A/N - This was originally supposed to be a one shot but I somehow fell into this story and created a chunk of chapters adequately. It was inspired by the short film 'The Long Haul' featuring Simone Lahbib, my favourite actress. Hope that it's something that sticks with you all. After all, there's nothing like picking up a hitchhiker who turns out to be a drop dead gorgeous Regina Mills.

X

She could have continued the rest of the depressing journey without the radio on.

The strumming of guitars and that good old country western music drifting from the two small speakers on the dash. The dashboard was the darkest black and made of hard plastic; a cheap replacement by the cargo company the previous year when a plastic lighter had licked the surface and ignited it. The unintentional damage had been quite massive, almost dangerously catching some sensitive wires, as she was oh so graciously told by Red. But they had replaced it without attaching any blame on her. And now the same dash was littered with two things, two things of significant importance.

A fluffy yellow swan with a bob head, attached to the surface with adhesive tape.

And a square photo of Neal in a smart black suit and yellow bow tie, as he pressed a kiss onto her forever pale right cheek.

A photo taken on their wedding day.

Emma sighed, rolled those emerald eyes and focused ahead instead of behind. Because focusing on the distant past only unearthed certain mixed emotions from within; emotions that swirled around her chest and consisted of anger intermingled with regret.

The cold rain was coming down in sheets now, clouding the darkening road before the truck and casting halos around traffic heading her way. A dangerous thing if it wasn't for the gift of those blinding white lights on the massive truck she was manoeuvring from New York to Maine. All the way from one busy state to the next, with nothing but road and more road to cover.

She could have been at home on a Sunday night like that, curled up like a comma in front of a warming fire with the television on. Curled up with a cup of cocoa resting on her lap whilst a warm and beloved husband whipped up a fancy dish in their cozy little kitchen.

But that wasn't exactly how a long stretch of life was for a twenty eight year old ambitious woman who had worked so damn hard to earn what was in it. That wasn't how it unfolded over those past eight years they had been married. Then the divorce and the puzzle remained scattered, torn with an inability to fall back into place comfortably.

No. Instead of the warm and beloved husband in the kitchen, he was the sole occupant of a cold cell in a prison in Texas. He was serving a ten year sentence for robbery and possession of drugs. And no matter how damn hard Neal had tried to convince her that he was innocent, all the evidence that came forth seemed to contradict every single lie.

She had married a liar.

She had married a man whom she fell for in more ways than one, and a man who fathered her son. An innocent and wide eyed ten year old boy who had to suffer through the years now, knowing that he had a father in prison and a mother who was missing for days on end.

But he was safer with his grandparents, her parents. In more ways than one, he was in loving arms there, buried in a cozy cottage in Maine with two people who cared so much. Two people who really tried to shower him with love and understanding whilst his two parents still hadn't learned to cope with their broken relationship. Maybe her kid guiltily reminded her of the man she had been married to. However, that wasn't the reason she was constantly driving away from the one person who should have meant the world to her.

That wasn't the reason at all.

The reason why she chose to escape was the inevitable depression that arose from a lonely heart, a heart that craved to be hugged by another person that genuinely cared. Someone who cared enough to wrap their arms around her lonely soul and allow a caged woman to sing free. She desired someone who would come in like a thief in the cold night and ignite a fire between cold logs. Because that's what happened, didn't it? That's what happened sometimes when winter came and then the sun pushed through the bitter cold.

She might have been a bit too hopeful, but Emma still couldn't believe that Neal was her one and only.

She reached for the silver knob and felt how cold it had grown from the icy winds. Turning it upwards, the country music comfortably filled the truck's compartment and she gripped the yellow rubber on the wheel tighter. Trying to focus through the heavy rain was a hard task by itself alone. The straining of one's eyes to a point where emerald ones were narrowed into slits. She wanted to get to Maine, deliver the wooden cartons of apples under the flap to Juicy Juice and then slip into a warm bath.

She also wanted a warm meal. A nice max burger containing a chunk of juicy fried chicken, two circles of tomatoes, cucumbers as well and cheese, and using a heavy hand on the ketchup mixed with Mayo. Then top that off with a large soda.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds after that thought.

From the moment a slice of red colored the gray haze in front of her within the truck's lights, slowly slipping out from the right, her beating heart stopped.

It was someone on the damn road!

Emma did the one thing Neal had always forbidden her to do during their driving courses in the university yard back in New York.

Her brown boot slammed down on the brake and the truck's wheels scrambled for enough friction upon the wet road, groaning like a heavy weight man falling to the ground after a severe blow.

The expansive distance behind her was empty and no lights were shining from up ahead. But the one thing she remembered the most about that whirl of adrenaline rush was the fear of killing someone instead of slipping off the road and falling to a crushing death.

The one thing she would think about for days and days on end after that blinding moment was the thought of murdering, which she would sacrifice for anything else. And whether by luck or chance, both were prevented as the heaven's opened up and sheets of rain pelted down on the flap and the roof of the red truck.

She was still holding her breath when the actuality of the truck stopping was realized. In fact, the lapse of her eyes registering the cease of moment to her brain processing it was a slow one. Too slow. So that when she was finally caught up in the moment, emerald eyes swept the front of the road frantically.

There wasn't a thud.

There wasn't any kind of impact.

The last time a deer was hit, it was felt on the front of the truck. The poor animal had been thrown off the road and into the depths of a pit alongside it. That had been a traumatic experience so you can imagine the racing of thoughts in her mind as she considered almost hitting a person.

The flurry of red was suddenly evident on the sideline of the road. There was the flapping of a red coat, soaked through and through and dark, matted hair. It was a person. It was someone out there who she had almost run over and almost flattened to their death. Oh how those emerald eyes stared and stared.

The country music was muted as fear still played its dramatic song and in the spacious front of the truck, Emma suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic. She continued to feel that way as the seconds slipped by and then suddenly, the rain was turning into just a sprinkle. The road ahead was growing clearer to see as the night drew nearer and lights dotted the wooden poles along the way. And as she sat there, trying to feel alive again, the face of a woman showed up just by the nose of the enormous vehicle.

Swan panicked.

In any other situation she would have disregarded such an occurrence. If it had been a man, and she was as prejudiced as that for obvious reasons, Emma would have ignored the living being and checked the latches on the doors. For fuck's sake, they could climb into the truck and slide under the flap on a night like this to enjoy a free ride along the way. That's how cautious she was and how reckless her decisions could be arrived at, at a times like those.

Red had always reminded her to never trust even the women who flagged down trucks as hitch-hikers. Never trust them because just as dangerous as a man was, a woman could be twice as deadly with a blade. But she never took any chances, whether male or female.

Within the six years Emma had been working these roads, she had drove past all of these lonely looking people and continued to that shiny destination.

Until now.

The more the face took on features and that soaked creature out there caught her emerald eyes, she felt a tug in that tough heart of hers. A simple stranger. Someone who was stuck out there as the black night swept in, and in this kind of disastrous weather. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Neal would have complained that it wasn't her entire fault that such a woman chose to stand on the road in a storm. He would have also said that she was a fool to be driving a freaking truck for so many miles every day. Neal said many things, but the one thing she always wanted to say to him and would say to him even when he served his ten years was a phrase containing just two words.

FUCK YOU.

"Oh what the hell," she mumbled and reached over to pull up the latch on the other door. Giving it a few sharp thumps with her fist, Emma beckoned for the deranged lady to come closer and to get the hell in.

Within seconds the brunette closed the distance and the blonde could hear and envision nervous and trembling hands fumbling with the door. Such an insane creature to be crawling around the roads in a storm. Rolling her eyes and reaching over, she generously opened the damn thing herself and allowed the stranger to do the rest, in fear that the wind would snatch the door and slap the woman over the edge of the road.

The activity that continued as the lunatic who had to be a lunatic to be out in a weather like this climbed up and into the truck intrigued Emma. At first she was bracing herself for a homeless person who wore smelly clothes and was odiously caked with mud. Her nose was prepared to suck in a scent that would turn that already empty stomach. But no such thing happened. What unfolded was a faint smell of roses and something deliciously fruity as the brunette quickly shrugged off her red coat made of plastic and bundled it up.

She had shaky hands.

She could be a hooker.

She could be one of those women in those ghost stories on the internet that came into the protective comfort of vehicles and then disappeared suddenly after a mile.

Emma was staring. "What the hell kind of stunt was that?" Her mind babbled in situations like that. She was still trying to shake off the shock from almost running over the woman. "You trying to die?"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "You stopped. What's the big..." she trembled from the cold, "...hassle about?"

"Some damn trick you just did!" Emma gestured to the road. "I guess there's a Hitchhiker 101 Rule Book that says that you're supposed to flag down. Not stand in the road!"

A pair of brown eyes turned to focus on her and then wet eyelashes moved in a moment that suddenly tickled the blonde's heart. Had time slowed down? She inhaled deeply, staring back and when those trembling lips remained parted. The other woman's chest heaved from the cold that engulfed her body, and by reflex, Emma reached for the switch and turned on the heater.

There was something about her, this...strange woman. Something about the way she seemed to hold composure even under a spell of the worst looking trembling state caused by strong, gusty cold winds outside. As drenched as she was, her back was as stiff as a poker and there was an attitude about the mysterious individual that signaled dignity, a flutter of desperation and a bout of extreme frustration. Hidden under that skull could be a brain belonging to a serial killer or worst, no brain at all.

She could be Frankenstein's newest experiment.

Swan cleared her throat and fumbled with the radio, turning it off. Her eyes were diverted. "Where you headed? Going far?"

No answer.

Just the humming of the engine and the warm heat filling the truck.

Just the sprinkle of rain above them and the sound of herself breathing.

In situations that presented a certain amount of struggle to communicate with an uninterested person, she often times tried a winning approach. To express something about herself, as little as possible, even if it was a lie for the moment. But this wasn't like any other situation because she had never gestured for a stranger to get into the truck. Never. So to reveal something personal could turn out to be detrimental.

Assessing the face of the woman, Emma decided to keep as much as she could to herself.

"You got a name then?" She tried a different approach although she was quite aware that none would be given.

Instead the stranger chose to rudely direct her focus outside the window, hugging a thin body that showed age. Those honey coloured breasts swelled from inside a red shirt that was soaked through. Emma found herself gazing at what little was revealed and didn't realize where those eyes were roaming.

A woman.

A woman who was a stranger. She had on something that would be a vest with lace trimmings at the top and a pair of black tailored pants. No jewelry. No earrings. Dark, choppy hair and her feet were bare. That was the one thing that made Emma stare in disbelief.

"Where the hell are your shoes?" she tried again.

"I got rid of them," came a throaty voice that had become affected by the coldness and the weather.

"Look, I don't mean to sound rude, lady, but how the hell do you get rid of your shoes in a weather like this?" Emerald eyes were still widened.

The stranger sighed. "I just did. I want a ride. I didn't expect twenty one questions to be a side dish."

Emma was impressed. So her bite was hot and laced with sarcasm. Instead of being entirely offended, she actually smiled.

"I almost hit you. I didn't. I allowed you to come in here and out of the rain. The least I can ask for is a name and where you're headed."

"Regina," the brunette snapped hoarsely. She gestured forward with her right hand, scowling deeply. "Just get a move on."

"Who the hell pissed you off today, I'd like to know," Emma muttered, putting the truck into drive. She flipped on her signal and slowly swung into the lane again, noting how deserted the road was. "You know, I've never picked up a hitch-hiker. So count yourself lucky."

Back to receiving the silent treatment, the blonde noticed that brown eyes were turned away and staring out the window. Which gave her room to speak freely, because you were bound to slip into a lonely cloud during jobs like that. Trucking, as Red would famously call their travels across state after state.

Trucking from New York to Maine, from Maine to Vermont, from Vermont all the way back to New York and then sometimes Texas or California. It was the California journeys she detested the most, never remembering to spend as much on snacks and suffering through the nights with just cheap and tasteless take-out food along the way.

"I'm headed to Maine," she said, flipping the wiper lever upwards as the pace increased. The truck bumped along and groaned in the silence of the night. "Do you mind the radio?"

Regina shook her head and avoided eye contact.

"That's a nice name, actually," Emma smiled, pleased that there hadn't been any sarcasm. "Never heard anyone with that one before. I'm Emma."

The brunette's chest heaved. That would suffice as an acknowledgement to her name, she figured. Like she noted before, a time like this had never presented itself and as this one unfolded, her gut wasn't signaling any danger thus far. None at all. In fact, the air was slowly draining out the fear from her mind, one that had gripped and held on like claws. And as the faint smell of rose tickled her nose, she began to ascertain a possibility in her mind as to what had occurred with the woman.

Regina seemed to be running from something.

"On nights like these, I just slow the fuck down and drive below forty," she continued, squinting to see through the growing downpour. Her lips stretched into a smile. "I've got these bright orange reflectors on the back, front and sides of this baby. So from a distance anyone can see me coming. One time I hit a deer." She threw a glance at the brunette and their eyes met.

Just for a moment, Emma caught something in those brown eyes that gave out way more than expected. Pain. But the length of their eyes meeting wasn't enough to allow her to process anything more because the older woman chose to stare ahead.

"Look, you can please yourself," the blonde gave up, "we don't need to talk." She reached forwards with her free hand and turned the knob on the radio set.

After a while though, the nagging sensation of having another occupant in the truck was overbearing. Even the radio couldn't evaporate the feeling away, knowing that she could at least speak to someone for a change.

"I hit a deer and I've got to tell you, it was horrible," she tried something catching. "Couldn't sleep well for nights. I kept...hearing the thud on impact and seeing the...poor thing fly over the cliff. I couldn't even tell my son about it, like some...amazing experience because it would have freaked him out."

"You have a son," the brunette said hoarsely. "That's nice." Brown orbs focused forward.

It was enough to warrant a gaze from Emma, and before she dangerously avoided concentration on the road, her eyes turned back to it. "Yeah. He's ten. Nice kid. You'd like him."

"How do you know I'd like him?" Regina sounded bored and affected by frustration. Brown eyes flicked to the road, red lips pursed.

"You said...and I quote...that's nice." Emma tried to be cheerful. "Bet you have one or two of your own."

Something changed in the compartment of the truck.

As much as the heat was generating warmth around their bodies, the Swan detected an ice cold streak in the woman's sudden stiffened posture. What seemed to be a sharp intake of breath was taken and fingers that had been trembling a few minutes ago were now steady and flexed. In then out. Upon her black pants. It was then when emerald eyes noticed the painful looking wound on the woman's right hand, just between her knuckles and index finger. Red and raw looking, as if the damage hadn't been done so long ago.

"Looks bad enough," Emma said, wincing. When the brunette considered her with a blank stare, she jerked her chin. "Your right hand. I've got a First Aid Kit in the glove compartment. Want me to tend to it for you? I'm pretty good at taking care of wounds. Henry had quite a few in his younger days since he was always curious and clumsy."

"I'm fine," Regina said gruffly.

Emma sighed as the trees thickened on either side of the truck.

Taylor Swift's voice was now drifting from the speakers, as she sung 'Wildest Dreams'. Which made the night seem kind of deeper with meaning than expected. When certain songs got to her head, she'd be swept back into certain memories, either good or bad. Mostly bad but that could easily be swayed by the changing of the radio station. Not this time though. The song seemed to relax her for a bit. The lyrics seemed to be speaking to her in some way.

Whilst one drowned in the lyrics, the other wasn't quite paying attention to anything. Even as she stared out and onto the road, brown eyes weren't capturing the scene at all. Her heart beat was increasing, and she took measured breaths. Her fingertips still burned as if the fire was still licking them and the back of a bruised neck prickled.

Suddenly, she wished to be numbed instead of warmed up. And instead of asking the talkative driver to shut the heater off, Regina bent a stiff back to retrieve her red, wet plastic coat.

As soon as those burning fingers touched the coolness of the rain on the fabric, she let out a long overdue breath of air.

"I'm not going to steal your coat," Emma joked. "So you can leave it where it was. Why don't you throw it over the back of your seat? That way it can dry a little faster."

She never liked to be told what to do. Not by any man and surely not by a stranger. He always told her what to do. He always told her what to say because of his fucking reputation as a scum-bag businessman. Always this and always that. Never to reveal too much skin. Never to machine wash his ties. Robin was no different from the rest of trash she had dated. And her mother had been right. Men were nothing but pigs who deserved to be slaughtered.

"Look," Emma stretched out her hand, "gimme the coat and I'll throw it over the chair for you."

Regina hugged it protectively and appeared like a petulant child.

"Fine," the blonde smiled and shook her head. "And since you think I'm a thief or something, then I'll keep an eye out for you in case you steal my swan."

A few seconds slipped by and the rain came down harder. The wooden crates shook from under the flap and the wind howled. The massive wheels of the truck made sucking noises as they drove through a muddy part of the road and all that time, Regina studied the object Emma had identified.

A swan.

As simple as it was to anyone else, to the brunette such an animal had always been majestic. Elegant, poised, graceful. Silent and beautiful. She used to savour those moments spent on her father's farm, sitting by the pond and gazing out at the swaying trees.

"It's yellow," she said stiffly, "and it's ugly." That was a deliberate lie, to possibly unearth a reaction.

Swan made a dramatic turn of her head and stared, eyes widening. "Oh no you did not just insult my baby."

"Where did you get it? From a musty smelling thrift shop?" Regina tentatively reached out and her bruised fingertips brushed the yellow bob head almost intimately.

"I did, actually. Well I didn't." Emerald eyes rested on the brunette's move. "My son got it for me. He said it would be my good luck charm in a way. Like even when I wasn't with him, he'd give me something to stick there. I mean it's better than a rabbit's foot." She never did understand the concept of chopping off a poor bunny's foot to keep as a charm. "He has this way of collecting things that are unique but have a meaning to him. Kind of like that." She smiled at the bobbing yellow toy.

"Is that him?" The brunette pointed at the small photo tucked in next to the speedometer right behind the wheel. "Your son?"

Emma lowered her eyes to study the square photo briefly and smiled. "Yeah." The truck drove on. There was silence. She asked, "you have any of your own?"

What served as an answer now was the usual. A quick diversion of the eyes to meet the road and then all hopes of continuing their conversation ended abruptly.

"Look, I know a runner when I see one," Emma braved, noting how orbs of brown suddenly bore into her cheek. "I've been running for a couple of years now. From several things. The thoughts of someone. My kid. My parents. And as they always say, it takes one to know one."

"You cannot begin to know anything about me," Regina was defensive, her tone sharper.

"I don't," Swan kept her voice soft. She shrugged. "I can't begin to imagine what your life is like. But I'll tell you this. You can keep running, but some time or the other you're going to have to face what you're running from. And the best thing to do whilst you're running is to talk to someone."

Regina scoffed, and shook her head, arms folded. "And I suppose that you insist upon me spilling my life story upon you. A total stranger."

Swan inhaled deeply, remembering how her mother used to tell stories about beautiful princesses and princes and happy endings. People who found happiness and lived happily ever after. But those people didn't consist of herself and the woman sitting there in the truck. No. Both of them seemed to have demons that would never go away. Trust issues. When Red often-times tormented Emma to open up and talk about Neal, the blonde shied away. Why? Because she thought that not dwelling on the thought or the topic would somehow make the pain magically disappear.

That was a lie.

"The second I drop you off...wherever you want to get dropped off," Emma said humbly, "that's it. Everything you say will stay in here. You're right. I don't know anything about you and that's understood. But sometimes the best people to talk to are those who know nothing about you," the blonde explained. "That way, their opinions wouldn't be kind of biased. You get me?"

It was Regina's turn to let out a sigh. "Yes."

"So…tell me how you got that ugly looking burn."

"No," Regina's husky voice was soothing instead of insulting.

Emma smiled. "What did you burn? Did you decide to bake a cake and ended up burning down the house?"

"Keep your eyes ahead. Stop glancing at me. And stop being so damn annoying." The brunette folded her arms tighter and swallowed.

Swan was even more impressed by such boldness. "You know, even when I'm supposed to be offended, you're kind of cute. Especially when you're sarcastic with me."

Regina sucked in air and her eyes flicked to the blonde. "I don't…do…cute."

The younger woman smiled and held in her laughter. "Aww."

"Is there never an end to your babbling…" the brunette muttered hoarsely.

"I was born talking," Emma offered her a smile.

And that was enough to warrant an eye roll from the other woman.

"I'm kind of not the type to pick up hitch-hikers, you know," Emma stretched out one hand over the wheel whilst the other gripped the rubber. She shrugged. "I don't really want to take the risk. I'm used to being on my own."

The brunette blinked at the yellow water bottle and decided to resist the urge to ask for some. After all, she wasn't too keen on sipping from a stranger's bottle.

"What about your son?" Her throat began to ache terribly.

Emma sighed. She reached up to tuck a chunk of blonde hair behind an ear. "I'm more on my own when I'm back home. He stays with my parents."

Regina studied the blonde's fair cheek and awaited further clarity. When none was given, she directed her stare ahead.

After a while, the younger woman adjusted her position in the seat. She smiled. "Can't complain doing this job. I've got my music. My peace." She glanced at the other woman. "You probably think I'm soft in the head."

"No," the brunette sat back as stiff as ever. "You're lucky."

"How am I lucky?" Emma was curious.

It took some time for the older woman to respond. "Lots of alone time. Your own space. Independence."

Emma nodded and allowed that to sink in.

"You know, most times it's the usual. Someone running from their parents. Or..." Emma gestured ahead, "...they just want to start a new life somewhere. Or maybe they're running from some guy..."

"I can relate." The brunette rolled her eyes, arms folded.

"What?" Emerald eyes widened as she turned to consider the brunette. "Is that your case? Running from a guy?"

"None of your business," the older woman suddenly spat.

Emma was squeezed into a corner. "I'm only asking," she pointed out. "Jesus, you're supposed to talk at some point."

"Well I don't want to talk," Regina said bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be annoying. I'm just being considerate -"

"Well keep your consideration to yourself," the other woman said scowling.

About ten minutes slipped by and it was raining harder. Lightening streaked the sky every now and again. The radio was on but it was an instrumental piece and instrumentals usually sent the blonde into a drowsy mood. Unless it was an upbeat kind of track. Then she would hopefully bob her head to it.

"Look," Regina's hoarse voice came from the corner of the compartment, "I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm not going to say that I'm sorry for refusing to spill my guts. But I'll say that I'm not in a good mood right now and I'm not in the mood to talk."

The blonde's heart gave a small leap. She smiled softly as their eyes met. "That's okay. I understand. Honestly. If there's anything I can do to help, then just ask. Advice... Anything. I'll kind of try to lend a few words from what I know already."

And that was that.