STORYBROOKE, MAINE, 2019.

A hand of the clock on the clock tower on Main Street clicks down, showing a quarter past eight. Below, a town full of modern fairytale residents bustle about, enjoying the sunshine of the particularly warm early-September day.

Magical emergencies are few and far-between nowadays in Storybrooke, tucked away in a quiet, hidden corner of Maine. Now, people embrace their modern lifestyles and go about their normal lives, preforming normal tasks, going to work, going to lunch, heading home, and doing the same thing all over again the next day.

It's exactly the sort of thing that drives Henry Mills insane. Eighteen years old, fresh out of Storybrooke High, and absolutely tired of just existing, watching the town pass by, but hardly feeling apart of it, desperately waiting for his life to begin. However, what's a perfectly normal day for the majority of the town, is by contrast a monumental one for the Mills family.

Today is the day that Henry leaves.

The moment he'd woken up on that bright Tuesday morning, he'd felt different in his bones. He'd glanced around the room, noting the bare walls and feeling a sort of nostalgic pang, but overcome with a buzzing excitement from deep within him, knowing that today, finally, he's leaving. Going. Even escaping.

It's not at all that he doesn't adore this town or the people in it, and he knows without a doubt that he'll desperately miss the most important people in his life, but he's been waiting for this moment for as long as he can remember--where he can grab his things, shut the door, kiss his mothers goodbye, and drive away, to find...

To find his story. That's all it is, isn't it? Henry Mills, the young Author, wielding one of the most powerful tools in all the realms, writing every single other person's story but his own.

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud rapping on his door. "Wake up, Kid, your mom needs to start bright and early on her sobbing-and-hugging agenda if we're ever going to get you out the door by noon."

Oh, right. He shrugs into a hoodie and opens the door to find Emma, who looks as though she's about to knock again. "Good morning to you, too, Ma."

Emma grins, pulling him into a hug that lasts significantly longer than her usual squeezes. He feels her breathe him in, sinking her fingertips into his back. He melts into her, too, trying hard to remember his fervency to leave. The last day is weighing on everyone's mind--even if it's just the last day, for now.

He breaks away first, hands on her shoulders, and studies her face. Still paler than he remembers it in years past, hair slightly faded, but still Emma. And it's times like these when he's overwhelmingly glad that when she's around him and Mom, she acts like the Emma he knows, instead of Mrs. Jones. He glances down at the gold band on her finger and swallows. Following his gaze, Emma seems to read his thoughts, and uncomfortably twists the ring with her thumb, bending her fingers back to hide it from view. From her back pocket, her phone chimes, but she ignores it.

"C'mon, Kid, your mom made pancakes."

Henry shakes himself from his thoughts, and links his arm in hers, gesturing with his other hand towards the staircase. "After you, m'lady."

Emma snorts, dragging him along with her, tripping on the first few steps. "Dork."

"Nerd," Henry shoots back immediately, and Emma turns with a smirk on her lips.

"That's rich coming from Mr. Comic Book as well as the freaking Author of the universe or whatever, but sure, I'm the nerd."

Henry grins at her, and, though he's not proud of it, sticks out his tongue a little. "Just because I'm a nerd, doesn't make you any less of one."

That one stops his blonde mother for a second, who squints at him before cracking a smile. "You got me there."

Henry makes a show of brushing imaginary lint off of himself and puffing up his chest.

"Idiot," Emma whispers, and Henry walks past her, smacking her lightly on the side of the head as he does so. He retreats to the kitchen before Emma can make her next move.

He shimmies next to Regina at the stove, squeezing her shoulder and kissing her temple. "Morning, Mom," he says, watching her turn towards him with a smile, paired with unmistakable sadness in her eyes.

Not for the first time, a wave of guilt washes over him, but he does his best to ignore it. He's spent too long laboring over this issue both internally and externally with his mothers to rehash it now. Instead, he makes up for it by helping her finish preparing breakfast, setting the table, and turning up the charm, though he finds he doesn't have to force it. As he sits at his spot at the island counter, a current of sadness pushes against his chest, presenting him with the thought that he doesn't know how long it'll be before he has the chance to do this again. Forcing it back and swallowing the lump in his throat, he grins across the table at his mothers and tries to fit a whole pancake in his mouth in one bite.

---

Regina has known for a long time. She's probably known for over a year, by now, that this day was coming. Knowing this, she should've had more than enough time to prepare. Still, as she watches Henry stand up from his seat and carry his dishes to the sink, taller than he's ever been and wearing his new brown leather jacket, her heart sinks in her chest despite how happy she truly is for him. She didn't have to be told to know that he's been waiting for a day like this all his life--and while life in Storybrooke for him had grown significantly better than when he was ten years old, and though she knows that he truly does love her and even the town--she knows, deep down, that he needs this. For too long she's sheltered him and ignored the fact that he's no longer a little boy, and she knows that for him to truly grow up and to become his own person, he has to leave. She knows this.

But if she does, why does the lump in her throat grow ever larger, and why is the wetness in her eyes threatening to overflow?

She can sense Emma's eyes on her, and when she works up the courage, she glances over. Their eyes lock, and she sees something she hadn't expected. Instead of pity, there's a deep understanding. And instead of the dull, glazed-over effect Regina had reluctantly grown used to since Emma had officially tied the knot with the One-handed Wonder, they're bright and green. Taken aback -- overwhelmed with nostalgia for the Emma she once knew, the Emma that only begins to shine through the cracks whenever she's around Regina for long enough, instead of the new, little housewife shell she's built up around herself -- Regina has to look away.

Not today. She can't labor over this today. Not when it's the day Henry is leaving home.

She watches Henry finish loading his plate into the dishwasher before straightening and turning slowly to face his mothers. They look at each other, Henry pressing his palms into tops of his thighs, fingers picking at the denim, ignoring what's to come. None of them want to say goodbye.

They remain like that for a moment--it couldn't have been over ten seconds, though it felt like just as many minutes--before Henry clears his throat. "Um. I guess I'll go get my stuff from upstairs."

Emma jumps a little, springing up from the island and following him closely out of the room. "I'll help you."

Regina almost moves to follow them, but stops herself. It's not hard to tell that Emma is doing her best to distract herself, whether to avoid being alone in a room with Regina, or to continue ignoring the buzzing of her phone in her pocket, Regina doesn't know, but she lets her go. She tries not to think about the sinking in her chest as she does so.

---

Emma tails Henry up the stairs, hand ghosting up the railing as she takes a moment to look at the pictures lining the walls. Amid the school pictures of Henry and other old photos, Emma finds herself in many of the frames, fitting in smoother than silk with Regina and Henry, smiling her most genuine, face-splitting grins in several candid shots. She frowns when she realizes that none of the photos like that are particularly new, and she finds herself wondering when they stopped having family picnics or outings to Disneyland.

The back of her mind nags her with an image of her husband and an unwanted, buried memory submerges of a nasty argument that occured a couple of years ago when Killian expressed his unwavering distrust of Regina and his jealousy of those outings, especially when he had time off of work, and what was wrong with a man wanting to spend time with his wife, anyway? And Emma, ashamed, had sought forgiveness and guiltily turned down invitations to such outings with Regina and Henry since then.

The memory turns her stomach, and her hand moves to her phone in her back pocket, hand shaking slightly as she switches it to silent. The lockscreen flashes her with several missed calls and texts.

Killian: we need to talk.
Killian: please pick up, luv.
Killian: emma, this isn't funny anymore.
Killian: I'm going down to the docks. Don't wait up for me.

Emma swallows and pockets her phone. She reaches the top of the stairs and follows Henry into his room. His bed is uncharacteristically made, and the room is clean, but not exactly bare. She turns her attention to the bed again, noting the small pile of bags covering the comforter.

She turns to her son. "That's it?"

He nods, but doesn't turn to look at her. She studies his face, sees the clench in his jaw and the determined glint to his eye, softened by the layer of glaze covering them. She watches him sweep his gaze across his room and stuff his hands in his pockets before finally turning to face her.

"Ma...you'll keep her company, won't you? You'll watch over her?"

She doesn't have to ask who he means. Her stomach flips and the lump in her throat resurfaces as she remembers the nature of the argument with Killian last night; the one that caused all of the texts and calls today. She doesn't voice any of this. Instead, she gives him a sad smile and lays a hand on his shoulder, trying not to think about the way she has to raise her arm higher than she'd remembered needing to in order to do so. "Of course I will."

Guilt throbs in her ears, but she ignores it. Henry and promising him and easing his mind is the only thing that matters right now.

He visibly relaxes under her touch, and his shoulders slump. "Thank you. I just--I worry about her, Ma."

Emma finds herself rubbing at his shoulder, the leather of his coat unfamiliar on her palm. "I know you do, Kid, and that's good, and you're an amazing son for worrying, but she's a really strong badass, remember?"

Henry grins, the hardness of his jaw easing. "I know, I know. She's just different with me. It's always been different with me."

Emma's heart softens, and she feels unbidden tears prick her eyes. "She loves you. More than anything, you know that, don't you?"

Henry looks at her--really looks--his eyes soft and searching and far too perceptive, and looks as though he desperately wants to tell her something. His mouth opens and closes, and he shakes his head. "Yeah," he says instead, giving her a small smile and grasps her bicep before releasing it and returning his hand to his side. "Thanks, Ma."

Emma squeezes his shoulder and grabs a couple of bags, leaving the room.

Henry watches her go, his heart heavy in his chest. Her words echo in his mind: she loves you. More than anything, you know that, don't you? His throat begins to close as he watches her disappear down the steps. Because there's something that Emma will never know, and something he's not sure even his other mother knows.

I'm not the only one she loves, Ma.

---

Regina watches Emma and Henry descend the staircase, Henry lagging behind and glancing at the walls, seemingly to take in his surroundings in a last-ditch effort to say goodbye to the house. He places his bag in the small pile Emma had created at the foot of the stairs, straightening slowly. He catches Regina's gaze and sends her a quiet, small smile.

They begin walking towards each other at the same time, and they meet in the middle. "Mom," Henry breathes out before her body collides with his. He wraps his arms around her waist, feeling the expensive fabric of her shirt-and-skirt combo beneath his fingers, and breathing in her perfume.

Regina digs her fingertips into his back, settling her chin over his shoulder, feeling the prick in her eyes return. "My Little Prince--" she begins, stopping when she feels Henry twitch and inhale sharply under her touch.

He pulls back--not letting go of her completely, but enough to look her in the eyes (and she tries not to think about the fact that their gazes are perfectly level, heels and all)--and only then does she see the tears forming in his own eyes. "Mom, you know why I have to do this, don't you?"

A thousand conversations pass through her mind--the countless times he'd gently brought up this inevitable moment, easing her into the fact that he was leaving, explaining why he needed this--and she nods. "To--" she begins, her voice breaking. She clears her throat, repeating his own words, the words the she'd labored with for nights on end before falling asleep, and had since memorized. "To find your story."

Henry nods slowly, his eyes wide and wet and so full of love that Regina nearly melts under his gaze. "There are a thousand realms, a thousand stories to record; and, who knows, maybe I'll find a piece of myself along the way." He shrugs a little, his voice soft, and Regina finds herself wondering once again when she'd looked away and he'd grown up without her. "But I'll never know if I don't go. I just have to--I need to--see what the rest of the world has to offer. I'll come home," He promises, watching Regina close her eyes and allow the tears to trail down her cheeks, before looking towards Emma and nodding at her before repeating himself. "I'll come home."

He leans in, squeezing Regina again. She holds onto him like he's her lifeline; she combs through his brown hair with her shaking fingers and breathes in a shuddering breath. "I believe in you, Henry. I always have. And I'll be waiting for you when you find your way home," she whispers into his ear, feeling his breath hitch. "I love you."

He rubs his hands up and down her back before leaning forward and pressing a long kiss onto her forehead. "I love you, Mom."

And then he's drawing away, and Regina feels the absence like a ton of bricks as their intertwined fingers untangle and her arm falls to her side once more.

---

Emma's heart clenches during Henry and Regina's goodbye. Shuffling on her feet, she stuffs her hands in her back pockets and fixes her eyes on the impeccably clean tiles underfoot to give them some privacy. They really have something special, she thinks, before she bites on the inside of her cheek, and an unbidden memory surfaces.

The California sun beams down on Emma, forcing her to shield her eyes with her hand, laughing at the exchange unfolding in front of her.

Regina and Henry are posing for a picture for the photographer--with the "Evil Queen." Regina's lips are curled into a struggling sneer, and laughter is clear in her eyes as Henry doubles over on the other side of the unsuspecting Disneyland actress. It takes a few minutes, but the photographer finally snaps a picture and Henry scans his wristband before they rejoin Emma, who's still grinning.

She slaps her son on the shoulder, unable to reign in her giggles. "Wow, Kid, I can't believe you got her to do that."

She glances over at Regina, whose arms are crossed, but she's smiling just as much as Emma and her son. Henry wanders off towards another ride, and Emma touches Regina's arm before she can stop herself. The gesture is far softer and gentler than she planned, but she watches as Regina turns toward her with an equally gentle smile.

"You two really have something special," Emma tells her sincerely, and it could have been the bright sunshine, but Emma could have sworn that she saw wetness gathering in the brunette's eyes.

Regina nods shyly and smiles at the ground, her face full of awe and true, unbridled happiness. Emma's not surprised by this; as simple as her statement had sounded, it's still somehow monumental for them. One day, they're threatening each other and fighting vehemently over their son, unintentionally pulling him in either direction until they nearly tore themselves apart--and the next...they're here.

They're here, and it's everything to them. It almost scares Emma, but she refuses to think about it. Instead, they link arms and catch up to their son, and for a short summer afternoon, everything feels perfect and right.

Neither of them think about what that means.

Emma pulls herself from the memory, one that was spoiled too soon by an angry phone call later that night with her husband, and she'd ended up having to catch an early flight home. That was their last trip with just the three of them. Emma's stomach turns as she watches Henry kiss his other mother goodbye. Should she have fought more to keep those annual trips going? Why did she catch that early flight? Why couldn't she have waited one more night in order to leave with Regina and Henry, no matter what she may have to fix and mend at home? Looking at them now, she wonders if they'll ever have another trip like that again. Somehow, the pit in her stomach makes her doubt it.

But now Henry's walking towards her, and she has to push her swirling thoughts out of her mind, and suddenly all she can feel is her son's bone-crushing hug, and she welcomes the feeling. She doesn't want to think about how long it might be before his head will curl again over her shoulder or his arms will squeeze her middle. Almost in slow-motion, Emma raises her own arms and wraps them around her son.

Emma opens her mouth to speak, but words refuse to come to her. She doesn't know how to say goodbye to the boy in front of her. Though a lifetime had occurred since the little boy with a messy mop of brown hair and an expensive pea coat had knocked on her door in Boston, it still feels as though it were yesterday. Even as he's beginning to surpass her in height now, when she looks at him, she sometimes still sees the same little boy.

And now, he's leaving her. And she doesn't know exactly how to deal with that.

"Kid," she barely gets out before her throat closes up. "Kid--be safe out there." The very words bring tears to her eyes, and she's forced to suck in a loud, shuddering breath, and she bites again on the inside of her cheek.

"I know," he murmurs into her ear, and she feels his hand palm the back of her head. The gesture only makes the urge to cry stronger, and she curls her fingers hard into the leather covering his broadening back. "I'm gonna miss you, Ma," he tells her.

Emma swallows so hard she thinks she may have taken her tongue as well. "I'm--me too, Kid. Me, too." She pats him on the back, and they back away from each other, though reluctantly. "Take care of yourself."

Henry nods, looking down a little, blinking back tears.

"I mean it," she presses, and the emotion in her voice causes him to look up at her, and identical wet green irises meet and hold the contact. "Come home safe to us."

"I promise," he tells her, and Emma can sense the raw honesty in his voice. "Take care of Mom," he adds, softer now, gesturing behind him slightly with his head. Then, a smirk curls his lips. "I mean it."

Emma smiles a little, glad for the heavy mood to have been lifted slightly. "You got it, smartass."

He leans in again, squeezing her tight, and Emma's entire body feels the finality of the motion. "I love you, Ma."

Emma nods, the lump in her throat feeling as though she'd swallowed a golf ball. "I love you, Kid."

Then he's backing away and grabbing his small bags, waving once more before walking out the front door and down the driveway. Wordlessly, Emma and Regina follow him, watching as he straps the bags to himself and his motorcycle. Emma feels Regina tense as Henry straddles the bike and kicks up the stand, the motor roaring to life. He waves once more and they return the gesture--

--and then he's reaching into his pocket, throwing the magic bean in front of him, and a portal opens in the middle of Mifflin Street. He shifts his weight from his foot on the road to the bike, and then he's gone.

The portal waits for a few moments after the bike disappears into the unknown, and then it collapses, leaving only a few rustling leaves in its wake.

His mothers turn towards each other, eyes wide, wordless, breathless. And for a few minutes, the world is completely quiet.

---

AN: ...hi! So this was basically a rework of the first scene of 7x01, where Henry leaves Storybrooke through the portal. This time, Emma's here :).

Yes, Emma is currently married to Hook. This story is a very loose rewrite of season 7, so SwanQueen is definitely in the cards.

I hope you all enjoyed this prologue--I'm very excited to develop this story; I've been planning to write a season 7 based fanfic since the season came out.

Vote and comment, if you want. :)