Chapter Text
SEVEN YEARS AFTER
The lilies are in bloom at this time of year, and Emma still likes to wander through them even now, the dog at her side. She picks them carefully, weaving them together into absentminded wreaths, and she tucks the finished crown onto Regina’s head with a wink. “A crown for Her Majesty,” she says, grinning, and she tilts her head to admire her handiwork. “I’ve still got it.”
Regina flicks her wrist and the lilies turn to thorns, scratching at her head but an imposing enough sight that she’s satisfied. Emma snorts. “Yes, that’s very intimidating. I’m shaking in my boots.”
“You should be,” Regina says, scowling at her, but she can’t quite muster up any real irritation. “I could set this whole place on fire.”
“You say that,” Emma says, sinking down into the lilies, “But we both know that you like to come out here in the mornings and make bouquets for the cabin.”
“They spruce it up!” Regina protests. “I do it so our little prince doesn’t think we live in a hovel when he visits.” Last time Henry had come over, he’d tripped over loose clothes that they hadn’t noticed near the fireplace, and he’d been horrified. Though that might have been more about which article of clothing it had been that he’d tripped on.
Early on after their disastrous wedding, she had been determined to prove to the world that they’d been happy, that Emma isn’t suffering for loving her. There had been public outings where Regina had been smug and so solicitous that Emma had batted her away with a this isn’t you and Regina had brooded until they’d been alone again and Emma had brushed kisses against her jawline and said pleadingly, It isn’t me, either. I don’t want to be on display.
The need to prove anything to the world had faded, but there’s an ever-present need to prove it to herself instead– that this is what has been best for Emma. That this is where she belongs. Emma knows. She always knows, and murmurs reassurances in her ears now as she tugs Regina down to the lilies. “I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” she breathes now, stroking Regina’s cheek, and inevitably, her own face darkens in uncertainty. “Are you…is this okay?”
It’s been five years and they’re still dancing on a tightrope, careful steps that must move them together in perfect time. One wrong move and they both slip, dragging the other down into an abyss, and Regina is always perfectly aware of that abyss.
And yet, even so… “This is perfect,” she murmurs, and she draws Emma into a kiss that lengthens and deepens as the day turns to evening.
They cook together in their little cabin, just as they had back when they’d lived in Regina’s estate. The dog runs in circles through the kitchen, gulping up anything they drop on the floor, and Emma rubs the top of his head fondly as she peels potatoes. Regina sautés vegetables while Emma fries the potato pancakes, ducking around Regina to snatch vegetables from the pan and pop them into her mouth. “Hot!” she says, alarmed, and Regina swats her away.
“You deserved that,” she shoots back, and steals one of Emma’s pancakes while Emma is stumbling toward the pitcher of water on the table.
“I did,” Emma agrees brazenly, grinning. “Like you deserved that extra pancake you grabbed?”
“I’m the Evil Queen,” Regina points out. “What do you expect of me?”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, very evil. More like the Mildly Naughty Queen.” A playful slap on her ass, and Emma is back at her frying pan while Regina does her best to look very regal in response.
Dinner is a quiet one, both of them lost in thought, and they’re done and curled up in front of the fireplace soon enough. Regina fights the dog and wins, getting to burrow against Emma’s lap, and Emma runs her fingers through Regina’s hair and counting grey hairs aloud. “Stop that,” Regina says, wrinkling her nose.
“Stop what? Savoring the passage of time?” Emma says challengingly. They hadn’t been sure, early on, and Regina had watched Emma at times and dreaded the future, Emma and Henry growing old while Regina is left helpless to do anything but care for them until the end. The first time she’d found a silvery hair in the sea of dark brown, she’d wept with relief, and Emma had, too.
There is less relief now. “I am not facing your mother looking old,” Regina says grumpily. “She’ll be so smug.”
Emma toys with the hair between her fingers. “But it’s so attractive,” she says slyly, her fingers rubbing against the back of Regina’s neck.
Regina glares up at her. “Spoken like someone who hasn’t gotten a single grey hair yet,” she says, but she stops at the look of clear lust in Emma’s eyes. Oh, but maybe there might be some…benefits…
She tugs Emma down to her, Emma’s hands still tangled in her hair, and she’s about to deepen the kiss when there’s a loud rapping at the door. “Hey!” a muffled voice calls from the other side of it. It sounds familiar, but not quite…
There’s something off about it. Emma sits up, tugging Regina up as well, and Regina gathers her magic to her fingers. “Hey!” the voice calls. “We were told that the queens of this kingdom have a retreat on this land, and–“
Emma opens the door, her brow furrowed, and Regina calls a fireball to her palm. Her other hand is in Emma’s, quiet strength between them. “We do,” Emma says, her voice deepening into the imperious one that she uses in their throne room, and Regina remembers–
THREE YEARS AFTER
“I called you here first because I think we understand each other a little better than Emma and I do,” Snow admits, grimacing at the truth of that statement.
“Ugh,” Regina says eloquently. “Don’t remind me.” She hadn’t even wanted to come here, back to the castle; and if not for the way that Emma’s eyes had lit up when the guard had mentioned that Snow had wanted to see Regina, she still wouldn’t be. She and Snow are not quite mortal enemies anymore, but they aren’t friends, either. They tolerate each other and occasionally have conversations that dig deep into Regina’s very being and leave her lost and mournful.
So really, typical in-law interactions.
Emma is convinced that they secretly like each other, which is absurd. Regina obviously despises Snow, even if she has become more tolerable with age, and Snow has only resigned herself to the truth that the Evil Queen has stolen away her daughter.
Comforted by this fact, Regina straightens and waits for Snow’s explanation. “I want to designate you our heirs,” Snow says abruptly, sitting back in her recliner, and Regina nearly chokes.
“What?”
There is a smile playing at Snow’s lips, because of course she can’t resist startling Regina with the most ridiculous of lies. “Well, Emma would be the designated heir, but you…we’d probably need a bit more than just marriage to cement your place here, don’t you think?” she says reasonably, and Regina stares at her blankly.
This is a joke. This is a prank, and Regina has somehow been dragged into it. Is Emma in on this? Is that why she’d been so willing to let Regina– “Are you done?” Regina says finally, standing to leave. “Can I leave now?”
“Regina!” Snow is up a moment later, reaching for her. She takes Regina’s hands. Regina stares at their clasped hands with her most disdainful look, and Snow sighs but doesn’t let go. “This isn’t a joke. I’m serious. I want to…” She bites her lip. “I want to go find a cabin in the woods of my own, Regina. I’m a good queen, but I’m not getting any younger.”
“I’ll say,” Regina says dryly. A good queen might be an overstatement, too, she thinks, which is mostly petty. Snow is very good at being beloved and grand gestures for her people. The day-to-day running of a kingdom is left to her aides.
Snow gives her an unamused look. “I’m sure you will.” She turns contemplative. “And for a long time, stepping down wasn’t a possibility. Emma wasn’t ready, and Henry was just a child, but Emma’s…well, Emma’s ready now, isn’t she?” She looks expectantly at Regina, who couldn’t bear to disagree with her even if she’d thought otherwise.
But she doesn’t. Emma would be a magnificent queen, cut from the same mold as her mother. An inspiration, one who knows her people and loves them. A leader who grasps strategy but follows her instincts. And paired with Regina, who’d rather enjoyed the monotony of everyday governing and organizing resources amongst people, she would be a revelation. “She is,” Regina admits, sitting back down reluctantly. “But the people will never…” She clears her throat, the truth suddenly clearer than ever. “The people will never accept it if I’m the one to rule beside her.”
“You’d be surprised,” Snow says, sitting beside her on the sofa. Her hand is still resting in Regina’s, and she’s smiling at her in that way that seems almost motherly, if Regina thinks about too much. Their roles had been reversed in the most improbable of ways, and it’s truly horrific.
Snow squeezes Regina’s hand, laying her head against the back of the sofa so she can watch Regina. “You’ve changed. I know it, I believe it, and the people do, too. They ask for you sometimes when they come for an audience. They’re still talking about the way that you singlehandedly fought off the ogre invasion last year, and there are plenty of villagers who have food this season because you allocated the storehouses so well last year. The people bring almost as many gifts for you as they do for Emma.” Her eyes are warm. “I can show you it all, if you don’t believe me.”
She waves a hand and trays are wheeled into the room, servants grinning at them as they cart in piles and piles of gifts. “We use the food,” Snow says dryly. “I didn’t think you really needed rotten fruit or spoiled chicken. But there are plenty of others.” Regina stares. There are bowls and vases, plaques and wall-hangings wrought from metal. There is more jewelry than she can count and tapestries and dresses and blankets. There are…so many people who don’t despise her.
The last cart is just a little bed, a tiny puppy curled up on it, and he yips excitedly when they come to a halt and bounds off the bed and onto the couch. He lands on Regina’s lap, and she reaches for him instinctively, raising him to meet her eyes and blinking back what are certainly not tears.
She hadn’t wanted acceptance. She hadn’t asked for it. She had only wanted to live a life where she wouldn’t be a burden on the only two people in the universe she loves, and she’d never expected this, sitting beside Snow White in front of freely given gifts as they discuss her being a queen again.
She scratches behind the puppy’s ears and says, her voice hoarse, “I’m still not– why would you trust me with your kingdom?”
“I trusted you with my daughter,” Snow murmurs, and her hand is light on Regina’s arm, her eyes so full of affection that Regina can’t look at her anymore. “And I haven’t regretted it. We don’t hate each other anymore, Regina. It’s okay to admit it.”
“It is not,” Regina says, and she laughs wetly as Snow strokes her arm, as the fact that she hadn’t ruined Emma’s life begins to sink in. “They really would accept me as queen?”
Snow smirks at her. “We both know what Emma will do if they don’t,” she says ruefully, and Regina remembers–
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AFTER
She’s wearing white. It’s not a color she ever wears, but she’d magicked up a dozen dresses and this one had been the one that had Emma misty-eyed, so. Here she is. “It looks absurd on me,” she complains, turning around in a circle to glare down at the dress.
“I think it suits you,” Henry says, eyeing the dress critically. “It’s got those sharp sleeves but it’s really soft. Very regal, too.”
“Now you’re a dressmaker?” Regina says, and Henry grins impishly and shrugs, extending an arm.
“Come on, Mom,” he says, and she falls silent, forgetting her distaste for the color. Henry has let the word slip before, but he’s never said it like this, playful and very intentional. Mom. She’s been his mother in nearly every sense of the word for eighteen months, and now, finally…
Her dress is white, long and sleek, and it has none of the petticoats and layers that her first wedding dress had had. That had felt like a prison from which she’d never escape, a prison that had defined her life from that day until a moment eighteen months ago when she’d chosen another path.
This dress feels like…well, a dress.
And she’s going to wear it to be presented to the kingdom again, this time a willing exhibit for the sake of her future wife.
She’s heard the rumors already, the angry whispers of a kingdom raised to loathe her. The Evil Queen has enchanted the queen and her daughter. The Evil Queen seduced her way back into the castle. The Evil Queen will doom us all. There had been a month, early on, when they’d even tried living in the castle together with Snow and David. The servants had brought her rotting food, had left her clothes unwashed, and had stumbled into room after room to gawk at her with unfriendly eyes. She had borne it all, determined that Emma not find out.
Emma had begged her to leave anyway, equally uncomfortable in the castle, though she had claimed that it hadn’t been about Regina’s treatment. They had moved to a quiet cabin in the woods just beyond castle grounds, close enough for Henry to visit every morning and evening for meals, but far enough that they’d gotten some distance from a castle where neither of them had really fit in.
But the rumors had persisted, even when she’d never stepped out among the people. She’s been hidden away for over a year, and she’s quietly terrified of what the people might do when they see her today.
Damn Snow, insisting that their wedding has to be a public affair. She can’t do this, can’t go out there as though she has any right to Emma’s heart. She can’t–
“You’ve got this,” Henry whispers, guiding her from the room.
The wedding hall is packed, a low murmur as the orchestra begins again, and Regina glimpses the end of the aisle from the open doors. Emma is resplendent in white, her hair loose and a tiara perched over it. She stands between her parents, but her eyes seek Regina out, and she mouths I love you.
There is so much quiet confidence in Emma’s eyes that Regina takes a step forward, raising her chin and inhaling long and slowly. She has conquered much worse than this room, and she has endured far more terrifying situations. She can do this.
She’s shaking, and Henry squeezes her arm. “Just look at Mom,” he whispers, and Regina turns to look at him instead. He’s smiling up at her, his free hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and he says, “You’re not going to give up on us, are you?”
“Never,” Regina murmurs, and she takes her first steps down the aisle.
There’s a hush, followed by whispers loud enough to drown out the orchestra. People are glaring, are booing, and Emma’s face is setting stubbornly at the front of the room. Regina focuses on her, on Henry’s hand on hers as he walks her down the aisle, even on Snow’s face as she smiles like she might actually be all right with this eventually. Anything but the dark faces watching her with distrust and anger.
She’s nearly at the front of the aisle when it happens. There’s a particularly loud boo and– as Regina steps forward– something large and squishy hits the side of her dress, splattering it in red.
Henry draws his sword in a quick motion– Regina’s magic springs to her fingers and she can feel the crowd recoil, can hear the screams as the fireball begins to grow in her palm– She doesn’t care if she alienates the peasants, if they all loathe her forever, if–
A hand touches Regina’s, cupping it and pressing gently to close it, and Regina meets Emma’s gaze, wild-eyed. “They…” She shakes her head, the fireball growing with her distress. “They’re ruining our…“
“They can’t ruin anything,” Emma whispers. She’s standing in the middle of the aisle with them, her eyes clear and focused. “They can’t take this from us. I don’t give a damn what my mother wants, I will marry you in our muddy vegetable garden if I have to. You are going to be my wife, and a vindictive peasant who’s probably too young to even have a reason to hate you isn’t going to stop us. Understood?”
Regina is breathing hard, and Emma presses her forehead to hers, kisses her eyelids and waits until Regina extinguishes the fire. Redemption is going to be a long, tortuous process, and this is just one step along the way.
She lowers her hand, stands straight, and turns to face hundreds of curious faces. The people are silent now, their eyes fixed on Regina and Emma with far less hostility than before.
Emma steps forward, voice like steel, and says, “Who threw that?”
Silence for another moment, and then a mad dash from one end of the audience, someone running while others shout and struggle after the runner. Emma nods to the guards and they charge forward, seizing the fleeing villager and dragging him to the front of the aisle.
He isn’t young. He’s an angry-looking lesser noble, old enough that he would have been a child during Regina’s reign of terror, and Regina wavers, wondering with guilt exactly why he hates her.
Emma has no such compunctions. She strides forward, her eyes flashing, and the noble flinches back. “Did you think I would tolerate this at my own wedding?” she demands. “Did you think I would take a physical threat to my royal consort–“ Regina chokes a little at that and Emma pauses to glare at her. “–without protest?”
The noble shrinks back. Emma says, “Get him out of here.” She turns to the crowd, her voice raised. “Anyone else have a problem with Regina? Any takers? You? You?” she’s jabbing her finger at people in the audience, and they shake their heads rapidly.
“No, Princess,” one woman says, backing away. “Not at all.” There’s a ripple of confusion through the crowd, Emma’s subjects taken aback at the strength in her voice. Regina glances from face to face, and sees mingled curiosity and building respect. Good.
“Good,” Emma says, and she nods to the orchestra and links her arm with Henry’s. They walk up to the stage together, Snow beaming at them as the music builds once more. “You were wonderful,” she murmurs, and Regina sees Emma flush and remembers–
AFTER
“Do with me what you will,” Emma says, her voice defiant, and Regina’s magic hits in a rush. It’s fury and it’s freedom, it fills her with vibrancy like she hasn’t had in years, and she can feel the rage like a comforting balm.
She’s going to kill Snow White, and she can feel it like a reckoning, like a calling she’s denied for too long. All she needs to do is to surge forward, raise her hands and let magic unleash itself and destroy her mortal enemy.
I’m tired, Regina. Aren’t you tired? Snow meets her gaze evenly, and then turns back to her daughter, dismissing the threat as though it had never been there. “You negotiated with the Dark One,” she repeats slowly. “You smuggled Regina out of the dungeons. You blackmailed a guard?”
Emma has missed the turmoil on Regina’s face, the way the will to murder seeps through her, and Regina hesitates and waits for what she’s going to do next. “Yeah,” she says, and Snow takes a step to her, then another.
She’s close enough to reach out and kill with a single strike, but Regina is frozen in place, transfixed by the way that Emma raises her face to meet Snow’s. Snow reaches for her, touches her hands to Emma’s cheeks, and looks at her in wonder. “You did all of that,” she says, and then she turns again to look at Regina. “For her?”
Her voice still sounds almost awed, and Emma’s eyes are raised to her mother’s, uncertain. “Yes,” she says, and she seeks out Regina’s gaze, draws what seems to be strength from it, and Regina quiets her magic hastily. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Then it’s true,” Snow says, her thumbs brushing Emma’s hair back from her face. “You two are in love.”
Emma’s cheeks pink. “Well, I’m in love with–,” she begins to correct her mother, just as Regina says, “Yes.”
Emma shoots a dumbfounded glance at her. “Yes?” she repeats.
“Idiot,” Regina says, very fondly, and the truth feels firmer now, less likely to shatter them. “Did you do all this without knowing that?” Emma shrugs helplessly, her face glowing with her smile.
Snow’s eyes are shining, and Regina doesn’t understand what’s happening, because this encounter was meant to end in death. Not Snow staring at her as though she’s a revelation. “You love my daughter,” Snow says, a hand still soft on Emma’s cheek. “And you…” She turns back to Emma, her eyes filled with tears. “You were hiding for so long, Emma. I didn’t think I would get to see you again.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to,” Emma says shakily, and Snow clasps her cheeks and kisses her forehead, her eyes bright with tears and pride. Emma fights onward, looking up at her mother and struggling to explain. “Regina…Regina makes me strong, you know?”
Snow meets Regina’s eyes again, and there is a question implicit in her unwavering gaze. I’m tired, Regina. Aren’t you tired? Regina nods grudgingly, her hands falling to her sides for good. “I do know,” Snow murmurs, and she is silent for a moment, lost in thought.
David– David has been standing behind them this whole time, silent as Snow pieces through this alone, and Regina startles when he clears his throat. “What do we do with her?” he asks, uncharacteristically subdued, and he jabs a thumb at Regina.
Emma’s eyes narrow. The guards tense, and Henry is moving forward again to stand protectively beside Regina. Regina’s wrist flicks once, twice.
Snow says, “Well, that’s really up to Emma, isn’t it?” and Emma gapes at her in surprise.
Regina says, and now she can curl her lips into a smirk, her eyes glinting with sly implication that has the color drain out of Snow’s face as Emma winces, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
This is her future.
SEVEN YEARS AFTER
“Hey!” the voice calls from the other side of their cabin door. “We were told that the queens of this kingdom have a retreat on this land, and–“
Emma opens the door, her brow furrowed, and Regina calls a fireball to her palm. Her other hand is in Emma’s, quiet strength between them. “We do,” Emma says, her voice deepening into the imperious one that she uses in their throne room. “We’re also not to be interrupted except in case of emergency,” she adds sternly.
There are two figures at the door, and they shift forward into the light so Regina can see their faces. Emma gasps, her fingers tightening on Regina’s hand.
“This is an emergency,” the woman who had spoken says, her eyes widening as she takes them in. She is wearing an odd leather coat and tight blue pants, her yellow hair falling in waves at her shoulders. She has Emma’s face, and the woman beside her, a fireball hovering over her palm, has Regina’s. “You’re…you’re the queens? What is this realm?”
“I’m a queen,” Other Regina says, sounding miffed. “You, though–“
Other Emma snorts. “I think I’ll take being the savior, after all. Apparently, it could be worse.” Emma’s eyes are still glued to her double, and Regina examines her, sees the swagger to her hips and the casual way she slouches, so unlike Emma but still somehow very familiar. Other Emma shifts and turns her attention back to them. “Are you, like…co-rulers or something? Until Henry comes of age?” Her eyes widen in alarm. “Does Henry even exist in this realm?”
“Of course he does,” Regina says stiffly, though she can feel the same relief flooding her at the idea that Henry exists in this other realm as well. “And he is of age, but I’d like him to have quite a bit more experience before he takes over the kingdom.”
“You’re his regents,” Other Regina says, and there is a melancholy note to her voice that has Regina looking twice at her. “That’s why you’re ruling together.”
“No,” Emma says bemusedly. “We’re ruling together because we’re married.” Other Emma starts at this, staring wide-eyed at them. Other Regina, in contrast, closes her eyes for a long moment.
“Married?” Other Emma squeaks, and Regina is delighted to see that her cheeks pink just as much as Emma’s do, rising into a full-fledged flush as she looks to Other Regina for support. Other Regina doesn’t look nearly as surprised, and she doesn’t turn to meet Other Emma’s bewildered gaze.
She clears her throat and says, “Emma made a wish that seems to have brought us here.”
“You made a wish, too,” Other Emma says softly. “You didn’t tell me what it was.”
Other Regina doesn’t respond, turning back to Regina with single-minded focus. “We’re fighting a great evil in our realm, and if you could help us return before our friends and family are hurt–“
Regina looks to Emma for a moment of wordless communication. Emma nods at the end of it, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “We haven’t had a good adventure in a while,” she says, squeezing Regina’s hand in acquiescence. Regina can see the way her eyes settle on the other Emma’s casual stance, on the weapon she has on her waist, on the way she looks at them as though they’re impossible. She sees it just as clearly as she sees the other Emma steal glances at Regina and Emma’s joined hands, over and over again.
The other Regina is watching the Emmas as well, and they exchange a glance rife with understanding of what is, and of what could have been. “Lead the way,” Regina says.