Chapter 13

The dull pain in her chest and the tickle of tears falling down her jaw were the only things reminding Emma Swan that she was still alive.

She had heard stories of people living for a brief period after their hearts died, but had never thought she'd be one of them, quickly dying as the body hardens into a shell. She stumbled along the streets of Storybrooke, wondering how much longer her brain would allow her the sensory experience of life.

Any minute now, it would be over. And at least, then, she could escape the agony inside her and rest.

Any minute.

Maybe…

Maybe… now wasn't her time. She looked down at her left breast. Her left hand was pressing hard into her chest, trying to press out the severe ache that apparently had no intention of subsiding. Her fingers rose and fell erratically, almost as if they were seizing. It was then that Emma realized she was silently sobbing.

Instead of sound, each outward cry left a thick puff of white hovering at Emma's eyes. She continued to walk aimlessly in the dark with nothing but streetlamps for company, and these ragged breaths left a trail of mist behind her that gave her the appearance of a crashing plane.

She walked.

After a time, she collapsed onto cold, gray steps. She had no idea how long she had been wandering, and only after a minute of scrutiny did she know where she was.

Fitting. She'd die where she had come to life: Storybrooke's graveyard.

The blonde rolled onto her side and allowed herself an audible expression of heartbreak. The guttural moan seemed at place in this setting, and Emma held nothing back. Only when she started to shiver did she realize it was raining quite steadily.

The trickling of the rain teasing her hard skin reminded her of Regina's fingertips. The freezing drops coated her in sensation and buried into her pores, for even they wanted to escape the cold of the night. Emma lay there, allowing the pain of the cold and of her heartbreak to consume her. She closed her eyes and bellowing thunder masked her cries as she salvaged a bit of life from her memories of Regina.

She remembered the subtle blush that crept up the brunette's neck at the coffee shop that Saturday morning when Emma first became cognizant of her intense attraction to the other woman. She remembered the sensation of the Mayor's hand in her own at Henry's game and the way the dominant woman had teased her with the dinner invitation. She remembered the way Regina stared at her the foyer in her home at the Party. She remembered waking up to her the morning after their first night together and letting her own heart join the cadence that filled her ear as she lay on Regina's chest.

She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. She was staring at the wall where she had held Regina that night they sparred, that night she made a vow to melt the cold woman and win her for her own.

And now Regina was gone. She was as good as being inside this mausoleum with her father, the father about whom Emma knew nothing.

Emma suddenly rolled over and vomited on the now drowning grass. The pain in her stomach and chest had mixed with the dryness in her throat and had made her lurch. She didn't care. She stared up at the sky and let the rain pour over her face and wash away the residue of sickness around her chin and mouth.

The sky lit up as a sheet of lighting arrogantly claimed the night. Emma hated it. She hated it for being so powerful and full of life. And she hated it for having such a short life when she was doomed to live on with this unbearable pain of loss and betrayal.

The blonde had never known familial love. She had been thrown around like a beach ball as a child, popped from home to home, as her current unit found another source of income or entertainment. She had found it hard to relate to others her entire life because she had never spent enough time with anyone to develop a true bond. Her romantic relationships began and ended with apathy and the only real sense of satisfaction she'd ever known came from hunting down pricks and throwing them before a judge so that they could rot a little longer behind bars.

She had become complacent with a life full of nothing.

And then Regina had come along and shown her how empty Emma's life had really been. She had met the woman who made her fill such an intense amount of life that it spilled out and into her past, and made up for the 28 years of loneliness that had followed her like a curse.

Emma had let her guard down. She had convinced herself it would be worth it. She had let Regina trick her into thinking she was worthy of stability and affection. She hated her for it. She wished she had never even come to Storybrooke. As a matter of fact, she'd pack tonight. She would leave this god-forsaken place behind just as she'd done the others, and she'd continue her nomadic style of living until she outran this pain. It was fight or flight, and Emma was done fighting. She was too tired to pick up the sword again.

But then she thought of Henry, and she immediately felt guilty for having contemplated leaving. She couldn't abandon him.

She sat up and let her chest convulse with some latent sobs. There was no running away from Storybrooke. She was a part of this town now, as Sheriff, friend, and mother. She would just have to get creative in avoiding the Mayor.

She let her face fall into her hands. She had no idea how she would pull through this. Apathy had always been her protection, and Regina had convinced her to retire it.

Regina.

Emma said the name into her palms. She remembered the first time she had addressed the Mayor so informally – that day on the street corner after the brunette had returned Mary Margaret's coffee. Regina had crushed her then, too.

The blonde shook her head. She knew Regina was hiding pain. They were kindred spirits in that respect. Emma had recognized very quickly that the Mayor, like herself, was carrying around years of loneliness and neglect, but why? She had to know Regina's past because in order to… love her… she had to know all of her.

She began sobbing again.

There was no kidding herself. She had already allowed herself to love Regina Mills. She had stepped into the minefield cognizant of the danger, but willing to trade trepidation for the possibility of reaching the other side, a place filled with reciprocal love and family, stability and reward. It was a place she had seen from behind the bars of her heart, but never been able to reach. Until Regina handed her the key to freedom.

Lightning mocked Emma once more.

Emma breathed inward, her head still in her hands, and her body still hunched over in dejection. Her flashbacks were becoming too painful, now. They were so real. She remembered the way Regina had said her name that day at the soccer game, quiet and soft, marking the end of an invitation that would lead to a deluge of physical longing a few short hours later.

And she heard it again.

Emma opened her eyes.

"Emma," said Regina, standing some four feet away from her.

She was soaked all over, but the rain couldn't obscure the tears falling down her face.

The two stared at each other, completely broken… just as they had found each other