I am so very sorry for the delay, friends! Since it has been a while, I had to go back and re-read my other chapters to make sure there were no continuity errors. Because I made you all wait so long, I extended this one a bit. Hang with me, Swen. The next chapter will leave you with more hope, I promise! We'll get there. Thanks for the reviews and favorites!

Chapter 7: I'm Okay. I'm Fine.

Regina's desperately trying her best to block out the pain in her chest. It's twisting her insides, making her stop every few seconds to place her palms flat somewhere, anywhere, and catch her breath. The first time wasn't like this. It was bad. It was losing Henry and someone she considered near to her heart. This time, it was her entire heart she had let go. She hadn't realized just how much Emma meant to her until they were standing together at the town line earlier. Sure, she was starting to understand and even beginning to recognize her own affections for the blonde, but love? She had never even fathomed the idea until that day. She closes her eyes tightly, willing the hurt away.

"Come with us."

The words echo in her head, causing her mind to short. She loses track of time, track of everything (and everyone) around her, her thoughts an ever-building pile-up crashing loudly over the muted voices around her.

Regina? Are you okay? What are you doing? Where are you going? Do you need me to drive? Do you want to be alone? Do you want to talk about it? When are we going to talk about it?

By the time her head clears, she's laying in her bed, fully dressed. She doesn't remember how she got here or how long she had been asleep. She groans when she tries to move. Her entire body is sore and her throat feels like she has swallowed nails.

"You're awake," calls a soft voice from the doorway.

She drops her head back to the pillow and closes her eyes, begging the knot in her chest not to rise to her throat again. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

She opens her eyes wide and releases a forced exhale before sitting back up.

"Yes. I'm awake."

Robin moves into the room and closes the door behind him. She doesn't move. She doesn't even look at him when he sits on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

"Regina, I—" He stops when he feels her arms wrap around him and her head on his shoulder. Right now, in this moment, she just needs something to tether her to reality. He puts his hand on top of hers and squeezes before turning around to face her. His eyes search hers for something that neither of them are quite sure she can give him right now—an explanation.

"You should eat," he offers, simply. She's thankful he's not asking anything more right now as she's sure she is going to have to have the discussion about herself and Emma sooner rather than later.

She smiles weakly. "Thank you, but I don't have much of an appetite at this moment."

He nods and takes her hand to place a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. "Come downstairs?"

"Shouldn't we get to work finding Gold?"

"We'll start that tomorrow. Tonight, you need rest. And, in the morning, we'll all go down to the police station and…"

Robin keeps talking, but she doesn't hear anything after "police station." The corners of her mouth begin to twitch and her eyes well up with fresh tears. She swallows hard. She doesn't want to cry anymore. Not for Emma. She walked away. She professed her love, albeit not to her directly, and walked the hell away. So, instead, she cries for Henry.

"Okay?"

"What?" She sniffles. "Yeah. That, uh… that sounds okay."

He pulls her in once more and kisses her forehead before exiting the bedroom.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

By the time Henry and Emma get back to their apartment, they are both exhausted.

"You hungry?" She asks, opening the refrigerator door.

"Nah. I think I'm just going to go on to bed."

She nods, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'm not far behind ya on that one."

She takes out a freezer dinner and kicks the door closed.

"What's this?" She pulls at a sticky note stuck to the stainless steel.

"Oh. That's the lady who called last week about the job you applied for. She called again before we left."

Emma crinkles her brow. She can't recall anything about applying for another job. She isn't exactly unhappy with the one she holds now.

"O—kay."

Henry takes his jacket off and hangs it up on the rack, heading towards his bedroom.

"Oh, hey. Go ahead and check your pockets and throw that in with the laundry so I can get everything from the trip washed up."

He groans, but does as his mother asks.

Emma leans her back against the kitchen counter and reads over the note again. The name seems vaguely familiar, but she can't quite place it—she's too tired to think too hard about it right now.

She's drawn out of thought when the microwave dings, signaling that her less-than-nutritious meal is ready to be consumed.

"Hot, hot!" She yells, throwing it down on the bar. She laughs a bit. She's not the most graceful person on the planet. Or in this city. Or even in this apartment, if she's being truthful.

She gives the plastic containing her food time to cool off before walking to the couch. She pulls her knees under her body and sits, flipping the television on while she polishes off her midnight snack. Her mind, though, is still very much focused on the yellow piece of paper with Henry's scrawl on it in the kitchen. Why has her memory gotten so bad lately? She makes a mental note to pick up some Gingko Biloba when she's at the market again… not that she'll remember anyway.

As usual, Emma wakes up on the couch around 3:00 a.m. and drags herself to bed. It is sort of her ritual—when she is actually home at this time and not working a case, that is.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

3:00 AM STORYBROOKE

I thought she would stay. I thought she would fight. She scoffs at the absurdity. Fight for me. Why? But then again, Emma had always done just that.

Regina pushes a trembling hand through her unkempt hair and studies herself carefully in the mirror in her foyer. She had given up sleep hours ago, crept from her dark bedroom, and had been pacing the floor on the first level of her home.

Her home with Henry.

Now, it was just an empty shell, trapping a very lonely and heartbroken woman inside its walls while a certain gallant gentleman slept soundly in that very same woman's bed upstairs. She wants to feel bad, wants to reach out to him for comfort as much as he wants to provide it, but she just cannot bring herself to do that. Not yet, anyway. She really just wants to be alone, but couldn't find a way to tell him that after he had held her so closely and whispered security into her ear as she lay restless in bed just hours after she had let Emma and Henry go.

She runs her hand over her face and backs away from the mirror, sick at her own reflection. Steadying herself on the handrail, she travels back up the stairs. This time, she walks right past her bedroom door and enters Henry's room. Not bothering to close the door, she pulls the blankets back and climbs in, holding his pillow close to her body, then using it to muffle the sounds of her weeping.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

The next morning, Emma has the hardest time pulling herself out of bed. She feels like she hasn't slept in ages. She's knocked from her exhaustion-induced haze when she hears something crashing in the kitchen. She quickly jerks on her robe and rushes out of the bedroom.

"Henry?!"

"Sorry, mom. I—I'll clean it up."

"You scared the crap out of me," she gulps, her hand over her heart.

Henry smiles, a bit amused, and bends down with a rag to clean up the milk he just knocked over.

"What have I told you about the soccer ball in the house?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just got bored waiting on you to get up."

"Yeah, well… I'm up now. Watch out," she orders. "Let me clean that glass up. I don't want you to get cut."

After breakfast and swapped jabs about being clumsy, Emma is dropping Henry off at soccer practice.

"We're late," he scoffs, seeing everyone already divided up for a scrimmage.

She regards her watch. "Oh, calm down. It is 9:08. We are literally eight minutes late." She slows the car to a stop. "I'll be back at 12:30. Be thinking about what you want for lunch."

He doesn't say a word, just nods before running off with his bag to join the already-running practice.

Back at home, Emma starts going through the paces of her usual Saturday morning. Laundry first.

She walks into Henry's room to collect the pile she's sure has just been thrown into a corner rather than into his hamper. She's a bit confused when she doesn't see the dirty pile in its usual spot. She smirks and shakes her head as she puts his suitcase on the bed and starts pulling stuff out of it, throwing the laundry into the hamper and unloading the random souvenirs and knickknacks he either took with him or acquired on the trip. Of course he didn't unpack last night. She couldn't really blame him, though, it was a long drive.

She picks his jacket up off of the floor. "Ugh, Henry," she groans, feeling something in the pocket.

She pulls out a small, colorful stone before holding it up to the light, examining it. "What the heck is this?" Shrugging her shoulders, she puts it in her pocket, figuring she can just ask him later. With Henry, there is no telling.

Holding a pile of other newly-acquired keepsakes, she forces his closet doors open with her hip and rolls her eyes at the mess. He had definitely inherited her careless gene. Even in her foster homes, she was notorious for being messy. Now that she had an apartment that she paid for herself, it was a different story, but she definitely remembered getting reprimanded for moldy cups more than once. She cringes.

She makes a space as best she can for the small pile in the corner, kicking various things away with her foot. Extra soccer balls, an air pump, shoes, his favorite—

Crouching, she moves a sweater from over the top of the book. She smiles and runs her hands over the golden lettering. "Once Upon a Time," she beams, her mind going back to reading these stories to Henry. Up until he was nine, she was made to sit in his room every night at bedtime and recount the stories of Snow White, Prince Charming, and, Henry's personal favorite, the Evil Queen. At one point, she was able to spout them off by memory. It had only been a couple of years ago that he lugged the massive book out and sat down beside her on the couch one afternoon, inquiring about the stories within once more. Only that time, he had been much more intrigued by the technicalities of spells and potions rather than true love, fight scenes, and noble knights, asking more than once about certain ingredients which were fabled to be used.

If I ever meet the Evil Queen herself, I'll be sure to ask all about her alchemy, Emma had laughed.

Now, it was just another book, tossed haphazardly in his closet, buried beneath his more "grown-up" belongings. Still, it held a special place in Emma's heart. With a soft smile, she takes the book into her arms and places it on top of his laundry. Maybe she and Henry can stroll down memory lane later today.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

10:00 A.M. STORYBROOKE

Regina wakes with an awful pain in her neck. She had obviously gone to sleep tensed up and was feeling the effects this morning. She groans and attempts to work the kink out manually to no avail. Exasperated already, she swishes her hand in the air before a hearing a loud pop. She finally sighs in relief. Typically, she wouldn't use magic for such trivial things, but she just can't bring herself to care at this moment. She stands and another swing of her hand finds her clean and dressed for the day. She doesn't know if she can hold her body up long enough to shower properly right now. She checks herself indifferently in the mirror before descending the staircase.

"Good morning."

"Where's Roland?"

He notices the sadness in her voice. "I've already dropped him off with Mary Margaret and the baby. She volunteered to keep watch of him while we worked on locating Rum—Mr. Gold," he corrects himself.

"Call him whatever you wish. He's still a twitchy little urchin who deserves nothing less than the gallows, no matter the name."

Robin raises an eyebrow over his mug of coffee, but says nothing. He knows better. Her exit from their bed last night and the scowl on her face tells him that now is not the time to make small talk or find amusement in her quips.

It's only a matter of minutes before they are walking out of the house and entering her car together. Destination: sheriff's office.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

In her New York City apartment, Emma is dialing the number from the post-it note. She knows it's a long shot since it's a Saturday, but her curiosity has gotten the best of her. She steps away from the whirring of the washing machine when she hears someone answer on the other end.

"Good morning, New York County District Attorney's office. This is Marla speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"Uh, uhm, hi."

"Yes, hello. How may I direct your call?"

Emma clears her throat. She's an idiot. "Sorry. Hi. My name is Emma Swan. I received a call from this number a few days ago about a position?"

"Oh, yes! Good morning, Ms. Swan! I've been expecting your call," an overly-cheery voice chimes.

Emma pulls the phone away from her ear and grimaces. Who is really like this so early in the morning?

"You have?"

"Mmhm. We received a call from upstairs, the District Attorney himself requesting you, by name."

Emma's eyes widen in shock. Even if she can't remember all the particulars about this matter, she's impressed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound dense or ungrateful, but how did he get my information?"

"While I am not fully aware of every detail, he apparently received a call from some 'higher-ups' on the federal level, if you know what I mean, about your qualifications and experience along with some really strong references."

Again, she pulls the phone away, utterly confused. What the hell, she mouths, before putting the phone back against her ear. "Okay, may I ask what the position is?"

"Senior Rackets Investigator. So would you be able to come in Monday morning at 9:00 to meet with him?" The woman never slows down or allows Emma any second to speak.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Is there anything I need to bring with me or that I need to prepare for?"

"Apparently you just being you is enough," the chirpy woman giggles. "You'll need three forms of identification—preferably your birth certificate, license, and social security card. Passports are also acceptable in lieu of one of the aforementioned forms. If you have a curriculum vitae, that would be helpful as well. When you get to the office, you'll check in with the security officer at the front desk. You'll need only to give him or her your name. At that point, you will enter the elevators and go up to the seventh floor. There, you will check in with the human resources receptionist who will scan your identification for your temporary badge before being escorted to the DA's office."

"Okay." She jots everything the woman is telling her down. "Annnnd his name?" Emma bites down on her pen, waiting.

She hears the woman chuckle incredulously. Although Emma was a bounty hunter in the city, she rarely got involved in the cases or trials after she got paid. She was the delivery woman, that was all. "His name is Gabriel Estrada." She pauses, allowing Emma to write it down. "Be proud, Ms. Swan. It is very rare that Mr. Estrada interviews anyone himself. He usually hands that task off to one of his many assistants."

Emma gulps at that last part. What had she done to earn this and what would she do should she actually be offered the job? She did, after all, have Henry to think about.

"Great. Thank you."

"No, thank you, Ms. Swan. We'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

Emma just hangs up. She has no idea what the hell is going on. Sure, she had handled a few perps in some pretty big cases and had an extremely high success rate, but she never knew anyone was really paying attention. She had been working on her own for most of her life. She enjoyed the liberty of freelance work, but had to admit she hated its inconsistency. There wasn't always work and even when she did have it, there was always a chance she wouldn't be successful… which means she wouldn't get paid.

The buzzer from the washing machine sounds, bringing her back to reality. She quickly loads the clothes into the dryer and darts over to her computer, pulling up her search engine and typing in "Senior Rackets Investigator." She scans over the information nervously. She doesn't meet every single requirement, but she comes pretty damn close. Her heart beats fast when she catches the line about compensation. Salary: $88,000+ DOE. She blinks to clear her vision, making sure she read that correctly. Yep. Almost 90 grand. In a successful busy year, she'd do well to pull $60,000 and, honestly, in New York City, that was chump change. Her bills alone ate up most of that, leaving her very little in the way of savings or "spending money."

She's hesitant about working in Harlem, but it's not like she can turn this interview and job, if she is offered it, down. From the description, she would be mostly out of danger, sitting at a desk the greater part of the day. Is that really what she wants, though? She has always been bad-ass Emma Swan, bail bondsperson. But perhaps it was time she "settled down" and "got a real job." She had heard those words from Henry before—either when he had been upset about her unusual hours or when he was trying to coax her to date more or to produce a younger brother or sister for him. She smiles thoughtfully. She's glad she finally has someone to look out for her. Henry has been the only male in her life she can truly count on.

"I guess this means I'll need to buy a suit," she groans just before shutting her laptop. She hates suits.

_.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._

"So…" Robin starts as they reach the main intersection of town.

Regina doesn't answer vocally, but responds with a shrug.

"Zelena and…"

She tenses. She knew this conversation was coming, but she didn't know how soon. She guessed, for Robin, a day had probably felt like an eternity.

"I don't know," she answers. Honestly, that's the best she can get her head around everything right now, so it's not totally a lie or a cop-out.

He nods and pauses, thinking about his next question carefully.

"And Emma? Is it true what the Wicked Witch said? Your savior?"

He watches her fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. He knows he should probably stop, but he also feels like he deserves to know the truth about the potential of another suitor in her life, despite the claims of pixie dust leading them together.

"I had never thought of Emma Swan in that manner, no." Another perfectly-politician evasion. It's all in the technical arrangement of the sentence, she tells herself.

"So you're not upset she left?"

She finally looks at him, silently cursing the red traffic light in front of them.

"Of course I am upset she left," she whispers angrily. "She took my son."

Slipped past another one, she thinks. In this moment, she hates Emma enough for taking Henry away (even if there was some tiny "reasoning" behind it in Gold's disappearance), but she hates her even more for what happened-or didn't happen-between the two of them. And, to be honest, she hates herself a little as well. She should have talked openly with Emma, told her that she had feelings as well, feelings she had never really thought to label before Emma had done so.

Thankfully, Robin accepts her answers and is silent until they park in front of the sheriff's office. "Take your time. I'll be right inside."

Regina nods, gratefully, as she turns the car off. "I'm okay. Really, I'm fine."

When the passenger door opens and closes, the chilled air from outside quickly replaces the warmth from the heater. It sends a shiver down her spine. Looking at the door to the office, she realizes it must be more than the cold air causing goose bumps to fleck her skin. She reaches for the handle and pauses, inhaling deeply, shakily. She reminds herself she can do this. She has to do this. They need her to do this. It was, after all, the "reason" she sent Emma and Henry away, finding Gold, uncovering his plan. Gotta keep up appearances. Can't let anyone know. She steps out onto the pavement and walks slowly towards the station, her head held uncomfortably high, rigid. She pulls back as if she has been burned when she touches the metal of the door. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Here goes.

She grabs the door again, this time gripping it hard in her hand. In the main hallway, she takes a moment to take in the charged atmosphere and to prepare herself. One step at a time. She can do this. She rounds the corner, passing the locker rooms. It's just the sheriff's station. She takes another few steps and eyes the sign that reads "office" with an arrow. Just the sheriff's chair. She nods to herself reassuringly when she hears David's and Robin's voices around the corner. The sheriff's desk, the sheriff's—

As soon as she feels eyes on her, she stops in her tracks.

"Emma," she whispers.