Chapter Text
It was a beautiful night; a soft breeze, moderate Spring temperatures, and a half moon that shone down undisturbed by any cloud cover. It gave Emma Swan the ability to overlook the city—her city—with relative ease, standing proudly on the edge of the Gold building, the tallest of them all. The company that had built it was corrupt to the core, but they did know how to make a statement—a statement Emma made grateful use of even as she braced against the winds that became quite unpredictable at these heights. She was grateful for the thick leather that covered almost her entire body, keeping out the chill as she allowed her eyes to sweep the streets below. For a perfectly ordinary Wednesday night, it sure was busy out, and that was going to be a problem.
Brushing a strand of blonde curls from her face, Emma took in happy couples, joggers, and slowly moving traffic. Life, spread out below her, and she was one of the very few actually invested enough to undo the damage to it whenever it occurred—or prevent it where possible. It had been a little over two years now since that fateful meeting with Belle French—officially Belle Gold—instigated by the short brunette who had apparently been keeping track of Emma’s efforts in clearing the streets of thugs and robbers.
Back then, all she had to her name was a shitty apartment without heat and a red leather jacket. Once Belle—whose family was obviously loaded—had scooped her up under her wing, she had a decent apartment to go home to, a bullet-proof red leather bodysuit, a state-of-the-art training facility and more weapons at her disposal than she knew how to use, even though Belle was teaching her the theory behind all of them.
Favourite was her ‘sword’, an technical wonder tinkered together by Belle—whose codename was ‘Ops’ whenever Emma was out on the town—that was shaped exactly like a dull double-bladed katana, mounted to a perfectly crafted handle and equipped with a simple flip-switch that released 40.000 volts continuously, taking out any opponent with a single strike, two if they were especially hardy. It was strapped to her back now, ready for use should anything go wrong on the streets below.
Emma realized, though, that her eyes had drifted away from said streets and had settled onto the judicial building across the river. The windows Emma knew belonged to the office of Regina Mills, prosecutor extraordinaire, were dark, and Emma was happy the dark haired woman had managed to make it home before midnight for once—at least she hoped she had. Emma’s job made it impossible not to worry about the very few people in her life, and with Regina she also couldn’t help be jealous of even the thought that Regina was perhaps not home but on a date.
Even if Regina were on a date, there was nothing Emma could do about it. The ‘relationship’ between the two of them extended to the professional only—to Regina, Emma was only ‘The Savior’, the mysterious woman who met the prosecutor in back alleyways or showed up in her office unannounced with a titbit of information that she could make her case with, or which turned her onto the whereabouts of a fugitive.
Regina didn’t know that Emma often waited to go on patrols until she was sure Regina was home safe, or that she went out of her way to discover which cases Regina was working on so she could assist her in any way. Much of Regina’s reputation as ‘Queen of the Courthouse’ was thanks to Emma’s direct or indirect influence—or that of Belle, who went along with Emma’s plans reluctantly because Emma’s crush at least led to more bad guys behind bars. Belle was quick to point out, though, that for all they knew, Regina was as straight as the arrows Emma still sucked at firing, and that Emma’s ever-growing crush was not exactly helpful for her concentration.
“You’re staring again.” Belle’s amused voice sounded over the ear bud Emma kept forgetting she had in. Reflexively, she closed her eyes, darkening the view of the retinal camera in the clear contact lenses Belle forced her to wear whenever Emma went out.
“Just enjoying the view.” Emma answered grumpily, and Belle hummed. Obviously, she wasn’t convinced. Belle knew her far too well—even when they had first started out. Emma had come home to a phone in her mailbox—a phone she had only found because it had started ringing the moment she had entered the building—and Belle had laid out her proposal: if Emma was willing to step up her game, Belle was willing to teach, supervise, and finance her efforts. All Emma needed to do was say yes and commit. When asked why the hell Belle had picked her, the excitable brunette had told her that the only reason Emma hadn’t been caught by either the cops or the bad guys was that she had been systematically wiping security camera footage and delaying the police by overriding traffic lights to block the roads.
Twenty minutes before the deadline had run out on Emma’s one week deadline to make up her mind, she had called Belle on the cheap burner phone Belle had provided and had asked her again why Belle was doing this. Because I need to make a difference. Belle had said. Because I need to restore the balance between good and evil that my father has upset.
Emma had sighed, then, and thought back to years alone on the streets, to winters without heat, to being abandoned by everyone she had ever met… and she had accepted, because Belle was fighting to win her over, and she clearly had her own pain; Belle would understand hers to a degree. Belle needed redemption and justice as much as Emma did, and so Emma had packed all her stuff in two boxes and a duffle bag, had pulled the door to her apartment shut, and had abandoned everything in her life to become the avenging crime fighter she had once imagined she could be but had never thought she would.
Emma had been an uncoordinated mess when Belle found her—courtesy of the few good things she had managed to do with her abilities that had put her on the radar of the young genius—and she had mostly just entered the den of the lion and punched her way back out, hoping the ones she punched out where indeed the bad guys. Belle had gotten her trained, in shape, and in the loop; they were a good team, and they got the job done. The two of them, Regina Mills in the judicial system, Mulan Fa in the police force to act as an informant, ally, and confidant, and Ruby Lucas, the shape-shifting waitress who served as back-up whenever Emma tackled large-scale or long-term operations—they made a good team. Together, they got the job done.
“She’s home safe.” Belle’s kind voice sounded over the intercom, and Emma startled, opening her eyes and blinking the memories from her mind.
“What?” She asked stupidly, looking around her to see if her position was compromised, if everything was still safe. It was—she hadn’t really expected otherwise, seeing as she was still this high up—but her heart only settled when she was completely sure. How long had she retreated into her own mind?
“Regina. I checked traffic cam footage; she got home an hour ago with Chinese take-out. Judging by her Google searches, she’s burning the midnight oil on the Jacobs case.” Belle answered, and Emma could hear the sound of fingers dancing over a keyboard. Belle worked a computer like a virtuoso, and in all honesty, she rarely cared about the legality of her actions. Emma smirked.
“Boundaries, Ops, boundaries.” Emma reminded her companion, and Belle chuckled.
“Fine, but can you at least get back to patrolling now you know your true love is not in any danger?” Belle teased, and Emma groaned.
“Ha Ha.” She mocked. “You just want me to get through this night already so I go and pick up waffles and you can see Ruby again through this camera in my eye. Seriously, why don’t you go to the diner? You don’t even have to tell her you’re Ops; you could just be a random customer.”
“Never going to happen.” Belle quipped right away. “I’ll just stay here, comfortable and safe, and enjoy her beauty vicariously, thank you very much.”
“One day you are going to have to leave that mansion of yours, my friend. You need to see more people than your father and the maid.” Emma chastised as she manipulated the release of the glider embedded into the red leather of her costume. The wings extended easily as the bars slid in place along her arms, locking effortlessly, and Emma vowed she would never stop marvelling at Belle’s abilities or ingenuity. As she allowed herself to tip forward, crashing to the earth for a moment before she managed to manipulate the wings into the wind and gaining altitude again, Belle groaned into her ear.
“Adoptive father, and that day is not going to be today. Hang a left at the Spike, I just got a report of a robbery at a 7-Eleven on Highland Avenue. The cops aren’t going to make it on time.” Belle answered, her voice modulating easily to professional, and Emma could indeed hear the chatter of the police radio in the background of the conversation.
She manoeuvred herself in the required direction and banished any thought beyond the scope of the coming mission from her mind. She forced her mind away from Regina, from Belle’s semi-voluntary isolation, and from the fact that she really wanted waffles now, and slipped into the role of Savior. The name might not have been her idea, but it helped keep her focussed on the goal: to save, to do good, to right the wrongs. She was The Savior, and along the way, she might save herself from the crappy hand life had dealt her—her and Belle both. First, however, there was a shopkeeper to keep alive and a robbery to stop.