Summary: Emma needs to move, move, move.
a/n: I needed to write - I’ve been in such a rut, and my fingers were demanding it. Then, my beautiful sunflower bemusedbicycle left on her cross country roadtrip, and well…this happened.
cs fic: my heart unfolding my home
She thought she’d tamed this part of her, filled this particular void, when she’d claimed Storybrooke as hers, accepted home and all that encompasses (people, objects, earth).
It’s not an itch, so much as a rattle that keeps her tracing the lines of the ceiling, the corners where the room meets and parts; a vibration in her bones that is saying move move move, and drowning her on dry land.
“You all right there, Swan?” his murmuring question stumbles across the pillow. She doesn’t turn, and he’s still, too.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“No,” she shakes her head. It’s an acute, barbed fear she’s never voiced (words made flesh and all that). “What if I’m missing something? What if, after all of this - saving my family, finding Henry, finding a home - what if I’m just… broken?”
He seems to measure her words against his sleep-addled mind, a silence just this side of gnawing.
“I spent three centuries in Neverland,” she feels the shadow of his mouth and how it craves contact with the curve of her shoulder, “And I never once grew tired of the sea.”
When the softness of his mouth meets her skin she exhales, shaky and bowed with the weight of her small shard of emptiness.
“Come on, then,” breath and scrape and warmth, and he rolls from the bed in a languid motion, shuffling in tired movements across the floor.
“Where are you going?” his fingers skim the top of her dresser, and she’s sitting up now, watching the night bend about his back, the angles and lines of his neck and jaw.
There’s a metallic clatter to the right of her feet and it takes a moment for the action to register - car keys.
“I don’t know, love,” he steps into a pair of jeans left vacant on the floor, “where are we going?”
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