Archive of Our Own ^beta

Now.

Henry is responsible for this, she thinks morosely as she stares at the wall of her study, her bleary dark eyes stuck on a stunning portrait of a sinister castle rising high above bright pink clouds. It’s messaging is conflicting, confounding. Much like her twisted life and her damaged heart, she muses; always a puzzle missing a few vital pieces.

In any case, blaming Henry for the mess she’s found herself in is probably not appropriate, she allows as she shifts the thin throw blanket around her naked body, her fingers ghosting across hyper-responsive olive skin that just hours earlier had been touched and fondled and kissed and …

Nope, not going there.

Only, she kind of can’t help but go there, because you see, fate had fucked her once again and then fucking Emma Swan had…

No, no, no.

Gently extracting herself, she gets up from the couch, refusing to look down at the couch, refusing to see the blonde wisps of hair that are going in every damn direction. She refuses to think about the previous day and the bizarre twists and turns it had taken. She refuses to allow herself to hope again.

And she certainly refuses to think about the memories that blonde hair stirs in her. The desperate, bleeding, agonizing hopes from so long ago - memories and reflections (and sinister mocking laughter from a mirror) lost in a haze of bitter mead and dark spirits. 

She won’t…she can’t.

“R’gina,” she hears a voice mutter, the sound muffled by the couch cushions.

And well, that’s just about enough to make her flee. Ridiculous, really - this is her own goddamn house and she’s running like a coward.

Yeah, this is definitely Henry’s fault and now…now everything has changed.

Now, in one nights' time, she’s probably lost not only a soulmate but also her best friend.

How could she be so stupid?

How could she forget and think herself worthy of being wanted (and loved? no...no) not just by one hero, but two?

How could she allow this to happen?

How?

The Night Before.

She’s not drunk. Not yet. But she sure as hell intends to be before this bullshit evening is over. 

And to be honest (a state which, much to her annoyance, Regina has felt more compelled towards as of late), she feels she’s owed that much indulgence. After the way everything has gone down over the last six months, she feels like she’s due the right to lose herself to a fog of alcohol, self pity and bitter self-indulgence. She figures she’s earned the right to forget for one night that once again, fate had conspired to remind her that Evil Queens don’t get happy endings.

Even former Evil Queen. 

Maybe especially former Evil Queens.

It’s a slap in the face, really; icy cold water splashed into her face courtesy of Maid Fucking Marian. A pretty wake-up call, as bitter as any reality check she’s ever received in her life, she thinks darkly as she knocks back the rest of the whiskey, the harsh burn of it a comfort to her swirling, melancholic emotions. She needs this, she self-argues. 

She needs to not see his stupid face in her mind. She needs to forget that he even exists or that page 23 had suggested a better fate. She needs to forget about all of this. Even if only for a few hours. Even if only for tonight. Because possibilities are never actually that for her - only taunting, terrible dead ends. Annoying how the possibilities turned dead-ends always seem to be blonde, she muses and tries not to think of dreams she’s spent most of her life trying to forget in every way humanly possible. 

So she lifts her hand, two fingers wiggling to signal her request. “Another,” she unnecessarily adds. Her voice still sounds strong, no real indication of a slur - a lifetime of drinking to excess to block out a lifetime of horror helping her to stay at least moderately in control. Or so she likes to think, anyway.

“I think maybe you should go home.” Granny says instead, hands on her hips, eyebrow lifted.

Regina lets out a short growl. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion, Wolf.”

Granny chuckles. “Not tonight, anyway, and if you think that was a good insult, well that insults me.”

“Like I care,” Regina snaps back, her lip curling up in challenge. 

“You should,” Granny says, her voice softening as her eyes flicker towards the door to the diner, a bell ringing to signal someone else entering. “This is beneath you, Regina.”

“I’m the Evil Fucking Queen, Eugenia; the only thing above me is the dirt that will eventually be thrown on my face one day -“ she laughs bitterly, her head raised high like the dark witch of old - the one who burned down entire worlds. “Who knows when. Dying would be a fucking mercy. Do you think you'll laugh when it happens? Everyone -"

"Regina, stop."

"Why should I? Why -"

“Mom.”

Regina feels the word like a jumpstart to her damaged heart, the pain of her little boy seeing her like this causing a visible tremor to surge through her hand, the glass dropping from it. She turns - too fast and her head spins - to face her son, her dark eyes wide with shame and horror as she looks him over. As she sees the worry written in thick lines across his handsome, but still boyish features. “Henry,” she stammers. “You…you shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes jump to Eugenia, almost like she’s begging the older woman to send her beautiful baby boy away. To make this nightmare less. But Eugenia can't, offering only the smallest of sympathetic smiles, instead.

“I was looking for you. We all have been.”

“We?” Regina asks dumbly, not quite able to believe that anyone could care. Yes, she’d spent time with the Charmings after Pan’s curse, and they’d grown so much closer and even found peace with each other, but she still struggles with the idea that tolerance could become care.

On the other hand, perhaps this is fear. Perhaps they’re worried she will go evil again.

Isn’t that always the worry?

“Me, Emma, Gram and Gramps,” Henry explains.

“Why?” Then she adds on lamely, “It’s late. You should be home in bed.”

“It’s not even eight at night, Mom,” he gently reminds her. "And we worried about you."

“Oh, right,” she mutters, eyes flickering up to the clock on the wall. "Of course you were. It's me."

He takes a cautious step towards her and she wonders idly if he’s scared of her (a thought that makes the deep shame she already feels grow by leaps and bounds). “No, not because it's you - not because you were, but because we love you. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

“Your boy is right, Regina; you shouldn’t be,” Granny pipes in, nodding her head like she’s just said the wisest words ever said (to be fair, she often thinks this). Looking over at Henry, she queries “Where’s your other mother?”

“On her way.” He places a hand on Regina’s arm. “I texted her when I saw you.”

“No. I don’t -“

“You shouldn’t be alone."

And well, she’s still trying to get used to that reality. Considering how insane and rollercoaster deranged her life has been since the day she and most of this town had been sent back to the Enchanted Forest to fulfill the terms of Pan’s curse, it’s only reasonable that she’s struggling. Add in long-lost sisters, flying monkeys, amnesia, ice monsters and returned from the dead wives and well, she’s feeling a bit more than motion sickness these days. A lot more.

“No, honey, I think maybe I should. I think maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe that’s my atonement,” Regina corrects, just the slightest hint of a slur punctuating her self-loathing. Were she sober, she knows she probably wouldn’t be saying these words to her son, but now, with the alcohol soaking into her system, muddling her thoughts and darkening her emotions, she sees a truth that feels impossible to ignore: of course she’d lost Robin because she was never meant to have him or be loved by him.

Or by anyone, really. She is meant to be alone. Mother was right and -

“What happened isn’t your fault, Mom.”

“Baby, you don’t understand,” she insists, her words tumbling over one another.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. I tried to kill Marian years ago - this is my penance.” 

“Regina,” Eugenia warns, knowing the Queen would never want to admit this to Henry.

“You’re different now,” Henry declares. "And you deserve to be happy."

“Being different now isn't enough. It’ll never be enough.” She shakes her head. “You don’t understand.”

Before he can answer, there’s another ring of the door opening and a flash of blonde hair and -

“Maybe he doesn’t, but you know I do,” Emma Swan states, hands tucked into her pockets, that goddamned gray beanie shoved down on her brilliant blonde crown of curls.

Regina’s head falls into her hands. It’s an undignified look, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to be out of this situation - out of this devastating moment - and away from two of the few people she is terrified she’ll find a way to lose just as she’d lost Robin and Daniel and -

“Kid,” Emma says gently, squeezing his shoulder. “I got this.”

“But -“

“I think this falls into adult talk territory,” Emma tells him.

Henry’s jaw sets. “Emma -“

“You called me to take care of her, right?”

"I don't need it," Regina mutters, head still down. Not shockingly, she's ignored.

"Right, Kid?" Emma pushes again.

A small pout sets on the boys’ face. “Yeah.”

“Then let me do what I do best. Your grandparents could use an update. Maybe crash there tonight.”

“I don’t need to be babysit,” Regina grumbles.

“I know,” Emma nods, then pointedly looks at Henry. Making her request even more clear.

“I got it,” Henry grudgingly allows. “You’ll -“

“I’ll get her home; don’t worry.”

Regina’s head lifts. “I mean it, Swan; I don’t need you cleaning up my tears.”

Everyone in the diner ignores her once again.

“When can I check in?” Henry asks, still frowning.

“In the morning. It’ll be okay; I promise.”

“Okay.” Henry steps forward, then and maybe it’s need or maybe it’s instinct but whatever it is, Regina’s arms open almost automatically and then her boy is surging into them, hugging her fiercely, clutching to her and throwing every emotion she’d never believed she’d get from him.

When he finally steps away, he still lingers just long enough for her to kiss him on the forehead.

Long enough for her to whisper, “I love you, my little prince. I’m so…I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” He steps away, then, but not before looking sharply at Emma.

Who smirks and waves him off. Still scowling, he finally leaves the diner. Granny, always one to know how to make herself scarce and invisible, drifts off towards the kitchen.

“She’s not as subtle as she thinks she is,” Regina gripes as she reaches for the glass.

“I think she’s just trying to let us have some privacy,” Emma suggests as she slides onto the stool and then reaches for the bottle just behind the counter. She pours herself a generous shot and knocks it back and then fills up the glass again. “So, I had a pretty shitty day.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I don’t hate you anymore, Swan. Though if you insist on treating me like a stained glass window -"

"Never," Emma assures her. She pours herself another shot, while also refilling Regina’s glass. “I was more…reminding you that you’re not alone in dealing with fuckery.”

“Oh? Did your lover cross the town-line with his recently back-from-the-dead wife?”

“No, mine tried to steal my magic to complete a deal with Rumplestiltskin all so he could get his real hand back or...something stupid like that."

Regina’s eye lifts. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Though, on the upside, Gold got fucked over, too, so that’s something.” She lifts up her glass and taps it against Regina's.

Regina knocks back her shot and then snorts out, “Moron.”

“Me or him? Or…all of us?”

“Well, you did let a man who has probably every STD -“

“Regina.”

The Queen holds up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, old habits.”

“I know and…I admit, Hook was not one of my better choices.” She shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Do I need to repeat the love story -“ she huffs in disgust at her own words. “Of me and Robin? Because I think the word ‘complicated’ fits that pretty goddamned well.”

“Okay, if Robin and Hook are complicated, what are we?” Emma challenges.

Regina halts the glass halfway to her mouth. “There’s a ‘we’? When did that happen?”

Pink rises to Emma’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean -“

“I know you didn’t,” Regina cuts in, because for reasons she can’t quite get to at the moment, she can’t bear to have Emma finish the sentence. Not right now, anyway. Maybe later when she’s sober and she’s been able to reconstruct her safety walls (and isn’t seeing strange flashes of blonde hair in her mind that make little sense considering she has a blonde woman sitting right next to her). But not right now when everything feels raw and she feels exposed and humiliated. There are places she has firmly chosen not to go - paths, she has opted not to go down - and she can’t let the misery of tonight (of her life, in general) lead her into reckless decisions that could cost her so very much.

She won’t surrender this family she’s fought so hard for - not for anything.

Not even for -

She cuts off the thought but downing another shot. It’s enough to make her head spin.

(A dream, an image, a flash in a mirror of blonde…)

“We should probably get you home,” Emma observes, noting Regina’s sudden unsteadiness. The Queen has always been able to drink most people under a table, but Emma’s guessing that the brunette hasn’t eaten much tonight (ever) and thus is getting hit harder by the alcohol.

“I can make it on my own,” Regina insists, though even she knows she can’t. Not really. But where would she be if she were to just allow her defensive shields to fall away? How would she survive the unsurvivable if she didn’t keep her walls as high as humanly possible?

“I’m sure you can, Your Majesty, but how about we help each other out?”

“Walking my drunk ass home is helping you?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be alone tonight, either.”

“I never -“ she sighs and forcibly stops herself from saying what isn’t true. “Okay.”

Emma grins - a genuine, bright one that makes her entire face light up in a way that Regina would really like not to think too much about right now - and then quips, “That’s a ringing endorsement of your desire to spend time with me, if I do say so myself.”

“And you do.”

“And I do.” She offers Regina her hand, then, but naturally, the Queen has to maintain some degree of stubbornness and chooses to climb off the stool on her own. 

They both pretend not to notice the way she wobbles and almost falls over herself. Instead, Emma holds and waits as Regina lifts her head up, straightens her back and marches out of the diner and into the cool Storybrooke air, the crispness of night immediately sobering.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Granny says dryly, peering over her glances. 

“I get the feeling there’s not a lot you wouldn’t - or haven’t done.”

“No,” the older woman chuckles. “But when you jump into the pit with a cougar -“

“I can handle it,” Emma assures her. “Scratches and all.”

“Mm. I’m sure you think so but just remember, Swan - that woman has some serious damage to her heart. I know you do as well and maybe that means you two make sense, but, well, just know what you’re in for.” And then Granny is turning and walking away. 

Leaving Emma to stare thoughtfully after her for a few more seconds before she sighs, waves her confused, complicated thoughts away and follows Regina out into the night.

Now.

She isn’t at all surprised to wake up alone. It’s a bit jarring, but once she gets her mind to calm a bit, she knows that it’s only logical that Regina would run after what they’d just shared;  the Queen has struggled most of her life to trust anyone. It’s one of many things they have in common. She thinks maybe if she’d woken up first, she’d have been the one to run away.The one to hide and live in denial of all that has changed and likely will continue to change.

But she hadn’t woken up first and the coolness of the air in Regina’s study reminds her that she’s not wearing anything, the soft blonde hairs on her arms standing up. Sitting up gingerly, she reaches for a blanket and pulls it across her, eyes scanning about for her clothing.  Then she laughs because sitting in a very neat pile on the marbled top of Regina’s desk are all of Emma’s clothes from the previous night and Emma has no doubt that they’ve -

“I washed them for you,” Regina says from the doorway. Dressed in one of her sharply tailored charcoal suits, she looks like she’s getting ready to head into the Mayor’s office. A job she’d resumed after Snow had gratefully stepped aside, far preferring to teach as opposed to lead. 

A job, which everyone in town, is very glad that Regina had taken back over. 

“You didn’t have to,” Emma says awkwardly, a hand reaching out to scratch an errant, but colorful bite mark on her left bicep (that Regina is a biter had turned out to be a pleasant and interesting surprise). She could heal it, of course, with a wave of her hand, but chooses not to.

She’s honestly not sure why she chooses not to.

“I know. Anyway, I need to get into the office and so do you, Sheriff.”

“Sheriff?”

“Would you prefer ‘Miss Swan’? Based on the tantrums you always throw when I call you it, I was under the impression you disliked it, but if you’d prefer -“

“Could you not for once?”

“I don’t understand.”

Emma straightens. “Okay, fine. This is how we’re going to play this, right?”

Regina just stares back at her, one hand gripping the door, knuckles white with exertion.

“Right. Okay. Fine. Whatever. Have a great day, Madam Mayor.”

Regina lets out a breath - relief, disappointment? Hard to say but it’s something and neither of them are quite sure what to call it. “You, too, Sheriff.” She turns to leave but gets stopped by her name. Said so softly that she’s almost sure Emma hadn’t said it at all.

“But...this isn’t over,” Emma tells her. “We are going to talk about what happened. Today. Tomorrow. Next time you're drunk and willing to be real with me. Your pick."

Ignoring the majority of Emma's (rather rude) ramble, Regina replies, “That’s not a good idea. Talking things out got us into mess.”

“Maybe so, but we are going to. You know how I am -“

“Please let this go,” Regina pleads, wincing at the desperation she hears in her voice.

“You know I can’t.”

“You need to. Nothing good can come of…let it go, Emma."

And then Regina is out of the room, just barely keeping her emotions together.

Just barely keeping herself together.

Emma can relate.

It’s kind of why they’re in the situation they’re now in.

Whatever that is.

The Night Before.

The cold air helps. A lot, actually. She’s still inebriated and head feels a bit thick and heavy, but she’s able to lock in her thoughts to realize that Emma is walking her home, not driving her. "Where's your piece of shit car?"

“I know you love the Bug, but I thought you’d appreciate the fresh air tonight,” Emma says cheerfully as they slowly saunter up the street. Now and again, she throws an arm out to balance Regina, but she seems to be aware of the Queen’s overriding pride and her need to maintain some of it. A funny thing, really, because so much of their relationship has been marked by the times they’ve bulldozed through one another’s hard-built protections and torn the others' pride and self-confidence to shreds.

But then, their relationship has changed, hasn’t it? 

They’re no longer enemies, but rather…friends? 

“Are we?” Regina suddenly blurts out, losing a step of balance as she turns to look at Emma.

“Are we what?”

“Friends? Are we actually friends, Emma or are you a caretaker for our son’s other mother.” The alcohol is still singing in her blood, spinning her brain and making her bolder and angrier. She lifts her hand, pointer finger up like she's about to engage in an insane, breathless lecture (she might be, Emma muses). "Because right now, I'm trying to figure out if this is just making sure I don't do something you'll have to clean up or -"

“We’re friends,” Emma insists. “I thought we’d already established that. Back in your crypt. Which by the way was a very creepy place for that kind of conversation.”

“Would you rather my bedroom?” Regina shoots back somewhat cheekily (that there’s a darker edge to her words isn’t surprising; it’s Regina 101). And really, she is just being obstinate and trying to push Emma back and away a bit. It’s what she knows how to do. It’s what works.

Well, it doesn’t actually work, but maybe it will spare her from falling for another goodie-two-shoes archer with back-from-the-dead wives. Once is probably enough, right?

Right, why is she even going here? How - what?

“I’d rather you not doubt our friendship after all we’ve been through together.”

Regina sighs, deflating slightly. “I’m not sure I know how to…not.”

“I know,” Emma agrees and then she’s looping an arm fully around Regina’s back, fingers turned inwards. “We’re different in so many ways, Regina. So many, many ways.”

“You’re supposed to be giving me a pep talk,” Regina reminds her, earning a laugh from Emma.

“My point is, the habit of pushing people away? We have that in common.”

“I’m sorry we do.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’d let you grow up as you were meant to -“

“I probably wouldn’t have Henry. Or you.”

“No, I somehow don’t see your mother being all right with you befriending me during my Evil Queen days. And in retrospect, it’d be hard to disagree with her: I was pretty horrific.” Before Emma can answer, Regina suddenly groans and doubles over, eyes screwing tightly shut as her stomach violently protests. 

“Easy,” Emma soothes. “Bushes?”

“This is embarrassing. I can poof myself home and into my bathroom.”

“Or you can poof yourself into the middle of my parents -“ she whirls her hand in the air.

That’s enough to make Regina groan once more and then double over towards the bushes. It’s an utterly humiliating display, but this whole day has been so why should now be different? She feels a hand, then - soft and gently on her back. Emma doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer up meaningless reassurances and doesn’t say nonsense words; no, she just stands there, quietly supportive. Waiting for the Queen to right herself. Like she’s confident Regina will.

It’s honestly kind of a mind-blowing realization: that for once in her otherwise manipulated life, someone is letting her decide what happens next. Someone is acknowledging her own fragile humanity and at times, shaky will. And yet still showing faith that Regina will find a way.

Slowly, she straightens. This, obviously, isn’t the first time she’s drunk to the point of throwing up - she’d had a lot of lonely days both before she’d murdered the King and after and too many of those days had turned into nights of trying to forget everything about her life. Back then, she’d cursed her weakness for not allowing  herself to end everything once and for all. Now, even as gross as she feels, she finds herself thankful for that same pathetic, mewling weakness. That desperate need and desire to connect even in spite of herself. Yes, she lost something terrible tonight - a real chance at happiness (she thinks, but maybe it had never really been that at all and somehow that upsets her even more) - but maybe not all is lost. She still has her son and she has the love and affection (how?) of this ridiculous family.

“Better?” Emma asks quietly, still rubbing soft circles into Regina’s back. 

“Momentarily,” Regina grumbles as she pulls herself up, though not quite to full height. A voice in the back of her mind - Mother, certainly - scolds her for her lax posture and scathingly reminds her to look regal and imperious. This is the voice that tries to tell her that she is above everything else and that pedestrian things such as love and respect are beneath a woman of her power and strength. Only, she doesn’t want them to.

She wants to be normal enough to be loved normally.

She wants to be allowed to feel what she does without people running away from her in fear.

And yes, as ridiculous as the (entire) Charming family is, she wants them as well.

“I’m okay,” Regina tells her, roughly wiping a hand past her mouth. She feels more than sees the dance of magic in the air and then Emma is holding out a bottle of water to her. Regina nods a quick bit of thanks and takes the bottle. She rinses her mouth out and then takes another long drag, downing most of the bottle in a. Few gulps. Dangerous, probably, since her stomach is still wobbly but Emma says nothing, just watches and waits for the “go” sign.

It’s maybe two minutes later when Regina hands Emma the bottle back and Emma nods and then gently loops her arm around Regina’s back and indicates towards the street. Down this one and then two more up ahead (a kind of maze, really) is Regina’s street and her home.

Their destination. 

“You know you don’t have to walk me home,” Regina says feebly, shame rising up through her gut and making it churn anew. Curiously, she feels Emma’s grip on her tighten at her words.

“Not going anywhere,” Emma declares, then gestures in front of them. “Left here.”

“I know how to get to my own house,” Regina answers snippily and it really is her pride making her be an ass to the one person who keeps trying to show that she is an actual friend to her. As ridiculous as the Charming family is as a whole. 

“I know you do,” Emma answers without missing a beat. 

Regina turns abruptly, then, breaking the physical contact. Even as her stomach rolls in protest, she looks up at Emma, forcing their eyes to meet. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Shouldn’t you be with the pirate, letting him make lame excuses to win you back.”

Emma smirks, but beneath the expression, Regina can see pain. Hurt. Anger. “Probably.”

“Then -“

“But that would be pointless because I have no intention of giving him a second chance.”

“He loves you,” Regina says, unable to hide her loathing for Hook. A man who has done as many terrible and unforgivable things as she has and yet seems to find it so much easier to pretend that he is worthy of being forgiven, wanted and even loved by better souls than he.

“No, he doesn’t. He loves the idea of me. Besides, I don’t want to be there.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I want to be here. Right here. With you.”

“Wh…why?”

“Because I do.”

Regina again blames her drunkennesses for her confusion, for her inability to parse such simple words and make them make sense. But they simply don’t - they can’t. “Oh. Oh…okay.”

“Good, now that we’re done with the stubbornness part of the night, can we continue onto your house. I’m sure you’d like a cold shower and some mouthwash. And maybe some tea.”

“We’re never done with that,” Regina mutters, not quite able to push past her pride. 

Emma doesn’t say anything, just puts her arm back around Regina once again and urges her down the street, back towards safety. Though, Regina wonders idly as she feels Emma’s touch like a point of fire against her skin, is anywhere with Emma Swan actually safe? No, probably not, but no one would ever accuse the Queen of choosing the safest routes in life. Truth is, she has a long history of choosing exactly opposite. Of walking into the fire.

She’s not exactly sure what fire she’s walking into at the moment (though a flash of blonde hair not unlike Emma’s bursts into her mind’s eyes), but she can already feel it’s intense heat in her stomach, rising towards her badly bruised and wounded heart. Making her feel things she knows better than to feel. 

She blames it on the alcohol, blames it on the heartbreak and maybe even the shock (absurd, really - why should she ever be shocked about getting kicked in the face by Fate). She even blames it on the stupid Charming line for insisting that there’s good in her and refusing to let her hide away from the world as she’s tried to do on so many dark and painful occasions. Snow, Henry, Emma, even David. They won’t let go of her and their belief that she's worthwhile, the goddamned fools.

Well, she supposes, there are worst things.

And then she promptly pushes away from Emma and doubles over once again.

Yes, most certainly worse things, indeed.

Now.

Regina leaves Emma alone in her house. Which is kind of funny, honestly, but also pretty sad because it’s something that Regina - in her right mind - would never allow.  She’s notoriously private and perhaps still a bit secretive and paranoid and her domain has always been something she almost religiously protects. And yet, as the Mercedes fires up and drives at near breakneck speed away from the mansion, there can be little to no doubt that Regina had fled with Emma still on her couch.

Which tells Emma all she needs to know about just how freaked out Regina is right now.

She thinks maybe she should be a bit stung by the urgent need to run away that Regina is currently broadcasting, but two things keep her from this: (a) as someone who has very often fled from emotional upheaval and revelations (as well as the physical connections often tied to said revelations), she understands the urgency and (b), Regina leaving her in her house reveals a deep sense of trust even beneath the screaming panic.

Now, there’s certainly some reason to panic, of course. She and Regina had crossed a (deliciously) physical line that maybe shouldn’t have ever been crossed. The thing is and perhaps for Emma this is more important than the crossing of the line itself, she realizes with a bit of a start that she doesn’t regret crossing said line as much as logic dictates that she should. Which is its own problem. Even though she and Killian are broken up, there’s still baggage and unresolved issues (feelings?) there. It’s not fair to her (or Regina) to launch into a new relationship before the eulogies to the previous one have even been uttered. Also, do either she or Regina actually want to start a relationship?

“You know, Mom always says she can tell when you’re thinking too much by the steam coming out of your ears,” Henry cracks from the doorway. When she looks up, she sees her son rather casually leaning against the frame in a manner that is equal parts her, Neil and Regina. 

“Show some respect, you little shit,” Emma retorts as she instinctively clutches the blanket closer to her.

“I would… I do except…you’re my mom who is on the couch of my other moms’ office and I think your blanket is slipping far more than...yuck.” He winces at his own words, suddenly looking slightly queasy.

A look which Emma currently shares.Not because of what had happened, but she vividly recalls finding her own parents in bed and even at the age of twenty-nine, It’d been something she hadn’t really wanted to think about.

Ever.

“It was a long night,” Emma manages, trying to ignore the way his eyes slide over to the stack of freshly laundered clothes still sitting neatly piled (by Regina) on the desktop.

“So I see. Where is Mom?”

“Probably at her office.”

“She left you here. Alone?” He frowns, recognizing just as she had how odd that is.

“Not like I’m going to steal the silverware.”

Henry fixes her with a decidedly Regina-like withering gaze at that, utterly unimpressed.

“Yes, she left me here. She had…things to do.” It’s perhaps the lamest answer she could come up with but how do you tell your teenage kid that his mothers had spent the night together and the emotional aftermath of it had been too much for one of them (maybe both, if she’s honest)?

“Mm hmm. I assume you know she’s running from…whatever you two did last night.”

“Not clue what you're talking about, Kid; we played checkers all night.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Emma sighs. “Henry, what is it you want me to say here?”

He shrugs. “I am just a kid, Emma. This is adult stuff. Figure it out.” He turns to leave, and stops, hand settled on the wall. “You know she loves you, right?”

“I know we care very deeply about each other,” the sheriff hedges.

“No, Emma, she loves you and I'm pretty sure you love her, too."

“You’re just a kid,” Emma reminds him, throwing his own words back at him.

“Yeah, but I’m the kid who knows what it feels like to be loved by her. And I see the way she looks at you and how mad she gets at you and the things she’d do for you. Kind of the same way you look at her, and get mad at her. Kind of the same way you’d do anything for her.”

“It’s not…I don’t want to hurt her. And Henry, there are a lot of ways to love."

“I know that.” He gestures towards the stairs. “You know where the shower is.”

“You saying I smell bad?”

He just grins cheekily and leaves and Emma wonders - not for the first time - how is it that any teenager makes it to adulthood with the kind of brazen honesty they all seem to exhibit. A question for another time, maybe.

For now, she waits for the door to close behind Henry and then stands up, the blanket still clutched around her. She sighs deeply, looks at the stack of clothes (her red jacket folded nearly atop it) and decides to get on with it. This day is going to be as wild as the previous night had been, she thinks, and so perhaps it’s best to start it off wearing her armor. Something, she thinks Regina had expected her to do.

And well, if that doesn’t sum up the two of them and their many issues entirely too perfectly.

But enough of that (at least for now). Because Henry is right...there clearly is love of some kind between them. Which means that it's time to strap up and get ready to walk into the fire. It’s funny, then, how sometimes the fire doesn’t seem as scary or intimidating as it used to.

Sometimes, the fire seems downright inviting.

Yeah, she has issues.

Onward, then.

The Night Before.

True to her word, Emma boils a pot of water for tea once they’re at the mansion. After one more fit by a grumbling, groaning Regina over the downstairs toilet, she settles the Queen on her couch in the living room and tells her that she’ll be in the kitchen and that Regina should feel free to close her eyes for a bit.

All she gets in reply to that is a decidedly un-ladylike grunt. It’s answer enough.When she finally returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hands, she’s not terribly surprised to find Regina leaning back on the couch, an arm thrown over her eyes.

“I’m awake,” she hears, the Queen’s already deep voice pitched lower due to the hours of alcohol intake. Noticeably, Regina makes no real effort to sit up and look at Emma.

“Okay.” Emma sets the two mugs down and then sits lightly on the edge of the couch, reaching out with her hand to touch Regina’s brow, as if to check for a fever. Before she can manage to connect, Regina snags her by the rest and uses the leverage to sit back up.

“I’m fine,” she shakily declares. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“You tell me that a lot.”

“Then you’d think by now you would have learned to listen.”

Emma smirks. “You know me better than that.”

“Yes, I do. But in the interest of pretending you’ll listen this time, I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay.”

That’s enough to make Regina draw the arm away from her eyes and sit up. “Swan.”

“I mean you’re not, but if you want to pretend for a little longer -“

“Fine, I’m not okay. I figure after the day I’ve had, I’m entitled to that.”

“You are. We both are,” Emma agrees. “But as your friend -“

Regina lets out a huff which Emma smirks at, but otherwise ignores.

“It’s my job to help you through this. And then maybe you can help me as well."

“I really hate your family.”

“No, you don’t.”

Regina lets out another huff. Then, “Fine, how are we going to help each other?"

“We're going to distract each other."

“You really think getting me more drunk will make me feel better?”

“Wasn’t what I was suggesting,” Emma assures her. “We’re going to watch a movie. Because yes, we have both had a really shitty day, and we deserve the right to decompress.”

“Because that's what friends do?" It's somewhat snarkily asked, but beneath the tone, Emma senses a genuine question from a woman who has had far too few real friendships to actually truly know what "friends" do when someone is struggling. 

“Yep. I’m thinking a good horror film. Or a mystery. I know how much you like figuring out who did it within the first thirty seconds of a movie.”

“You hate when I do that.”

“I do, but if it’s what you need -“

“And what do you need, Emma? I lost Robin, but you and Hook -“

The sheriff shrugs, the motion too large to be mistaken as anything but poorly buried hurt.

“Right,” Regina sighs. She jerkily pushes herself to her feet, waving Emma off. “I’m going to go go take a shower and then I suppose we can do…whatever this is…” She gestures between the two of them, an awkward if slightly amusing attempt to indicate their growing relationship.

“Do you want -“

“You got me home; I think I can manage turning on water. Sit, take a breath.”

"Hey, I'm not...I'm not avoiding the Hook question because I don't trust you. You know that, right?"

"Then why are you avoiding it?"

"Because I have no idea what I'm supposed to feel. I know what I do feel -"

"Anger?"

"Yeah. And disappointment. I think I'm supposed to feel more than that, though right? Like...I think I'm supposed to be sad?"

Regina starts to reply, starts to make a comment about how normal it is not to be sad about losing Hook, but then she stops and looks at Emma for a long moment. "I think," she says finally, softly, "You - we - are both allowed to feel whatever we want tonight. But for what it's worth, Emma: I understand." And then she turns and walks away.

Leaving Emma to wondering just how this evening had turned into something more than a simple “friend being there for another friend” type of thing. Or…maybe it hadn’t. Maybe that’s exactly what this and it’s dare she think, even somewhat healthy for both of them?

She hears more than sees Regina leave the study, her stocking feet soft against the wood floor and yet the sound of her steps still unmistakable to Emma and hmm, that might be an issue. Since when, she wonders, did noticing things like that about Regina become so…normal? Since when did she desire to know and understand all of her quirks? To have the kind of conversation she’s spent her whole life avoiding? When did they evolve into…whatever this is?

Well, tonight - after all they’ve been through today - seems as good a time as any to figure out the answer to that perplexing question, she reasons.

Now.

Her office at City Hall is quiet. Familiar, sane and decidedly Emma Swan free.

That stupid bird portrait is still on the wall and in a fit of - well, who ever knows - she lights it on fire and watches it burn with more than a little satisfaction. Oddly, it feels good to be petty about stupid things every now and again and know that it won’t hurt anyone. She’s reformed, true, but the part of her that has always struggled with healthy responses is still quite active. Still barking its fool face off at her.

Enough of that, she thinks and both carefully and delicately deposits herself into the leather executive’s chair behind her desk. Immediately, she growls in protest as she realizes that Snow - who has been coming in over the last few days to clear out her belongings (all but that portrait, apparently) had adjusted it. Lower and further back like she was low-riding the seat.

“Goddammit, Snow,” she grouses as she starts flipping through a stack of folders. Taking the Mayor’s job back from the teacher has been…a lot. It’s not that Snow is incompetent (truth is, she’s never thought that - she’s just always thought of the younger woman as annoyingly naive and simplistic in her thoughts about decidedly complex things such as good and evil) so much as that she’s never enjoyed any part of politics. Snow has never wanted to risk harming others even for the greater good and she’s always been terrified of people losing faith in.

The irony being that Regina shares many of the same fears - it’s just that she’s learned how to push through the sticky darkness of having to make the choice no one else is willing to. She’s learned how to be the person others can hate all so that what must be done can be done.

Problem is, that kind of role - that of a villain - is always thankless. 

Especially when you’re surrounded by simple-minded former fairytale characters.

Groaning, she stands up and makes her way over to one of the filing cabinets. It’s upon opening it, though, that her heart sinks. She’d been looking for the budget folder, but what she finds instead are the pieces of the storybook page that she’d torn apart after Robin had left. 

Vaguely, she recalls retrieving the pages and taping this mess together in a fit of pity and anger.

How better to torture herself and remind herself that Robin had crossed over the town line with his wife. His actual true love. His -

“What’s that?"

Regina spins, snapping the cabinet closed (an utterly pointless action considering the now taped-up page is being gripped tight in her hand). “Swan, what are you doing here?”

Emma scowls in response. Certainly, as she'd made her way here from across town, she had been telling herself to expect Regina to keep stonewalling, had even reminded herself of ways to offset it, but here and now, it stings more than a little bit. “You know. And by the way, that wasn’t an answer. Is that the page from the storybook.”

“Yes, and it’s none of your business. I thought we agreed -“

“Contrary to what you believe, Madam Mayor, you don’t get to make every decision for us.”

“I…I never said I did.” She pauses, consider and then adds, “Not lately, anyway.”

Emma smirks at her.

“That’s not nearly as charming as you think it is,” Regina retorts. “Pun intended.”

“And you’re not as scary as you think you are,” Emma answers easily. 

Regina sighs dramatically. “What do you want, Emma? I have a lot of clean-up on this town to do.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Your mother is utterly incapable of anything even vaguely resembling a budget. No wonder she and David have to live in a place best suited for college co-eds.”

“Be nice.”

“No - I have your mother's fiscal incompetence to fix and a Snow Queen's messes still to account for and clean up . So please, Emma, just get to point and tell what you want, from me?” It’s the third time she’s asked a question of this sort and each time gets a little more dangerous, a little more likely to result in the truth coming out.

A truth she’s not sure how to handle.

“We need to talk about what happened last night. And what it means for us.”

“Aren’t you the one who usually runs away?”

“Yes.”

“Then do that.” Her words are sharp, maybe even mean, but Emma has known her long enough to know that they’re just a defensive shield to keep expected pain away.

That doesn’t stop Emma from calling her out on it.

“Would that make you happy? If I walked back out through that door and we never spoke of it again? Just pretended it never happened? You could pretend that taped up page is your future except we both know it isn’t. It’s just a way of torturing yourself that you can’t let go of.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I would prefer.”

“And if that means I end up back with Killian?”

Regina can’t quite stop herself from making a face of disgust at that.

“You’d be okay with that, right?”

That earns a sharp, humorless laugh from the former Evil Queen. “Of course not. Even  if I hated you - and despite every attempt I’ve made to do just that, I don’t -  I wouldn’t be okay with you being with that fetid worm. He doesn’t deserve a dead toad much less you.” 

“You are in a mood today.”

“You would be as well if you realized that the cheerful moron who took over your job used town resources to build three dozen incredibly unnecessary bird houses all around Storybrooke at -“ she peers down at the papers in front of her and then curses under her breath before adding,. “Three hundred dollars per house. My God, did she use wood from Pinocchio for that?”

“Wow, that was a place I didn’t think even you would go.”

“Oh, that’s right, you and him had a thing, didn’t you? Well, I suppose compared to Rumple’s son and Hook, that’s growth.” There’s a familiar meanness to the tone, one Emma remembers well from a few years back when Emma had first come to the town and Regina - still in the depths of her dark despair and terrified fury - had done everything she could to push the would-be-Savior both away from she and Henry but also away from Storybrooke as a whole. 

Those attempts had failed (as these will, Emma determines) and so Emma just stares her down and shoots back, “Jealous?”

“Isn’t he currently a little boy?”

“Yes.”

“Then no," Regina shoots back.

“But if he were August -“

“Shut up, Swan.”

“I promise I will -"

“That’s a lie.”

“If you talk to me,” Emma says, stepping directly into Regina’s eyeliner, refusing to allow the Queen to dismiss her - or them. This is a discussion that needs to happen just as much as the ones from the previous evening had been necessary. They’d needed it then and need it now.

They’ve reached the fork in the road, she knows. The point where they need to decide what they are to each other. And if -

Well, that’s for later.

Getting Regina to agree to the conversation to begin with is for now.

“Please” she urges. “Regina, talk to me. I deserve that much from you.”

“Oh, Emma, you deserve far more from me - including me, which is why this is a mistake.”

“Probably, but I think if we don’t have this out, it’ll come between us and I can’t -“

Mercifully, Regina doesn’t force her to finish the sentence. “Okay. Fine! Fine. If talking out our mistake from last night will shut you up, then you win; let's do it."

“I don’t want to win,” Emma says vehemently. “I just don’t want to lose.” A beat and then much more quietly, the Lost Girl surging, "I don't want to lose you."

With a sigh of understanding and recognition that this is very much a them problem and not just an Emma or Regina one, the Mayor motions to the seat in front of the desk. “This is a bad idea, but since it’s clear you don’t plan to let it go - I should have known you wouldn’t - let’s…talk.”

The Night Before.

Emma has alway struggled with her anxiety. Gnawing, noisy and deconstructing. She knows that Regina has as well - though in different ways - but they’ve seldom spoken of it. At least not to each other. And to be clear, Emma hadn't intended to start now, but the moment a newly showered (and wonderfully smelling) Regina settles a freshly warm mug of coffee into the Savior’s cool hands and then leans forward over her (the dip of her surprisingly casual V neck shirt showing far too much) to light  two earthy smelling candles in preparation of the previously decided upon movie night, Emma finds herself blurting out pretty much without thinking, “Well, this is all very romantic.”

Which makes Regina’s eyebrow jump into her hairline. “What now?

“I -“

“Did you just hit on me, Swan?”

“I -“

“You what, Emma; use your words,” Regina’s eyes are narrowed, curiosity brightening them and pushing through the fog of alcohol in her brain. She’s always been adept at recovering from intoxication rather quickly (a curse and a blessing, but when you’ve spent great chunks of your life drunk in order to avoid the horrific reality around you, you learn by necessity how to be functionally so) and so now, as Emma squirms and fidgets, Regina finds herself intrigued. She gently leans forward, then, hands settling on her thighs as she waits for the stumbling (but beautiful and where had that come from?) blonde to explain her thoughts and her words. 

“It’s just, the coffee and the candles and us and -“ she looks down at her hands and then mutters out a rough, “It’s nothing. Just a lame joke. Forget I said anything.”

Regina nods at that. “That would be the smart thing to do.” She gets up and walks out of the room, towards her study presumably to put the lighter away, but more likely to put distance between them and this uncomfortably emotional conversation.

Emma lifts her head and looks directly after Regina. Maybe it’s the tone she hears - one that doesn’t sound like anger or disgust, but something warmer - but she finds herself suddenly needing to understand what this. What they are to one another. Just friends or…more?

So she gets up and she follows after Regina. “But you know that’s never been my way."

“Being smart?”

“Staying away from dangerous things,” Emma says as she steps behind Regina.

Regina turns to her. “Emma, I’ve spent most of my life being either a burden or a monster. I know I earned the latter, but I very much prefer never to be the former ever again.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t see you as that.”

“What do you see me as, Miss Swan?”

Emma grins at the obvious attempt to create emotional distance between them. “You’re Regina. Just Regina. I know who you were, but I also know who you are.”

“And that is?”

Emma shrugs a bit awkwardly. “My partner, my co-mother, my best friend.”

Regina lets those words roll around in her mind for a bit, then quietly asks, “Is that all?”

Which is ridiculous because by all logic, that should be more than enough. No matter what, she is still the Evil Queen and the idea that anyone would choose to be in her life seems insane. That anyone would want to call her a friend feels…unimaginable.

And yet, here they are and her active mind is - without permission - imagining other things.

“No,” Emma answers, barely more than a whisper. 

“No?” Regina sounds dumbfounded, confused. It’d been a gambit sure to fail only -

“No,” and then Emma is leaning forward, bringing their faces within inches of one another, their lips suddenly so very close. “No,” she repeats, finding Regina’s eyes and giving her every opportunity to pull away if this isn’t what she wants. “You’re the one person who sees me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see me?” Regina queries, a tremor in her voice, a desperate need.

“Yes.”

Regina is the one who closes the rest of the distance, pressing her lips gently against Emma’s. A daydream she’s never admitted to is now coming true all at once. The kiss deepens, lengthens, growing more passionate as Emma leans into it and Regina’s arms slide around the Savior’s lean body and brings her closer so they’re chest to chest.

And then Emma breaks away and says breathlessly, “We shouldn’t.”

Regina nods shakily. “You’re right. I”m sorry; you and Hook..."

“No, I mean you had a lot to drink tonight and you’re mourning Robin.”

“As you are Hook,” Regina shoots back defensively. 

“I’m not mourning Hook,” Emma snorts. “He made his own bed with Gold.” And then she scowls at the unintended implications of words. “Sorry,” she shrugs, seeing the same disgust cross Regina’s face as her overactive imagination gives her far too much of an unwanted show.

“But…you’re still hurting and I -“

“Don’t want to be a rebound for me. I get that. But I don’t want to be that for you, either.”

“Right. Then perhaps we should -“ Regina starts to draw back.

“What we should do is be adults and figure out what's going on between us. Like adults,” Emma insists. 

Regina shakes her head and then leans in again and kisses Emma. When she receives no resistance, no fight despite the words they’ve both just said, she pushes forward.

And Emma willingly accepts, allowing Regina to press back and into the couch.

“Talk later,” Regina murmurs, kissing a trail of kisses from mouth to jaw to neck.

“We…we really need to,” Emma weakly protests only now its her arms around Regina.

“Eventually,” Regina agrees and then there’s nothing else to say.

At least not for tonight.

Now.

“Oh, right,” Regina drawls, her tone deceptively lazy sounding. “I did say we’d talk.”

“You did,” Emma nods, shoving her balled hands into her pockets. It’s her way of trying to hide just how nervous and anxious she is, how unsettled she is about all of this.

Which, of course, just heightens Regina’s own anxiety because is Emma anxious about -

“So how about we talk to each other instead of just talking to ourselves?”

Regina blinks in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I know you, Regina. Just like you know me. Which means I know when you’re having entire conversations inside that brilliant brain of yours. None of them good.”

Regina opens her mouth to protest, snaps it shut and then finally manages, “No, you don’t.”

That just earns a smirk from Emma.

That immediately raises Regina’s hackles. Which she supposes was the whole point all along based on the impish grin on Emma’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” Regina growls and honestly, she doesn’t mean it affectionally.

No, really, she doesn’t.

But Emma is still grinning imposingly at her and Regina has always struggled with self-control especially when someone pisses her off (or alternately, turns her on) and really, how can she be held responsible for the way her feet carry her across the room to where Emma is and -

“This isn’t talking,” Emma says between kisses that absolutely shouldn’t be happening.

“Ugh,” Regina groans, pulling away. “We can’t do this.” And then she goes in for another kiss because she’s always had a problem with stopping herself from indulgence.

“Okay,” Emma nods, her head tilted back.“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why can’t we? We clearly both enjoy it -“

“Because you don’t actually want to,” Regina cuts in. She steps away, trying to put distance between them, trying to stop the physical pull that keeps drawing them together. 

“So now you know me better than I know myself, is that it?” Emma asks, head tilted.

“I always have,” Regina insists, dark eyes blazing. She’s trying to come off as imperious, maybe even trying to piss Emma off enough to push her away enough to make her walk away from this conversation in anger and frustration, but it feels vaguely half-hearted.

It feels like exactly what it is - fear in action. Which after all of these years of dancing around Regina in various and curious ways, Emma understands all too well. 

“Really. Then tell me what I’m thinking right now. Right at this very moment,” Emma demands.

Regina stares right at her, like she’s actually trying to see inside of Emma’s mind. It would be amusing if not for the fact that Emma really does know the Queen just as much as Regina knows her and she knows just how insanely self-destructive and self-diminishing Regina is.

Regina nods. “Ah, yes, now I understand.”

“Do you now?” Emma shoots back, leaning her hip casually against the desk.

“Of course, Miss. Swan -“

“Emma.”

“You want sex.”

“Naturally,” Emma agrees, the smirk growing. 

“And…well, yes, of course you do,” Regina states, an eyebrow arched. 

“Because you’re so damned good at it,” Emma finishes. 

“Are you saying otherwise?”

“Of course not."

Regina’s eyes narrow. “I don’t appreciate being played with, Miss Swan.”

“And I don’t appreciate being called that so I guess we both have a problem.”

“You’re being a childish pain,” Regina protests.

“And you’re being a brat.”

“How -“

“Dare I?” Emma finishes for her. “I think you know the answer to that.” And then, as if to supply her own answer, the sheriff leans forward and presses her lips to Regina’s. 

And if her whole plan had been to silence Regina, well it works. At first, at least.

The kiss last maybe fifteen seconds. Soft, sweet, gentle and then suddenly Regina is pulling away, practically stumbling backwards as if she’d been struck. 

“Hey, hey,” Emma says softly, catching her hand and pulling her back. Once Regina finally stills, Emma reaches up a hand and brushes a curl of hair around from the Queen's eyes, smiling somewhat sadly at the way Regina once again stiffens. She knows that she has damage of her own thanks to Neal, but sometimes even she is thrown by just how wounded Regina is. “You and I…we’re complex. No matter what we are. As friends or as -"

“Lovers?”

“Lovers,” Emma confirms, then leans in and kisses her even more gently than before - if that’s possible (and it is, Regina realizes with a shock). When she pulls back, Emma says, “We should have talked this out last night but neither of us were in that place. Maybe…maybe we are now.”

“Are we? Neither of us have ever been what anyone sane would call staggeringly healthy.”

Emma snorts. “No,” she agrees and steps away. She crosses over to the tray with the decanter on it and pours two fingers worth of whiskey into two crystal glasses. She hands one to Regina and then perches herself on the arm of the couch, smirking when Regina tosses her a look.

“It’s a bit early to drink, don’t you think?”

“It’s after lunch.”

“I can’t figure you out,” Regina grumbles and downs the drink in two gulps.

“Yes, you can.”

“Are you determined to argue with everything I say.”

“Not always. Today, maybe. But honestly? Only because you’re being difficult.”

“Am I? Or am I being the clear-headed one of the two of us. Two days ago, Emma, both of us were otherwise involved. With men -“

“Is that your issue? Because -“

“No, of course not. You’re not my first…woman,” Regina states, thinking of another blonde from long ago. A shape-shifting larger than life woman who might have been more to her if her heart had been capable of it.

“And you’re not mine. So what’s the issue?” Emma asks, thinking of a dark haired girl.

Regina frowns. “I don’t understand why this is so easy for you. We both know that two days ago, it wouldn’t have been. Two days ago, you were madly in love with…him.”

“I wasn’t,” Emma says softly. “I wanted to be but…I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Hook and me….we’re complicated.”

“As you said, you and I are complicated, Emma; you and Hook are a cautionary tale.”

“You know, he’d probably say the same thing about you.”

“Probably,” Regina concurs. “We know each other too well, he and I. And we both know deep down that neither one of us is worthy of you.” Regina turns and walks away from her, walking over to the cabinet and using the already carefully organized folders to distract her as she adjusts and shifts them around for no real reason than that she needs to occupy her hands.

“Isn’t that my choice to make?”

“Yes,” Regina agrees, turning to face Emma. “So you should go.”

“Because I could never choose you?”

“Because two days you chose Hook and I chose Robin and -“

“Do you love Robin Hood?”

“I could have, but -“

“But what?” Emma presses, stepping closer once more, almost as if sensing that the breakthrough between the two of them is finally about to happen.

But then Regina is pulling away again, putting several feet between them once more. “But he never could have loved someone like me - not really - and if you’re honest with yourself, Miss Swan, neither can you so let’s stop this pointless dance before someone truly gets hurt.” And then Regina flicks her hand in the air and before Emma can protest, purple smoke fills the air. When it fades away, Emma finds herself standing by herself in the Queen’s office.

And quietly, mostly to herself, Emma murmurs, “Someone already has.”

Later.  

“Ah, there you are, luv,” he says mock cheerfully as he saunters into the diner, his coat swishing along the floor and his boots scuffing as he approaches. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“How funny; I haven’t been looking anywhere for you,” Emma mutters as she lifts up a glass and downs it, the remaining half swallow of golden whiskey disappearing in a gulp. She knows that she’s probably had far too much to drink over the last few days, but it feels earned.

“How drunk are you?” Killian Jones asks as he sits down next to her at the counter, his eyebrow arching as he regards the woman who just a day earlier had been his girlfriend.

“Very,” Granny notes as she passes by. “Again. Not a great look, Sheriff.”

“Second time?” Hook queries, tracking Emma’s annoyed look towards Granny.

“I was here last night,” Emma says and then taps the counter. “Another.”

“Nope,” Granny answers. “Go home. Maybe this time by yourself.”

“What does that mean?” Hook turns his attention to Emma. “What does the crone mean by that?” He ignores the way Granny glares at him, like she’s considering biting him.

“Not a clue,” Emma shrugs, ignoring the way Granny snorts in bemusement.

“Sure, sure, well whatever stories you want to tell yourself, do it elsewhere,” Granny orders.

“Aye, I’ll get her home,” Hook states, reaching for Em. Almost before he touches her, she’s pushing him off. “What’s going on with you, Swan? You’re downright surly, lass.”

Emma turns. “What’s going on with me doesn’t involve you. Not now and not ever again.”

“Oh, boy,” Granny sighs. She reaches for her cell phone and flicks out a quick text.

“Doesn’t it? I assume you’re drinking because of our fight?”

“We didn’t fight, Hook; we broke up.”

“Minor distinction. Why don’t we talk a walk and sort it out. I’ll get you into bed…”

“No.”

And then she’s popping off the stool and tossing several bills down on the counter.

“Swan, you’re clearly upset about what happened between us and not thinking straight.”

She spins on him. “You know what? I am. I’m really upset that I ignored my better instincts and gave you a chance after all the times you’ve fucked me over. But I did and that’s on me. I thought maybe I was wrong about you. I thought…but you know what? I think for the first time since that stupid trip to the past we took, I am thinking straight. And you’re not her."

“Her?” For a moment he looks confused (and out of the corner of her eye, Emma sees Granny step towards the the kitchen, as if trying to move away from the argument; she has no doubt that the older woman will re-involve herself should tensions continue to rise). “What…her?”

“You should go,” Emma tells him. “Just…leave me alone.”

“Who are you talking about? What -“ his head turns. “Wait…wait, no. No, no.”

“Go.”

“The Queen? This is about the Queen? The woman you watched butchering villagers and trying to murder the wife of the man she’d later steal for her own. Are you serious?”

“Hook -“

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you are. How could I be so fucking blind? That stupid -“

“I’d stop right now if I were you,” Emma warns, suddenly feeling very drained. Coming here after the fight with Regina had been a huge mistake but she’d been feeling a lot and hadn’t been ready to face her parents and their questions about Hook and where she’s been. She hadn’t expected Hook to show up and as always, make everything worse. To be fair, right now isn’t entirely his fault - she’d made the choices she had the previous night - but here they are and she’s seeing all the ugliness in Killian Jones that she’d tried so very hard to pretend didn’t exist even as he’d been trying in every way to show her that it always would.

“She’s an evil witch,” he sneers. 

“Stop.”

“Why? Can’t handle the truth about the woman you’re obsessed with?”

“I know who she is.”

“So does everyone in this town: the Evil Queen.”

“The woman who fought for me to be who I am.”

“She tried to kill you as a child.”

“And you tried to kill me as an adult.”

“So has she!”

“He’s got a point,” Granny notes.

“See, even the old hag agrees with me!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not helping,” Emma tells her.

“I’m not trying to do anything but get you two to leave before we get half the town here to watch,” Granny sighs as she watches Leroy pull up just outside the window to watch.

“We’re done here,” Emma assures her.

“We’re not,” Hook insists. “You want to play house with that whore, don’t expect me to just -“

Her hand hits his face with a sharp echoing crack. “We’re done, Killian. You want to play nice with the town? Great. But that’s not going to come with me as a benefit.”

“And what about her?” He demands, hand on his cheek, blue eyes blazing with barely suppressed rage. “What does she need to do to get you? What has she done?"

Emma just stares at him for a long moment and then turns and walks away, the door slamming behind her, the bell ringing haphazardly as the sheriff angrily departs.

Hook turns to Granny. “Why is that such a terrible question? We all know what she is and who she will always be!” He might as well be screaming about himself, he knows.

“Hm. Do you?” Granny queries. “Do you know who Regina is anymore than you know who you are? Because it seems to me neither of you has much of a clue."

“Oh, what do you know?” 

“Considering I've known both of you for far too long, Captain, I'd say too damn much for my own good, that’s for sure. And the one thing I know for sure is that both of you have a self-defeating streak that runs a mile long. One day, maybe you'll change that and actually try real happiness. And for what it's worth, that's not found through lies."

"I did what I had to do," he snaps back. 

"And so has she. Where has that actually gotten either of you?"

He sneers in response and then stomps out, slamming the door behind him.

Granny chuckles to herself and then reach out forward and locks the door, done with dealing with people - especially this towns' broken misfits - for the day.

Long Ago.

She thinks about him often. The man in the bar she’d chosen not to pursue. The stranger with the lion tattoo who would have been her destiny..

Her so-called soulmate.

She thinks about the happiness that the fairy had promised. The ever after she’d abandoned. Happiness she’s certain she would have destroyed, anyway.

As she destroys everything else in her life.

“Mirror,” she grits out. “Show me happiness.”

The mirror shifts, showing her the Genie’s face. He laughs spitefully at her.

“Show me or I'll have you turned into dust,” she growls.

“Threaten me as you will, Your Majesty, but there's no happiness in this world for you,” he tells her.

“I know that.”

“Then what would you have me show you? A delusion? A daydream? A pretty lie?"

She glares at him. “Killing Snow White is happiness,” she declares.

“So you think.”

“So I know. If not in this world, then another…I will find happiness."

He chuckles again.

“Show me,” the Queen yells.

“I can’t show you what doesn’t exist and deep down, you know this to be true.”

“Yes,” she murmurs, desolate. “I suppose I do.” 

“But -“

“But what? What?” Her eyes grow wide, possessed of panic and mania, a desperate need.

He smirks at her, knowing his words for poison. The image on the screen turns and she sees smoke covering up a person - a woman, she thinks - with blonde hair as she rapidly turns away, her face hidden from view. “If you can open your heart anew. Allow love -“

“I could never love you,” she sneers, pretending she hadn’t seen the image at all.

“Attempting to hurt me won’t change your fate, Your Majesty. It won’t change that the only way you will ever be happy is if you allow that cold, dead thing in your chest to heal. But then we both know that’s not possible and so Snow White will never have to worry about you.”

“What does Snow White have to do with this? You already said killing that silly little brat won’t make me happy? Have you gone even madder than I realized?”

He simply smiles again, a disquieting and vaguely lecherous expression. “You’ll never know.”

“Know what?” Her eyes blaze with fury. “Stop with the riddles, you demonic fool.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best, my Queen; you’d destroy her, anyway.”

“Her? That woman you just…what are you talking about? Speak clearly for once.”

"I can only speak in the way you made me, Your Majesty,” he taunts. “As a mirror to your soul.”

“What her are you speaking of?” Regina demands again. “Is there someone else for me?” It’s an unimaginable thought - to potentially have another chance after Daniel and the the man with the tattoo? Is it possible? Could fate - always so cruel - actually be kind to her at some point?

But no, no.

“Show me,” Regina demands. “Let me see her face.”

“You can only ever see her face if you can handle seeing your own and we both know you can't."

“Riddles,” she hisses. “Games.”

“The truth and you know it. You can find love again, but only if you can stop yourself from tearing a hole in your heart, and we both know you can’t. You are incapable of anything beyond rage and hate. Certainly never love. Never that. You’re evil, my Queen and always will be."

And with that, he smirks once more and fades away leaving her in stewing and confused.

Heartbroken and lonely.

And certain that whatever he’d been insinuating will destroy her as much as she’d destroy it.

Her.

Someone it is best never to find so she can never destroy her.

Never.

Now.

It’s been a very long while since she’s been down here. This deep, at least. Certainly, she’d spent some time in her vault while she’d been trying to save Marian’s life, but descending down to the depths, past her mother’s coffin and into the room where so much of her past still sits like macabre mannequins with gruesome leers is a bit much for even her. And still she is here. Because her magic mirror is here.

And Sidney is once again back (and still) in the mirror, despite his treachery (and well, she can hardly blame the little bastard if she’s entirely honest with herself; she’d certainly contributed to his madness). Which means that he is available to her for…questions of a darker sort.

“Mirror,” Regina calls out, an unusual tremor to her voice. “Sidney.”

The mirror in front of her turns purple and then there he is - not as he was in the Enchanted Forest, but as he is here. Only once again trapped inside a mirror, her prisoner.

“You have some nerve,” Sidney angrily hisses, reminding her of how she’d put him in here to assist with killing Marian (and then left him which had led to him attempting to betray her to the Snow Queen; really, there’s is a relationship of hate and continuous retribution).

“So do you,” she sighs. “But enough of this. I have questions.”

“Like I care.”

“Answer my questions honestly, and I’ll set you free.”

“You lie.”

“I’m tired, Sidney and I’m tired of you.”

His head tilts, a curious thing in the midst of so much smoke and yet it’s clear as day. “Oh.”

“Oh, what, you sniveling little snake?”

“You know.”

“Sidney.”

He laughs. “This is delicious. When I saw you together, I thought…but then you were in the way as usual. So full of evil and hatred, unable to find a single speck of human decency and love. I didn’t think you could ever find your way to her. But I should have known she’d conquer you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Only too well, Regina. I see your weakness even now.”

“I am still your Queen.”

“You’re no one’s Queen. You’re a pathetic lovesick old woman who realizes that her actual true love isn't a smelly thief drunk off his ass in a bar but rather a pretty thief, who is also the one person in all of existence who absolutely will never love her back. Not…really.”

“Fuck you,” Regina growls, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, my dear, your life would have been so much better had you.” 

“You need me to be free,” she reminds him.

“As free as you, my Queen? I think not. My time will come. Ours will. And I will have my revenge."

“Whatever.”

He smirks in response. “She will never love you, Regina and when you realize that, when you react as you always have and destroy everyone who tries, you’ll see that you could only ever someone like me. But worry not, I'll be here for you. As always."

Regina scoffs in disgust.

“She was always your destiny in some way or another; I just was never sure how,” he chuckles. “I thought perhaps your only hope, but now I see she will be your final downfall. Your delicious, righteous end. And not because she slays you, but because you love her and she could never love an evil witch such as yourself. And that will break you."

And then he laughs and disappears, leaving her standing in shocked heartbreak alone amongst a dozen regal dresses from a life long ago.

A life of broken emptiness and self-destruction.

One she’s fairly certain she’ll never truly escape.

Later.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Snow asks, sitting down next to Emma on the couch, a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. It’s terribly cliche and Snow has waited her entire life for moments like this - ones where she be the person to offer comfort, support and wise words to her daughter. Admittedly, she hadn’t assumed Emma would be a grown woman around the same age as she when giving said advice, but really, too much has happened to be terribly picky about it.

“No,” Emma grumbles and takes the hot cocoa. To say that she’s been moody for most of the afternoon is a bit of an understatement - two dramatic run -ins in one day will do that. That the run-ins had been wildly different in tone is another entirely matter entirely. One she’s still trying to make sense of in her own head.

“Because this kind of looks like a broken heart to me.”

“Mm, more like a confused one,” Emma allows between sips. “You have any whiskey.”

“Word around is you’ve had more than enough of that over the last couple of days.”

“Leroy should talk.”

Snow chuckles. “True. But…he did say he saw you and Hook arguing.”

“I told him - Hook, not Leroy - to fuck off,” Emma says and then winces because it’s still weird to say that word around her mother - who is Snow White.

A literal fairytale come to life.

But then, her problem right now is that she has feelings for the Evil Queen and her ex boyfriend is Captain Hook so actually her mom being Snow White feels kinda sane here.

“And you’re having second thoughts about it?”

Emma laughs. “No. I never should have…no. That was a mistake.”

“Because dating Captain Hook is madness.”

“Yes,” Emma agrees. 

“But the Evil Queen would make more sense.”

“What?” Emma snaps her head around. “What?”

“You already said that, honey.”

“How do you -“

“Well, I didn’t until…that.”

“But -“

“Emma, I’m your mother and no, I didn’t raise you, but I do kind of know how both your head and your heart work. And I have had something of a front row seat to you and Regina’s…whatever it is you have over the years. I’d have to be deaf, blind and terribly stupid not to see the constant sparks between you two.”

Emma opens her mouth, snaps it shut and then opens it again. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just know we had a few drinks and it seemed so natural and then telling her I wanted to kiss her did and I don’t think I even wanted to do it until that moment, but then I really did and …”

“And…”

Emma makes a face of disgust as she realizes who she’s talking to. “I shouldn’t be talking about this to you. With your history, you must be freaking out. I’m sorry, I didn’t -“

“Emma, I’m not mad. I’m not mad at all.”

“You’re not? Really?” Emma frowns, like she’s trying to puzzle out the newest bizarre change in her life. The newest way nothing quite makes sense and yet absolutely does.

“Like I said, I’ve had something of a front row seat for most of your relationship. This really isn’t surprising. I kind of thought it’d be more hate sex than love sex but -“

“Mom!”

Snow fixes Emma with a look. “I think we can talk about this, Emma. We were roommates before we were mother and daughter and we talked about sex lives.”

“We did,” Emma admits with an expression that looks a bit like queasiness. “But this is different. ’m not sure we can or should talk about this. You and Regina -“

“Have a messy, weird as hell relationship, obviously. But much has changed. She split your father and I’s heart and sacrificed herself for all of us. We’ve…I forgive her.”

“Enough where you’re okay with -“

“You and her hooking up?” Emma cringes once more. “It’s a little weird, admittedly.” Snow chuckles. “But…I love you both and if being together -“

“We aren’t -“

Snow levels Emma with a knowing gaze. “Will make you both happy, then I support it.”

“I’m not sure Regina is capable of allowing herself to be happy. Hell, I’m not sure I am.”

“Because you let go of Hook?”

“He loves me, right?” 

Snow shrugs, then says, “I think Killian wants to love you because he thinks loving you means he’s a good man and more than anything, he wants to believe he can be that.”

“And Regina? Doesn’t she want to be a good person, too?”

“Of course, but unlike Hook, I don’t think she’s capable of convincing herself that she is just because someone else loves her. I think she’s spent too much of her life being told how evil and bad and wrong she she is that believing otherwise seems like a lie to her.” Snow frowns slightly at her own words, thinking about how not only Cora had said as much to the former Queen, but so had Snow herself (yes, often for good reason, but all the same.). “Regina is terrified of loving you because she thinks she’ll hurt you because she assumes she’s bad and always will be. She and Hook aren’t all that different, except one runs towards what he think will absolve him and the other runs away from what she believes she will destroy.”

“So what do I do?”

“What your mom and I have always done,” David says as he enters the room, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Follow your heart, even when it seems reckless. It always knows best.”

“Are you sure?” Emma queries. “What if mine doesn’t work…like yours? What if mine doesn’t have the Charming strength to it.” She laughs humorlessly at her own words. “Maybe it’s been broken too many times to…not be confused about…what is best.”

“It’s working as it’s supposed to, sweetheart,” Snow assures her. “You think having it broken has damaged it, but from where I stand, it’s only made it shine all the brighter?”

“Because I’m your daughter or because I’m the Savior?”

“Because you’re Emma,” David tells her. “And even if you weren’t our daughter and weren’t the Savior, you’d still be Emma and still be someone that people look to for hope.”

“I think that’s you guys.”

“Stop fighting us,” Snow says, reaching forward and taking Emma’s hands in hers. “You’ve spent too much of your life doubting yourself. It’s time for you to see what you are.”

“Love interest to super villains?” Emma jokes feebly.

This time, both of her parents just look at her, not even humoring her with a rebuttal.

She nods, thoughtfully. “I get it. I think. So what do I do now? How do I get Regina to stop running away from me? Even if she doesn’t want…how do I get her to talk to me?”

“Do what you’ve always done, Emma; make her face you, ” David says simply.

And Snow adds, “You know better than most - well besides me -“ Snow chuckles wryly as she continues her own messy past with the Queen, then continues. “That Regina will run away from her feelings until she can’t and then she’ll self-destruct because she doesn’t know what else to do. But you’ve always been the one who can get to her. It’s always been you, Emma.”

“You’re the only one who she’s ever let in that close,” David adds. “If you want something -“

“Go where she is,” Emma concludes.

“Follow your heart,” Snow says once more. “And we will support you wherever it leads you.”

“Yeah?”

“Always,” David promises and then both of her parents are wrapping their arms around her.

Holding on tight. 

For the first time in a long time, Emma knows what she has to do.

And as confounding as it is, she knows exactly where her heart is leading her.

Long Ago.

She is the Evil Queen and she is hated by so very many.

She is the the wicked woman who was once a sweet girl with a beautiful heart full of love (or so she thinks, but perhaps that never actually existed and Mother is right and this is all she is all she has ever been - wretched and evil and worthless and so very, very broken). She is the woman who has caused unimaginable pain because unimaginable pain has been caused to her. In her moments of rage, she curses everyone for all they have done to her to bring her to this point, but in her moments of awareness, she curses only herself for her life.

And she drinks. Oh does she drink. Mead, wine, whatever can fog her mind for a few hours.

In this dark, hopeless world, everyone drinks and to great excess, usually. But few as deeply and as constantly as she does. She is functional and coherent enough to lead and to terrify, but her mind slips and she feels rage overtake her soul and then deep melancholy and depression.

So she drinks more.

She tries to forget the lion tattoo and tries to forget Daniel’s brilliant smile and then his empty cold, dead eyes. She tries to forget a dream she’s had on too many strange occasions about a flash of brilliant blonde hair. Hair belonging to the mysterious unseen girl from the Mirror. The woman she’d glimpsed, but never really seen. The one that could be more, but won’t be. Because love is hope and she has none. Her only hope is death.

Snow’s and maybe eventually her own.

But she lives and she drinks and sometimes she admits her pain to the Mirror and he mocks her and tells her that there is no happiness or love in this world or any other and she knows it. Sometimes she confesses to a dragon woman who would have loved her if she could only have ever allowed her (this woman is blonde and yet they both know that she isn’t the one that Regina occasionally dreams of and both of their melancholy deepens at this understanding).

She drinks and she falls asleep and dreams and when she awakens, she runs and runs and tries to destroy everything in her path so she doesn’t have to admit to her fears.

The fear that she will never find anyone who could ever really love her.

How could anyone ever?

They couldn’t.

They never will.

This she knows. 

This she quietly acknowledges when she’s had too much far too much to drink and her badly wounded, deeply damaged is breaking like glass from a cursed mirror. 

This is her reality. Her truth.

Her darkest confession.

Today.

She’d been expecting him, honestly. Maybe not actively, because she tries very hard not to think about this man at all, but deep down, she’d known he’d seek her out.

In anger, in frustration, in heartbreak.

Does he love Emma? No, probably not. He doesn’t really know beyond knowing that she is the Savior and is the great hope of so many from their world. He knows what others know which is that she is good and her heart is good and good people tend to flow and flock towards her.

And he wants that - wants to be one of those people. Of course, he does.

So does she. Very few villains want to be villains - they just want to stop being hurt and the way they’ve often figured out how to do that is to make others hurt, instead. It’s a terrible, horrifying lie, but it’s one every monster has used to conceal the depths of their anguish. She, herself, had operated under that concept for many, many years, but now she’s here. Now she knows that the pain of others had only ever masked her own pain. Hidden it.

Still, she understands his rage, his hurt and his desperation and when he comes at her, she sighs and merely throws up a shield to push him back, but doesn’t attack him.

“Stop this,” she says wearily. “I have no interest in fighting you.”

“You took her from me,” he accuses, rum on his breath.

“I didn’t,” she answers and thinks about how many times she’d stood up in front of others, half-drunk but wicked, sure in her rage and need to make others feel her pain.

Masking and hiding and running away.

But she’s reached the end of the road, nowhere left to run. Too exposed to hide, anymore.

“She loved me.”

“Then she’ll find her way back to you,” Regina tells him and that stops him cold.

Hook tilts his head. “You don’t think she’d choose you?”

“No.”

He seems caught, stuck, unable to understand. Because he, too, believes that no one could actually ever choose him. Not really. His bravado hides so much, his charm and swagger disguise his uncertainty and lack of self-esteem, but now he, too is caught out. Exposed.

“No one could ever really love you,” he tries again and she knows he’s speaking of himself.

“No,” she agrees once more, again refusing to fight him even as he leans towards her.

Even as he tries to threaten her, waving his hook in her face, his rancid breath overpowering.

“She’s mine,” he says more softly, uncertain, unconvinced, flailing in his insecurity.

“She isn’t.”

“She’s not yours.”

“I’d never think to claim her,” Regina tells him, and thinks of a woman with blonde hair - a woman that now looks like - probably is -  Emma Swan. A woman she realizes she’s loved since before she’d known she existed and now fears the harm of that love. The harm that she is capable of doing to someone foolish enough to love her. “Maybe that just means one of us has finally learned their lessons after all these years.”

“You’re not better than me.”

“No,” a final time. “But what I am is honest about who and what we are. Who and what we will always be. We’re monsters, Killian. I don’t want to be that, anymore and I don’t think you do, either, but that doesn’t mean we deserve better. But we can try.” And then she turns and walks away, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her peacoat, the bitter Maine cold brushing her cheeks.

He stares after and then silently slinks off in the opposite direction.

Long Ago.

She holds him in her arms. Small, delicate, gentle. A child - now her child. 

Her baby boy, her son, her perfect prince.

Her Henry.

She runs her fingers down his face, across his nose, over his lips.

Entranced, enraptured, in love.

The Mirror had been wrong. She can love. She is capable of it.

Perhaps this is just a small step, a beginning to something more. A burst of light within a heart that had been so darkened by hurt and hate that creating a hole in it had felt like nothing. Now…now, perhaps it hurts to heal and yet, she welcomes this pain.

She determines that she will learn to love again. 

She will learn how to deserve Henry’s love in return.

She will learn. 

She will.

Tonight. 

She sleeps in her son’s arms.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep here, but then she also hadn’t meant to start crying in front of him. She’s gone to great lengths to not break down in front of him and yet over the last few months, she’s done it more than a few times and she feels terrible shame at this. A son should never have to take care of his mother; she should be his strength and yet right now, he is hers.

When she wakes, she’s on the couch alone, a blanket over her, a pillow under her head. 

“Hi,” she hears from above her. She looks up to see him in the doorway of her office, shifting awkwardly, nervously and she feels her heart sink as she thinks of how she’s failed him again.

“I’m sorry,” she babbles out, her words nearly incoherent as they tumble from her mouth. Tears blind her and her brilliant mind whirls to figure out how to fix this, how to not lose him. She sits up awkwardly, her head swimming as panic floods through her and fear follows close behind.

But then he’s hugging her and she’d never even seen him cross the room.

“I love you,” he tells her and she lets him hold her once more.

She breaks down in front of him for the second time. And she thinks that even as she has failed at so very much in her life, perhaps in this much, she has succeeded.

Perhaps…no…no, this is enough.

It is.

And then…then she hears the front door open. Heavy footsteps enter.

“Henry? Regina? You called - I’m here.”

Henry pulls back from his mother, but doesn’t let go. He smiles. “I called her.”

“Again?” Regina asks quietly.

“Always. Because you need her. And she needs you.”

Not Long Ago

It happens only a few weeks after the curse breaks. After time has started to move once again and nothing is static and the same. While she’d occasionally suffered from migraines during the many years of the curse (apparently even life frozen couldn’t stop those internal headaches), she’d seldom been actually sick (outside of hang-overs) and never feverish. 

This is different.

It happens while Emma and Snow are in the other world and she’s stuck in her oversized and now mostly empty house, sequestered with her self-hatred and fears and paralyzing loneliness. Maybe it’s a virus or maybe it’s guilt made physical, but whatever it is, she collapses to her bed sweating and feverish and her body revolts and seizes as she whimpers and cries out.

For her lost love Daniel, for her beloved father whom she’d destroyed for a happiness that had never been real to begin with, even for her mother who had only ever harmed her. She pleads for the son, who had fled her as quickly as he could. 

She cries out for Snow and hates herself for reaching for her most hated enemy.

 But when she dreams, it’s of the blonde haired woman again. And she feels warmth.

And love.

And then the woman turns and Regina lets out a sharp cry of pain and wakes with a shout.

And then sobs into her pillow because fate could only be so cruel to someone so evil.

And everyone knows that evil is both incapable of being loved and ever truly loving. 

This, she knows and never doubts.

How could she?

Now.

“Hi,” Emma calls out as she tentatively enters the room, proceeding as though Regina is a wounded, deeply frightened animal who might bolt and run for the hills at any moment. As humiliating as the comparison is, Regina hast admit that it’s probably well earned. 

“Hi,” Regina answers, exhaustion weighting down the single word.

“Kid,” Emma says, turning to look at their son.

“I know,” he nods. “I’m going to spend the night with gram and gramps. Again.”

“You don’t -“ Regina starts, then stops because he’s looking at her.

“You and Emma need to....I’ll be home in the morning,” he promises and then hugs her once more. 

She breathes it in and then watches as he hugs Emma once and leaves.

“He didn’t have to go,” Regina says weakly.

“We needed to talk,” Emma states. “Just us. He’s not going far.”

Regina thinks to ask Emma to promise that, but she’s embarrassed herself enough.

How needy she is…well…

But then the front door is closing and Emma is stepping closer to her and Regina feels herself stiffen in reaction as she waits for whatever is about to come. 

“Do you really think I’d hurt you? After all we’ve been through?” Emma asks her, seeming a bit hurt, herself. Her hand reaches out as if to bridge the physical gap, but then reluctantly pulls back as if she’s suddenly become aware that her touch might not be welcomed right now.

“I think I can defend myself.” Regina answers and her head is up as she fronts. As she pulls forth the defiance that has always acted as her shield - her protection from so much pain. Only, it never really has protected her and deep down, she knows it.

“I’m not.. I won’t hurt you, Regina. I won’t. You have to believe me.”

“I…I’m not afraid of you.”

“You kind of seem like you are.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“Maybe once a very long time ago, but not now. Never again.”

“Because you want to protect me now that you love me?” Regina bites out.

“I won’t let you push me away,” Emma says instead. "And if you remember, I've been trying to protect you since...long before any of this."

"I never asked for that."

“Never had to."

"Emma, why are you here? Because you have to know I’ll try to. Pushing people away is what I do best. It’s all I know…it’s who I am, Emma.” Regina demands and then winces because her words give away too much, confessing far too much of exactly what she thinks and fears. 

“It’s not. And the Kid was - is right, Regina; we need each other.”

Regina shakes her head. “I don’t…I don’t need you. And you sure as hell don’t need me.”

“Okay, maybe it's not just about need. Maybe it's about want just as much. Maybe, I want you.”

“No, no you don’t. This is…you have a bad boy/girl thing going on -“

“Really?” Emma laughs. “Because I’m some pretty, pretty princess?”

“You are! This is…this is just trying to shock your mother and father -“

“My mom supports us.”

“What?” Regina rears back, her lip curling into a shocked semi-snarl. “What?”

“I know. I was kind of surprised, too. But…she loves you.”

“She’s my step-daughter, Emma. Which makes you -“

“Regina,” Emma cuts in. “Stop. Stop.” She steps closer. “Talk to me not at or around me. For once."

“I am.”

“No, you’re running from me. And from yourself. Like you said, it’s what you do. But I’m not going to let you run away from me. I’m not.”

“I don’t -“

“You know how I know what you’re doing? Because I’ve done this all my life, too. I’ve run away from everything good in my life. Everything that was hard, but worthwhile.”

“That’s not me, Emma; I’m neither good nor worthwhile and I never will be no matter how much you try to convince yourself that I am,” Regina insists. “Run away before I do what I always do and destroy everything beautiful around me. I can’t…I’m not who you want. You deserve better.”

“You keep telling me that and well, you know I’ve never been good with people telling me how I’m supposed to feel and think about things.”

“You’re being an idiot! You’re the goddamn Savior, Emma. I’m the Evil Queen.”

“Former.”

“Emma, please.”

“I know what I want, and this time, you can’t blame it on the alcohol. This isn’t a drunken confession that we can both disregard.”

“But it is madness. Two days ago you wanted Hook. I’m just rebound -“

“You know better. It’s always been us.” Emma says. “It’s taken me so long to understand why I kept being drawn to you. I could never figure out why I cared so much. I told myself it was hatred and then responsibility. I thought maybe it was Henry, but it wasn’t. It’s always been us.”

“Emma, you can’t be this certain. It’s not you. It’s not how you operate.”

“It isn’t,” Emma agrees. “But I think maybe something finally clicked inside of me. I’ve spent my whole life running away. I’m done.”

“No.”

“Yes,” And then she’s leaning forward and cupping Regina’s face, a hand on each side of the Queen’s face. She waits, finds Regina’s eyes, smiles and then leans in and kisses her. So gently and tenderly that Regina lets out a soft whimper.

A soft plea.

Emma pushes her against the wall, continues kissing her. Deepens it. Feels the tears on her face. Kisses them away one by way as Regina inhales sharply. Whispers, “I’m here.”

“Please,” Regina says, this time a full word, her heart aching as she waits for the pain.

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me. Be honest. Tell me the truth.”

“Will you leave if you do? Will you walk away?”

“If it's the truth, yes, I'll leave your house, but not your life; I’m never giving up on you. No matter what we are. Even if you don’t…even if you don’t want me. Even if you can’t love me.” Words fumbled out from the mouth of a lost girl who has struggled just as much as Regina has to find and keep love.

To be wanted and love for who she is and not just how she is seen to be.

“Emma -“

“Look at me and tell me what I am to you.”

So Regina does and she thinks of a mirror and a flash of blonde and years of taunts and doubts and being told she will never love - can never be capable of it.  She looks at Emma and sees nothing but love and affection reflected back at her. Inexplicable, improbable, but also undeniable.

Perhaps unsustainable, but no longer something Regina has the strength to run from.

She confesses, “I want you, Emma.” As she waits for the mocking laughter and the reminder that she is unlovable.

But then she sees blonde hair as Emma leans in and kisses her again and moves her towards the couch, gently pushing back onto it even as she presses her lips to the Queen’s neck. Even as she grows the passion and refuses to let go, pressing deeper into Regina's shaky hold.

“You can’t want me,” Regina murmurs, the arm around Emma's torso pulling her ever closer.

“I do,” Emma murmurs once more and claims her mouth again, and then Regina lets her eyes close and stops running.

The Next Morning.

The last time she’d woken up in someone’s arms in a bed, it’d been Robin Hood and she remembers feeling a disquieting euphoria. The thrill of being wanted pushing violently against the reality that this couldn’t ever really last. Because Robin’s actual true love had been in an ice coma and she’d known that this dalliance could only last as long as Marian’s sleep would.  It would have been easy, then, to allow Marian’s sleep to go forever - the old Queen would have done exactly that. Taken what she believed she was due after so much pain and loss. Even as she’d known it wasn’t actually hers, she would have taken it out of pure spite.

This Queen, this Mayor - this woman - is different.

Regina had fought to bring Marian back and in doing so, lost Robin.

And yet somehow, inexplicably, found Emma Swan.

The blonde from her visions and dreams.

A night of drinking, of sex and now a second one, this time of lovemaking.

Of words whispered to one another between whimpers, of things like love.

She’s afraid, terribly afraid and yet Emma’s arms are curling around her. 

“Morning,” she murmurs into Regina’s neck and kisses her there.

“You’re still here,” Regina whispers, more to herself than Emma.

She feels more than sees Emma lift her head. “Did you want doughnuts?”

“What?”

“Because that’s the only reason I’d have gotten out of bed. You’ve very comfortable.”

“Am I?” Regina asks, turning to face the disheveled blonde. She reaches forward and pushes yellow hair away from green-blue eyes and then leans in and kisses Emma because she can’t quite stop herself from doing so. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”

“Mm, their loss.” And then Emma is curling back into her.

They have more talking to do, of course. One - two - nights doesn’t make everything make sense and it doesn’t change a life time of pain and doubt and fear. It doesn’t make two women so used to running away from pain (or running towards it in order to run away from it, fighting it so as not to look weak) suddenly not runners. But it’s a start.

It’s something to build on. A beginning to grow from.

Fingers trace her jaw, her lips and then move to cup her cheek as Emma leans in for another heated kiss that lasts long enough to make them both a little dizzy. 

A phone on the floor buzzes idly, and neither of them think to answer it.

Regina thinks that perhaps one day she’ll tell Emma about the visions from so long ago.

Maybe, one day over drinks, she’ll confess that some part of her had always hoped for this to happen. Always dreamed of this even as she’d never believed it possible.

Emma’s arms tighten again and Regina’s weary eyes drift shut once more, both of them tumbling back towards well-needed and well-deserved sleep without discussion. 

Maybe one day, she’ll tell Emma everything there is left to tell her. 

A confession for another day, perhaps. 

-FIN