters and into her skin. She shivered. The woods were calming for her, but she wasn't seeking calm. The crash of the waves gave her exactly what she needed; the perfect place to stir in her own emotion.

She found the bench along the sand and walked toward it. Her eyes sought the shore, when suddenly something caught her eye. A flash of black in the water, washed up against the edge. Quickly, she rushed down the dune. When she got closer, she stifled a gasp.

A black knight.

Her hands shook as she considered his form, contemplative. He must've traveled with the portal, lost amidst the magic. Dangerous, her mind whispered. She had run from these men so long, and she knew it was likely that the Queen's command had him hurling through the portal. She should be fearful.

She wasn't.

There was something else, some stirring in the pit of her stomach that made her both warm and nauseated all at once. Tentatively, she reached out tense fingers along the edge of the metal. Carefully, she removed his helmet.

She swallowed hard as he came to view. Somehow, she knew exactly what she would see as soon as he was revealed, but it still was a shock to see him. Her heart tugged hard, a flash of pain.

"Graham," she breathed. No memories were replaced in her head, no differences to her experience in those first few months in Storybrooke. And yet, here he was, right in front of her, whole and alive … well, barely alive. Unconscious and breathing shallowly, he looked far too close to how he had been in that last moment.

Bitterly, she knew why her memories are unchanged. Struck with the knowledge, she raged inside of her, unwilling to do what she was aware was necessary. She didn't want to return him. If he stayed, she could save him. Just like Marian.

But Graham was too important, and hadn't died in the Enchanted Forest. He had lived, only to die in her arms. Not the Savior, her mind taunted, and her lashes brushed her cheeks painfully.

But then he turned and coughed violently, blinking awake. Her palms rested on his cheeks, a snap of electricity in the touch, and she stared down at him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

He looked at her a long moment, finally reaching up to touch her face. "Emma."

She jerked back. "You know me?"

He nodded. "Emma, I thought … I didn't think I'd be able to see you again. Not in anyplace new," he said hoarsely.

She stared down at him a long moment. "How?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I woke up there, and it was all the same. Then … then you came. I didn't mean to find the portal, though."

She swallowed, then brushed her fingers along his head. "You were unconscious. Did you hit your head?"

"Not a strong swimmer," he muttered in response, rising slightly. "Or not as good as I thought."

Her eyes traced the length of him, messy curls and dark circles. Still, he looked … perfect. Her heart was thundering, excitement twisting with regret and fear. He could not to stay. She wanted him to stay. "You'll have to go back," she said numbly.

His cobalt eyes shot up, meeting hers. Slowly, he nodded. "Eventually."

"As soon as possible," she contradicted. The sadness bore down on her. "Fate hates me."

Cold palms rested against her cheeks. "Maybe it hates us both," he murmured thoughtfully, and then twisted a strand of her hair in his fingers. Then, he shook his head. "But maybe not. At least I get to see you again."

She lowered her head. Maybe it was just a reminder that things could be worse. Marian's life, Graham's life … her worries paled in comparison. "I shouldn't feel sorry for myself."

He shook his head. "No. Don't do that. You deserve happiness, and anything that's making you doubt that right now is … is ridiculous. Be angry at it. Just don't let it consume you."

She huffed a laugh, marveling at the way he could read her without revealing everything. "I missed you," she admitted.

He leaned closer, but drew back almost immediately. Instead, he entwined their fingers and hauled them both to stand. "I missed you."

Disappointment filled her. She wanted his lips on hers, just once more, just one more taste before she had to send him back. She knew she shouldn't, but the desire burned through her veins. "We should … find Gold or something. Get you home."

He winced. "Not home, but … you're right."

She paused, recognizing what he was saying. She inhaled sharply, and finally turned. "I'm sorry," she burst out, tears cloying on the back of her voice.

He cautiously pulled her closer, wrapping her in a loose hug. "It's not your fault."

She bit down hard on her lip, stifling the emotion that wanted to burst through. "Still."

He sighed and nodded, his lips caressing her hair gently. A beat passed before his voice vibrated against her cheek. "It's worth it," he swore. "For you."

She shuddered and rocked back, finally stepping on tip toes to touch his lips with hers in the barest hint of a kiss. It left her buzzing, too much and too little. "I wish -"

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers a little harder, but not enough. "I wish, too."

She buried her head on his chest, finding no beat to thump soothingly against her.

The wind whipped across them, hollow and chilling and fighting against their embrace. And something inside her raged against it again, a want to forage her own path.

"Maybe just a day," she said, pulling him closer.

"A day," he echoed. "Just that."

They'd make it theirs before she would retreat back into her life, send him back to that terrible life.

But a flare of warmth against her cheek went unnoticed, an inkling of hope gifted to their fight.