The sight of her, sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, knees pulled up, face hidden and forehead resting on her crossed arms, tugs at your heartstrings. You thought this was going to work, you honestly did, although you can't tell how much of that was wishful thinking. But the idea had potential, it made sense, it sounded perfect. She thought so too. The moment right before she did it, she looked up at you and there was so much hope and so much light in her eyes, far more than you had ever seen before; you felt like you were meeting a whole new person altogether, or at least a completely unknown part of a person you thought you knew fairly well. You thought to yourself that that was probably what she looked like as a young girl, before life and her mother and Gold had managed to break her spirit. For some reason, that thought made you feel like crying, but she was looking at you for reassurance, and you had promised her you'd help with whatever you could, so instead you smiled at her and nodded.

The two of you had spent months trying to find the Author. Dozens and more dozens of books had been read, without as much as a clue. Regina had tried so many locating spells, with a handful of objects you found inside the house, but none of them came even close to working. It was starting to look like a lost cause yet again, but something took your mind back to the Enchanted Forest, to the cell you had been locked in, to the ink that had set you free – and the idea was formed. If you couldn't find the Author, then you'd simply have to find a way to write on the books by yourselves, and make it actually work. You had tried that before, of course, but with normal ink. But magic ink... that could be the solution. Not squid ink, since that was a lot more useful for destructive purposes, but some kind of ink had to work for that. You had suggested it and Regina's eyes had immediately widened; she could see that it was a real possibility. So you had spent a few more months doing even more research, trying to find information about all possible kinds of magical ink, and eventually she had found something that looked promising enough.

The catch was that Regina would have to make the ink herself, from scratch, infusing it with her own magic. It had sounded like a delicate process, but not an impossible one. After a handful of tries and tests, she finally came up with a batch that definitely had magic. She had tested it by writing on a regular piece of paper with it and then blowing on it, just like you had seen Mary Margaret do with the squid ink. Moments later, a rose bush started springing from the ground, growing in a matter of seconds, until it was covered in red roses.

You had looked absolutely stunned as Regina had walked there, cut one of the flowers out and given it to you, the victorious smile on her lips definitely having contributed to your speechlessness. If that was what it could do on plain paper, you were pretty sure it would have the desired effect when used on an enchanted book. Regina would finally be able to write her own happy ending. That thought had made your heart swell with happiness for her, knowing how much she deserved it after having been through so much, and after having saved all of you a few times over.

But part of you had also been scared. You had tried to bury it down, to not even really admit it to yourself, but the truth was that you had been enjoying all the time you had been spending alone – and if this plan worked, that would mean Operation Mongoose would officially be over. It would mean there'd be no more need for it... no more need for you to stay around. You like to think that you are officially friends now; on your part, you already were before, and you're pretty sure the brunette sitting on the other side of the room has come to think of you that way over the past months as well. So maybe you would still spend some time together... but not every evening, every weekend, nearly all your free time. After all, her happy ending would mean finally finding her true love, and she'd probably become quite busy with that. You had known it was selfish, but still, the moment you realized the ink worked, you had felt an uneasiness settle in the bottom of your stomach. You wanted Regina to be happy... but you didn't want this to end.

So when she picked up one of the books and wrote lines and more lines of her happy ending on it, and absolutely nothing happened, you felt guilty. When you watched her hope crumble down, her anger surfacing as she threw the book across the library and disappeared in purple smoke, you felt like it was your fault, in a way. Like you were to blame for wanting to still see her every day.

You knew she would be in her study, and you knew she could use you being there – even if chances were she'd try to push you away at first. You drove there as fast as you could, wishing you had learned how to do the teleporting trick too, and let yourself in, smiling sadly at the fact that the key to her mansion was now a part of your key-chain.

But walking up to her now and seeing just how broken she looks... that wipes away any trace of that smile, and you feel like crying again, although for a very different reason. The reason why you don't, however, is exactly the same as before: she needs you. She needs you to calm her down and reassure her, she needs you to make her believe you will find a way, she will be happy, you won't give up until she is – and you won't let her give up either.

You sit down on the floor next to her, and your heart breaks a bit more upon noticing the rise fall of her back that mean she's crying, but she doesn't react to your presence at all. A chill runs down your spine as you wonder if she blames you. Maybe she knows a small part of you wasn't fully happy with it working... or maybe she simply blames you for suggesting it, for giving an idea that made her waste months on something that didn't work, for making her hope again just to have it crushed one more time. You might ask her later, but for now, you just hope she hasn't gone back to hating you, because that would make being there for her a whole lot harder.

You place a hand on her shoulder gently and feel her breathe in sharply at the contact, but except for that, she still shows no signs of acknowledging you're there. If she was really mad, though, you know she'd have brushed you off by now, so the fact that she allows your hand to remain there without moving away or even disappearing yet again is a good sign, and you relax the muscles in your own shoulder at last.

"Regina..."

She immediately stiffens upon hearing you say her name, but still does not move. "Don't" is all she says, her voice muffled by her arms, but you can still hear the strain and the tears behind that one word. You'd normally insist; you both know that neither obedience nor self-restraint are really your forte, and you're pretty sure she wouldn't be surprised if you still kept talking... but today, for once, you don't. Sighing, you simply scoot closer and move your hand to cup the back of her head instead. You haven't exactly reached that level of physical closeness with her, but you know from watching her with Henry that physical affection is very important to her, and that she often used it to comfort your son, so you allow yourself to cross some boundaries and hope it will help. You'd do whatever it took to make her be okay – happy, even.

She actually starts crying harder, and for a moment you wonder if that was a right move or if it made her feel even worse instead, but she leans her body just slightly towards you, pressing her side against yours, and you take it for the confirmation you needed.

You don't think you've ever seen her so vulnerable – and you're probably the person who she has allowed to see that most often, so that says something. It hurts, and it makes you realize, not for the first time, just how much you have come to care for that woman, to the point where your heart now breaks and your eyes tear up because of her pain. You have once heard that that is what love is, being able to feel someone else's pain – and you begin to admit to your own self that, maybe, this has already become more than simply caring about her.

Somehow, you end up almost wrapped around her, with your chin resting on her shoulder, the hand on her head gently running through her hair, the other one softly grasping her arm. When her crying finally calms down, she shifts the littlest bit, still without really lifting her hear, and you think it's to shrug you away at last, but what she does instead is seek your hand and lift it off her arm, immediately lacing her fingers with yours and squeezing lightly.

To say that you're overwhelmed with affection for her in that moment would still be an understatement. You would give the world to heal her, to make sure she never aches again. You pull her even closer, so that you can place a kiss on her temple. When she finally uncurls from her shell and moves literally into your arms, head resting on your chest, you can't resist reaching down to touch her cheek and wipe the remnants of her tears away.

"I just want you to know that-", you try again, only to be once more interrupted by her. This time, however, it's softly, without any bite at all. "I already said 'don't'..."

"I'm not going to tell you to keep hoping, I promise."

She looks up at you with a hint of a glare in her red, swollen eyes, but you take her lack of protest as a permission to go on. "All I want to say is... I'm here. Even if this doesn't work, even if we never figure out a way to do this... you're not alone anymore, and I need you to know that. I would do anything to make you happy if I knew how to."

You watch her as her eyes widen, and it makes you question if that really is the first time she's admitting the possibility that you honestly want to help, that you honestly want her to be happy, not just for the sake of your conscience, but for her. How can she not know it already?

"Emma...", she whispers your name and looks at you in awe, as if you were the biggest wonder she has ever seen – much like she did the day she opened the scroll, the day you were forced to leave with Henry. You had asked yourself that day if there could be more there, if there could be things that were still left unsaid; but it's not like you had too much time to think about that, because soon enough, you were gone and with no memories of her. But now, that day comes back to your mind, and her tone makes you feel weird things and you don't know what to make of it, but for some reason it gives you hope all the same.

And before you know it, your hand is on her cheek again, and her hand is reaching up to grasp the nape of your neck, and you're leaning in, and so is she, and your lips are touching. You kiss her and she kisses you right back and you can feel her heavy heart through the kiss, you can taste saltwater on her lips and you hope that she can feel and taste nothing but love in return, whatever kind of love she needs to feel at this moment.

When you need to pull away, she hides her face on your neck, clutching the back of your shirt in her hands, and although you can't quite hear it at first, you can feel her repeatedly mumbling something against your skin, alternating it with trailing the softest kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. That definitely makes it harder for you to focus, but you don't mind; quite the opposite, you can barely help the contented sigh that escapes. But eventually you make out what she's saying: "It's you, it's you, it's you"... and it hits you.

You pull away to look at her, and your eyes are probably just as wide as hers were just moments ago, and you understand. The look on her face, the awe in her eyes, the surprise in her voice... you understand all of it, although you can barely believe it yourself. "It worked?!"

She nods and there are tears springing down her face yet again, but you know these are not like the others. And she's not one to babble, that's usually you, but nothing in this day is going as usual, so today, she does.

"I didn't write anything too specific, Emma... it didn't feel right, I thought so much about it while I was trying to make the ink, and I knew I couldn't, I couldn't determine who it would be or even if I'd met them already or not, or how that would happen... If I did, I'd never know if it was real, if it was happening because it was supposed to or because I wrote it, if that person truly loved me or if I had made them love me. So I only wrote that today would be the day true love would reach me and my life would start again, that the person who would help me find love again would come to me right then, and that I'd never have to feel alone again, and that I would be happy... we would be happy. And when nothing happened, I thought it didn't work... but it did! It's you, Emma... it's you. You did that... all of that."

You don't know what to say, and she's crying and grinning at the same time, and you know you could spend every day looking at that smile without ever wanting to see anything else, and when your eyes again start to water, this time, you allow them to flow, and you know your lips are probably smiling just as wide. She gets to be happy, you get to make her happy – and this doesn't have to end, after all. Actually, it's only just beginning. So you do what you can do to celebrate: you kiss her again. And again. And again.

Sooo... this is not exactly the kind of thing I've been writing in the last years, but I hope it wasn't that bad and you could still enjoy it! Let me know what you think? :)