Archive of Our Own

The first time Regina Mills finds Emma Swan lying on her back in the park next to the graveyard - close to her vault - is when she nearly trips over her. The sun has set, and the sky colors purple and orange - colors that faintly remind her of magic and fire, and it is probably why she is momentarily distracted. 

It is mere hours after Regina was forced to give her the sheriff’s badge and she is still seething over it. Sidney would have been under her control, but Miss Swan goes her own way, and it’s breaking her carefully crafted facade. Her reality, her curse is slipping away from her like sand through an hourglass, and the powerlessness of it is something she just will not accept. It’s like a clock of doom is ticking away the seconds until her demise. But Regina desperately wants to hold on to everything that she holds dear. Her son. Her revenge. 

She’s failing with every tick. 

And she’s terrified.

It’s all because of her. If Miss Swan hadn’t barged into Storybrooke, if she hadn’t thrown everything off-balance, or if she would even have left when Regina told her to, nothing would be amiss. Everything would be as it should be - like it had been for the past twenty-eight years. But no, Swan had to stay, pry Regina’s son away from her, and cause a crack in the timeless curse. 

And even with this most recent loss of having to bow and surrender the sheriff’s badge, she is determined to re-establish order in the town of her creation. Regina’s seething anger towards the blonde is the driving force behind her crusade - she will succeed. She’ll do anything in her power to ensure that that woman will never discover her secret, anything to get her the hell out of this place. It would’ve been so easy if she could just use a flicker of magic, but alas - there’s no magic in Storybrooke, not even in her vault. A visit proved at least helpful by screaming out her frustrations into the void. 

It calmed her a little, but all the superficial relaxation evaporates into thin air when she nearly stumbles over two leather-clad feet. A gasp escapes her as she struggles to keep upright. It only takes a few seconds to realize the object of her dismay is dangerously close to her secret place, which unsettles her even more. The darkness coils inside her, wants to lash out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Swan?” she snaps, masking her own startle with her signature rage. “If this is how you’re going to spend your time as sheriff, I’ll be forced to-”

“Relax, Regina,” Swan murmurs. Her eyes, which had opened momentarily to see what the sound of someone nearly falling was all about, flutter close again - an outright sign of mocking Regina, and it creates a roaring ball of infinite fury to bounce in Regina’s stomach. “Contrary to what you may think, I didn’t lie down here on purpose to make you fall.”

Of course, she didn’t, Regina huffs internally. The defiance that this infuriating woman displays is frustrating her to her very core, and the underlying worry that her secret will be exposed is dangerously close to the surface. Both emotions coming together make her inflammable.  A sharp pain cuts through her insides as a smile appears on Swan’s face, and she wants to shove it off Emma’s features so badly that it makes her stance a little unsteady for a second before she collects herself.  Swan’s fingers hover over the blades of grass, caressing them gently - Regina suppresses the urge to step on those hands and twist her heel right into the palm - the sound of breaking bones will be her reward. 

“I suggest you start doing your job , Sheriff,” she snaps, choosing vitriol over physical assault. “That’s what we’re paying you for, believe it or not.” The only response she gets is a lopsided smirk. Miss Swan doesn’t even deem her worthy of looking at. Her fingers tingle - not with magic, because they can’t, but the helplessness of not being able to rile Miss Swan makes her want to punch Emma square in the face to at least force some kind of response. She’s done it before and, even though that time she received one right back,  this time, she’d be clearly in the advantageous position, towering over her.

“In a bit,” the infuriating blonde hums easily, and she doesn’t show any indication of starting to move any time soon. And what’s more, she really does look more relaxed than she’s been since Regina first saw her at her doorstep, a couple of weeks ago. “Don’t you ever do this? Let go of all that infinite rage?” Miss Swan wonders. “You should try it. You’d be more relaxed that way, and not such a stuck-up bitch.”

“I beg your pardon?” Regina barks in outrage.

Swan simply smiles. “Touch the grass, Madam Mayor. It grounds you. Makes you see things in perspective.” When her eyes open, there’s an outright challenge in them. “Come join me.” They both know that Regina never will, especially after that insult, and Regina wants nothing more than to set her on fire. She would have, if she’d had access to her magic. 

“Touch grass,” she huffs indignantly. “I advise you to do as I say, Miss Swan. As the Sheriff, you still report to me and I can still get your election revoked if you don’t do what you’re being paid for - by the taxpayers of this town, I might add. So get up and do your damn job.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “In a bit,” she repeats. She raises one eyebrow. “I’ll make up for the time. And it’s not like anyone needs me right now - worst thing that can happen is Pongo gets that stupid siamese cat up in the tree again. Relax, Regina - if you can.” The frustration surges up in a seething Regina. There isn’t much she can do if Emma outright refuses - not without physically attacking her, not without angering and estranging her son even further-

Wait. Her son.

“So this is the example you’re setting for your son?” she scoffs. “I’m happy that Henry at least gets his work ethic from me. Nurture above nature, I suppose.” It has the desired effect - it riles Emma up and instant gratification runs through Regina’s entire body. “So you were right after all, Miss Swan. You did offer him the best life by giving him up - imagine what he would’ve been like if he’d grown up with-”

“Jesus, Regina,” Emma growls, her brow knitted together and her lips pressed into a thin line. That’s definitely the desired effect that Regina craved. A wave of satisfaction makes Regina’s mouth twitch. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

Regina’s eyes narrow and she smiles contentedly as Emma struggles to get up. The woman pats the dirt from her tight jeans while staring at Regina, who folds her arms in front of her chest. “Carry on, Sheriff,” she purrs. “Go do whatever the hell it is you do best.” Emma’s eyes flicker with irritation and Regina raises an eyebrow in the same challenge Emma presented her before while pulling up a mocking corner of her mouth. With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Emma turns and stomps off, clearly aggravated.

Touching grass. Regina scoffs as her eyes burn holes in Emma’s retreating back. The satisfaction of touching a chord within Miss Swan far surpasses all the need to physically connect with the green turf. And she didn’t even need to dirty her hands.

~*~

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm. This feels a little like deja vu.” 

Regina sighs. Emma doesn’t look at her, but stares up at the sky. The wind is chilly today, and Regina tightens her coat around herself. She’s still a little nauseated from taking in a death curse, and her own magic is still neutralizing the foul magic they almost instilled in the woman on the lawn and her insipid mother. Besides, snow, the real one, not the pathetic excuse of a woman, is in the air. The Northern winds chisel her face, a prelude of what’s to come. Weather-wise, at least. The fresh air helps her with her nausea, but the downside is that her toes are starting to freeze off. “Still not over the grass-touching, then,” she states. The only response she gets is a twitch of the mouth. 

Emma’s dressed warmly. A thick, brown leather vest - always with the leather - a hat, thick boots and the too-tight jeans. Regina’s eyes move to her hands, and she realizes that she’s not just fondling the green blades this time, and she raises an eyebrow. “Did you want to dig a hole and hibernate?” she can’t help but say, nodding at the dirt-stained fingers, clawing into the soil. Emma’s lips twitch, but she frowns next, and her eyes don’t look away from the clouds she’s staring at. The silence stretches, and Regina folds her arms in front of her chest, losing her patience swiftly. But then, Emma starts talking and her eyes flutter close.

“It helps me make sense of things.” Then, she’s quiet again. Regina tilts her head and tightens the grip on her own arms. Her nostrils flare in impatience.

“Miss Swan-”

“I found out that Snow White and Prince Charming are my parents and that fairy tales are real.” The woman closes her eyes for a second. “My parents shoved me into a wardrobe when I was a baby. I got sucked into a hat and had to fight fucking ogres and don’t even get me started on your mother.”

Emma’s eyes fly open and seek out Regina’s gaze. Unwillingly, Regina holds her breath when she sees all the emotions swirling inside. “So,’ Emma growls, “excuse the fuck out of me for needing some time to process. You don’t need to be here.” 

It’s a clear dismissal, and Regina tilts her head, nostrils flaring as she tastes the bitterness in her throat when bile rises. She’s unsure if it’s because of Emma’s mention of Regina’s mother, or the absorbed curse, or a combination of both. And while she tries to suppress the vileness inside her - thoughts and physical reaction, something else clicks in her mind. Something she can focus on instead of whatever’s still coiling inside her. 

The first time Regina found Emma like this, Emma had just become a sheriff. Had just found a son. The wheels in Regina’s mind are turning at lightning speed. Was that why she’d been touching the stupid grass back then?

The difference then was that Emma had seemed relaxed. Now, she’s wound up. The first time, Regina wanted her wound up. This time - she doesn’t know. Regina’s conflicted. Maybe her own bodily weakness of feeling ill makes her momentarily soft, but the sharp comebacks are just not there. Observing the tense woman in the cold grass, she waits. She knows from experience that eventually, Emma will start to talk when Regina doesn’t. Emma just can’t help herself.

Regina’s right; she doesn’t even have to wait that long. “It’s just,’ Emma continues, a little softer now, “a lot, you know? I never believed in fairy tales. And now I’m a fucking princess and I’m a Savior and I never asked for any of this. I don’t want any of this.”

The words carry on with the wind, and only when the sound is completely gone, Regina sighs, “Are you done?”

Emma’s green eyes flash, and she meets Regina’s gaze. “What?”

“The fact that you don’t believe in anything doesn’t mean that it isn’t there.” Regina waves around her. “And you don’t learn anything by lying here and digging a hole for yourself.”

“I’m not-”

“Pull yourself together, Swan.” Regina narrows her eyes. “That’s what I had to do. Over and over again. Get up.”

“Yeah, whatever.” But Emma pushes herself up and leans on her elbows. “If it weren’t for you-”

“You’ll say nothing I haven’t heard before already, dear,” Regina smoothly intervenes, earning her a scowl. She doesn’t know if it’s the death curse inside being forcefully absorbed by her own magic, but something twists in her stomach and it doesn’t feel right.

“Are you always such an asshole?” Emma exasperates, and Regina suppresses the urge to shift her weight, keeping her rigid stance.

“That’s not the worst I’ve been called,” she easily replies. She just can’t help herself. There’s something about Emma Swan that rubs her the wrong way. Maybe if Regina had made different choices, and had been less scared of this woman overthrowing her life when they first met, they could’ve worked together. Maybe they could’ve been something resembling friends.

But they’re not, partly because Regina doesn’t even know how to make friends, and eventually, she rationalizes, they would’ve stood opposed to each other anyway. Because no matter how they started, Emma is a Charming, the Savior , and Regina remains the Evil Queen. “If you want to insult me, ask around for ideas. The people here are very inventive when it comes to-”

“Okay, stop,” Emma says, raising her dirt-stained fingers to stop her from talking. “I just need some time to process, and I can’t do that with you here. So please leave.” 

Regina straightens her back at the dismissal. “Fine,” she stiffly says. “If you ruin the lawn, you’ll find the bill on your desk.”

Emma shakes her head and sighs, and there’s nothing left for Regina but to turn and walk away.

“Hey, Regina?” Emma says when she’s taken a few steps out.

“What?”

“Apparently, there’s a welcome home party for Mary Margaret and myself tonight. Maybe you should come.”

With a laugh of disbelief, Regina turns on her heels. “Nobody wants me there, Miss Swan.” Her voice sounds slightly bitter even in her own ears and honestly, she has trouble wrapping her mind around the sudden change of topic and an invitation that comes right after the insults they’ve shared.

“Well, since you sucked in a death curse for us, you should be there. Besides,” Emma adds with a raised eyebrow, “you’re supposedly the Evil Queen, aren’t you? A few looks of disdain probably won’t hurt you.”

They do, Regina involuntarily thinks, but she merely scoffs. “We’ll see.” And with that, she leaves the woman in the grass to touch it - or whatever the hell she plans to do with it.

~*~

Maybe one day they'll even invite you to dinner. The words echo in her mind. It has been a while since Rumple mockingly spoke them to her, but right now, she feels them more than ever. They bounce around inside her skull, draw out each and every syllable, taunting her with every echo.

Because she wasn’t invited.

Honestly, she isn’t even surprised because it’s not like she expected an invitation after Neverland, after yet another curse that made them forget whatever the hell happened back in the Enchanted Forest. It’s not like she deserves it either, but somehow, it matters in a way she wishes it didn’t.

Maybe she’s getting soft.

Or maybe it’s the fucking time of the year.

Darkness set in early today, as it always does this time of the season. Snowflakes silently dance around her as she makes her way through the brightly decorated streets that are so in contrast with her turbulent, dark emotions. A thin layer of snow covers the streets, turning the town into a typical, idyllic Christmas card display.

Regina scoffs as she briskly walks through the streets, leaving a trail of footsteps in the otherwise undisturbed snow.

It’s not even that she likes Christmas - it’s a holiday that she’d embraced for Henry’s sake many years ago, and the townsfolk have picked up on it with more enthusiasm than she can muster. She couldn’t care less for the season, but for Henry, she’d go all the way. She vividly remembers the way Henry’s eyes would light up every time they would decorate the tree and the house. Every time they would bake cookies or a gingerbread house together. Every time he woke up early on Christmas morning and would get excited over his presents.

Not this year, though.

She looks up, and realizes her legs have involuntarily brought her to where he is. Her son, who doesn’t know who she is because she cursed him almost a year ago, is at the loft, where the ugliest of colored lights are blinking in the windows in an unrecognizable pattern. Her lips curl up in an automatic sneer of disgust to mask the twang of pain in her chest that takes her breath away.

The loft, where her son is celebrating Christmas this year. 

With his family.

Or at least, the family that he knows. Because Pan’s curse happened, she had to say goodbye to her son, and a year passed. 

Now, they’ve been cursed once more. For some reason Storybrooke’s rebuilt, and Regina’s being accused of repeating her past offense of casting a curse and making them forget (which is an inane assumption because she’d do a much better job). If that wasn’t bad enough, Emma and Henry came back to town, Emma’s memories restored, but not Henry’s. Bitterly, she thinks that Emma hadn’t even had the courtesy to call ahead and warn her. Seeing him had shocked her to her very core. And now, having to carefully move around him, not being able to hug him or talk to him like a mother does to her son eats her alive, slowly but steadily.

Part of her wants to barge in and demand her son come with her or teleport him away from them, but then again, to where? Without Henry in the mansion, she hasn’t felt like decorating and so, she didn’t. And it’s not like he remembers her, so magic would only freak him out.

It’s not fair.

A curtain moves, and she realizes she’s been staring up. Snapping out of her wallowing, she turns on her heels and crosses the street, not wanting to get caught snooping around the building. The park is the swiftest way to her house - teleporting would be easier, but she hasn’t waited to see if it was Henry standing in front of the window, and some old-fashioned stomping through the area might release some painful tension anyway.

The ground is covered in a white layer. And before she knows what happens, her heel slips, her feet are sky-bound and with a yelp she crashes on her back, slamming all the air from her lungs. For a few seconds, she’s gasping for air like a fish out of water and when the oxygen comes back to her, she blinks to make the black spots in her peripheral vision disappear. Something hysterical bubbles up in her throat, and a laugh and sob fight to leave her throat first as she curls her gloved hands into the snow. Burning with unshed tears that she forces back with sheer willpower, her eyes search the sky, hoping for a crack in the deck of clouds to see a star.

There aren’t any.

Of fucking course there aren’t any. 

Her fingers dig into the snow relentlessly, wanting to disturb the untouched layer and wreak havoc - a summary of her fucking life. The frozen ground feels cold through her gloves and her fingers hurt. 

She knows she needs to break free from her mind, but for someone who’s been hyper-focused on one simple thought of revenge for over thirty years, that’s not an easy task. The spiral she’s entering is dangerous, and rationally she knows it can only get worse from here. But he’s her son , and everybody knows except him, and she can’t figure out the counter-potion that Emma has had and it’s so fucking frustrating - 

“Regina, are you okay?”

It’s the only person she can’t hide anything from and because of it, it’s the last person she wants to see. The raw feelings overwhelm her. She squeezes her eyes shut, doesn’t want her to see the emotions she’s unable to quell. “Go away, I’m fine.”

A snort. “Yeah, I can see that. Let me help you up.”

“Leave, Swan.”

A short pause. Then, a sigh of resignation. “Okay, so you’re finally trying the touching grass thing then?” There’s a hint of humor in Emma’s voice and Regina’s eyes snap open. “It’s typical of you to do that at the worst possible time, when you have to dig through a layer of snow to get to the grass blades. Good thing you’re wearing gloves. Either that, or you’re attempting a snow angel.”

The sudden change of subject makes Regina blink, then her brow furrows and she scowls. She scrambles to get up, but it’s slippery and her shoe slips away. Again, Emma offers her hand. “Don’t patronize me,” she barks, and gets up on her own, carefully placing her heels in the snow, not wanting to repeat the fall.

When she finally meets Emma’s gaze, she sees understanding. “I know it hurts that Henry’s here and not with you-”

“I don’t need salt to know where it hurts, Miss Swan,” Regina interrupts sharply, the emotions too raw to suppress them. Emma winces at the tone.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I wish there was an easy solution. But maybe we can come over tomorrow? Celebrate Christmas together?” 

Regina’s spine straightens. “I don’t need your pity-”

“It’s not about pity. It’s about family.” Emma runs a hand through her hair and rubs her arms, and it’s then that Regina realizes Emma isn’t wearing a coat. Snowflakes stick to her hair and knitted sweater and when one lands on the tip of her nose, Regina can’t do anything but stare until it’s melted. “You’re his family too, Regina, even though he doesn’t know it. But he will know, soon, I need to believe that and so do you. And then I want him to have a memory of spending this Christmas with you. Don’t you?” She tilts her head.

“I…” Something warm springs in her stomach and blooms inside her chest and it’s so unexpected that she doesn’t have a retort. The feeling is unfamiliar, yet heals something inside and Regina is so thrown off guard that she needs a few seconds to formulate a response. “Yes. I’d like that,” she quietly responds. Then, her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Wait, you’d give up your Christmas Day with your family to have Henry spend it with me. What are you not telling me?”

Emma looks away. “Can’t I just want Henry to celebrate Christmas with both his mothers?”

For someone who claims to have an inner lie detector, Emma is extremely bad at lying. Regina folds her arms and raises her chin, ignoring the warm flutter in her chest and stares at her until Emma caves. “Okay, fine,” Emma grumbles, “This is all a bit overwhelming. A missing year? My mother being pregnant with their second chance? And all those memories colliding, having to thread carefully around Henry - it’s… a lot.”

Regina blinks at the flood of words - she hadn’t expected Emma to be so open about her feelings, and doesn’t know what to do with it. So she blurts the first thing that crosses her mind. “Maybe it’s you who needs to touch grass then.”

Baffled, Emma’s gaze snaps to Regina’s face, and then, unexpectedly, she barks out a laugh. “Why, Madam Mayor, maybe you are right.” Her eyes are alight and it does something to Regina’s stomach, something else that she hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since the curse took them back to the Enchanted Forest, leaving Emma and Henry behind. She needs to overthink that later, she decides, when Emma continues. “Okay, well, then we’ll see you tomorrow morning? For breakfast?” She looks hopeful and it confuses Regina for a second, until she remembers that it’s not because of her, but because Emma needs a break from her family.

“Very well.” Who’s the Savior now, she wants to add, but she’s not going to risk time with Henry by adding that particular snark.

“Great!” Emma rubs her arms. “I, uh, have to get back in.” She grimaces. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Yes, well, that's what happens in winter. Go back to your insipid family and Henry, Miss Swan.” The words don’t have the usual bite to them and Emma sends her a tiny smile as Regina adds, “And I will see you tomorrow.”

When she turns to continue her way through the park, she walks lighter. 

~*~

Regina is intoxicated. She shouldn’t have surrendered to the alcohol, but she felt miserable enough to indulge in a few too many apple martinis - she just wanted to blissfully forget. 

Still, she’s unfortunate enough to remember everything and forget nothing. No forgetting for her. Just lightheaded, swaying on her feet. And probably a massive hangover tomorrow.

Story of her life - she can’t even get drunk the way she wants to.

Robin is gone. Left with his wife, Marian, who was brought here by Emma Swan, of course. Because ever since that woman’s entered her life, nothing has gone right. She staggers towards the door, a frown marring her face. Swan has the tendency to destroy everything. Maybe it’s destiny. Maybe every villain needs a hero and Regina’s just the unfortunate one to have a somewhat familial bond with hers. Maybe there’s no redemption. Not after doing all the things she’s done.

She angrily stabs the key at the lock and misses every time, because her eyes are unfocused and burning and her fingers fumble. On the fourth attempt, the keys slip from her fingers and fall on the porch. With a frustrated huff, Regina presses her forehead against the cool door, squeezing her eyes shut.

Emma’s a nail for her coffin, she laments, but she can’t summon the anger she could summon earlier. Emma surprises her, time and time again. A few days ago by apologizing. 

“Living in Storybrooke, I've got my son and my parents, and I love them. But they can't always understand me. They don't know what it feels like to be rejected and misunderstood... Not the way I do, not the way you do.” 

The words echo in her mind, and, though it takes a little focus that she barely has in her current state, she goes over her own response to them. Wondering how Emma could ever be serious about them being alike in some way. The woman has everything, and Regina was left with nothing, over and over again. But then - 

“And somehow that makes us, I don't know, unique, or maybe even special. I wasn't looking for you to assuage my guilt. I was just looking for you to be my friend.”

Emma’s words had baffled her. It had never been about being left with nothing. Her words spoke of hope of gaining something for the both of them, something unfamiliar. Regina had swallowed a sharp, bitter retort and she had just blinked dumbly. “You thought we were friends?”

The last word had tasted funny on her lips. Sure, she had gotten somewhat closer to the towns folks - as close as you can get, being the Evil Queen - but friends was something that hadn’t even entered her vocabulary. They tolerated each other. Were mothers of the same boy. And perhaps they had grown closer, but friends? Regina didn’t do friends, because she had yet to encounter a person who could teach her how to be a friend, and what’s more, offered that friendship without wanting anything in return. Because everyone always wanted something in return.

“Crazy, right?” Emma had said, her smile a little insecure and shy. “But I thought it could be, that it was possible. I'm not gonna stop trying. Even if you still want to kill me.”

Regina swallows as the memory relentlessly plays on in her mind, unable to stop it. It’s like a movie without a pause button. When Emma turned to leave, Regina had told her to wait, and had sighed. Rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to kill you,” she had spoken, slightly begrudgingly. She hadn’t wanted that for a very long time, she realizes, not even when she was exploding with anger.

The hopeful smile on Emma’s face when she uttered those words had moved something in her chest. “See?” she had said. “That’s a start.” And for some reason, it had caused Regina some difficulty keeping her face straight. 

It’s been a few days since then - days without much human contact. It had put a few things in perspective and none of them with an outcome she wished for, making her feel even more miserable and bitter than just the single fact of Robin leaving. And with Henry spending time at Emma’s it had been a good night to get shitfaced drunk in the trashiest bar (the only bar) that Storybrooke had. 

No, she doesn’t want to kill Emma - she’s moved past that impulse a long time ago. But friends - she doesn’t know. She’s thought about Emma’s apology, a lot. Begrudgingly had to admit that perhaps, they do have things in common. Abandonment. Rejection. But misunderstood - she almost chuckles darkly. Regina has maimed, murdered - what’s to be misunderstood about it? Bile rises in her throat as her intoxicated mind twists around the next word. Monster. She winces. Even Emma has called her one.

What a perfect basis for friendship, she huffs. She bends over, nearly loses her balance as she grabs the keys from the floor, and tries again, to no avail. Then, with a growl of impatience, tired of her own thoughts and memories and more than willing to escape from them, she waves with her hand to unlock the damn door magically, but then she hears fragments of a conversation, carried over by a soft breeze. It’s coming from her backyard, she realizes, and outraged that someone would dare to enter her private domain without her approval present, she stalks toward the sound.

When she rounds the corner, she freezes.

Her son and Emma, side by side. They’re lying down on the lawn, staring up at the starry sky, fingering the blades gently.

Touching the fucking grass. 

Not him, too?! A familiar irritation rises and she’s too inebriated to suppress it.

“That’s Orion’s Belt,” Henry says then, pointing, and Emma seems to squint. 

“Where?”

“Those three bright ones, over there.” Emma leans in to look past Henry’s fingers, looks intently, and then as if she’s proud of herself, she smiles.

“Yeah, I see it, kid.”

Henry drops his hand, wiggling his fingers between the blades of grass as Emma’s hands gently caress over the green leaves, that, in the moonlight, looks actually blue instead of green, and Regina is torn between the want to barge in and intruding and ending this ridiculous display or just standing and watch. 

“Do you think she’s okay?” His voice is smaller now and Regina’s spine goes rigid at the sudden child-like tone, filled with worry.

A sigh. “I don’t know, kid,” Emma says. “To be honest, I don’t know if she even wants me  here right now.”

“Well, you came with me.” There’s a defiant tone in his voice. Henry came to see her, came to check on her to see if she was all right, she realizes, and the thought sobers Regina instantly as a warm feeling covers her like a blanket. “And it’s not your fault.”

“Technically, it’s my fault that he’s gone.” Regina’s stomach squeezes painfully at the admission. Emma sighs. “You know, if I’d have to do it over again with what I know now… I don’t know if I’d do things differently. If I’d have let Marian die. Probably not. But knowing it’d hurt Regina…” Her voice fades. 

“You’re the Savior,” Henry declares simply, and a flash of hurt zaps through Regina. 

“And yet,” Emma says, a hint of self-deprecation in her voice, “I’m never able to save your Mom.”

Regina swallows. Sticking to the shadows, she holds her breath. “But Robin could have chosen differently,” Henry continues strongly. “He’s been with Mom for a while and they’re soulmates but apparently that doesn’t mean anything to him. He just left her.” Disgust drips from his voice. 

“He needed to make sure that Marian-”

“I don’t care about his reasons,” he stubbornly interrupts. “I don’t care that Mom is the Evil Queen. They’re soulmates and he just went away. It’s not fair.”

A silence falls between them. Regina turns, presses her back against the house to stabilize herself. She doesn’t need saving, she wants to scoff, but her intoxicated brain whispers, wouldn’t it be nice if someone did? A sob wells up in her throat and she forcefully swallows it down. 

“You’re right,” Emma then says, and Regina’s brow furrows. “She doesn’t deserve it. Your Mom… she’s been through a lot. More than a person should go through in their life. She’s done terrible and perhaps sometimes unforgivable things, but she’s worked so hard to make amends, and every time she reaches a state of comfort, fate hurls another rock at her to knock her down.” A sigh follows, and silence settles over the garden as Regina tries to process the words Emma spoke so strongly. She’s confused, but her hazy mind doesn’t get the time to ponder on them because Emma continues. “I don’t think anyone has ever put her first,” she then quietly adds, and that remark closes up Regina’s throat. It’s dangerously close to what she thought just moments before, and the understanding changes something inside of her that she can’t fully grasp. 

“I did.” There’s a hint of youthful, stubborn confidence, but Emma chuckles sadly.

“Not always. And for people like Regina… that leaves scars.” Regin holds her breath. They don't know what it feels like to be rejected and misunderstood... Not the way I do, not the way you do. The words echo in her mind. Something trickles down Regina’s spine. Emma speaks from her own experience, but she’s also right. And that mere fact makes Regina hold her breath. “She has issues with trust, kid, and understandable ones. Betray that trust, and it’ll take a while for it to come back.” She reaches for his hand to soften the words. Regina observes and feels naked, vulnerable, as if she’s been part of the conversation and her walls are shot to smoldering heaps of bricks. She bites her lip until she tastes blood, the tangy taste of metal a welcome distraction.

“How do you know?”

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about trust issues,” Emma wryly supplies. A silence settles between them and it gives Regina a little time to collect herself - just barely. Emma is right - not just about the things she’s saying to Henry, but she has an understanding of Regina that she herself perhaps doesn’t even possess. It warms and scares her at the same time.

“Look,” Emma sighs then, “we’ve been here for nearly an hour. I don’t think she’ll be home any time soon and my butt’s numb. Let’s come back tomorrow morning, okay?”

“I don’t want to give up,” Henry says, and the words are stubborn and he gets that from both of them, Regina wants to say. 

“Hey,” Emma says gently, turning her head to meet his eyes. “We’re not giving up. And we’re never giving up on her. All right?”

It might be the alcohol still in her system, but she suddenly feels nauseous, sick of herself, perhaps, sick of always feeling things too intensely and perhaps reading too much into them. She shifts her weight and turns, sending a final glance in the direction of her son and his other mother, and her breath catches in her throat as she sees Emma sitting upright, staring at the shadowy spot she’s hiding in. She is frozen to the wall - as frozen as her intoxicated state allows her to be - and the moonlight reflects in Emma’s eyes, even from a distance. She swallows thickly, but then Emma turns to their son and helps him up, allowing Regina to disappear without a sound.

~*~

“Hey.”

She tries to decide if she should ignore the blond woman coming up next to her, cautiously, like she’s a ferocious animal driven into a corner. Maybe she is, at times. Not right now. She’s just… empty. She’s sitting on one of the few benches that Storybrooke’s cemetery possesses, opposite Robin’s grave. Robin, who had nobly and selflessly sacrificed himself and his very soul for her. 

She hadn’t deserved it.

The rain that has started to fall ever since he died doesn’t seem to end, but it has settled into a soft drizzle, still enough to soak Regina’s hair and coat, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even feel the cold that’s crept into her bones since her sister obliterated the crap out of Hades. 

“I’m sorry.”

Regina can’t suppress a scoff. Her shoulders start to tense, a dull aching pain emerging between her shoulder blades, just below the base of her neck. 

“If I hadn’t dragged you all down to the underworld, none of this would’ve happened.” The self-loathing drips from Emma’s words, steady as the drops of rain that drips from her hair to her face, down to her cheeks. “If I’d just accepted that he was gone, you’d still have him.”

Emma turns, facing half away from Regina watching the gravestone next to Robin. It’s almost poetic. Both their loved ones buried next to each other. “I keep wanting to help you achieve your happy ending, but it seems that all I do is ruin it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Her voice hardly sounds like her own, as if she’s not used to hearing it anymore. And maybe that’s true, because she’s avoided people these past two weeks. She knows everyone’s filled with good intentions, but she just wanted to be alone. Henry worries, Regina knows. He’s even asked her to see Dr. Hopper, but she’s simply not ready. She doesn’t want to talk about her shortcomings and grief. She wants to… she doesn’t know what she wants. Regina sighs. “It’s mine.”

From her peripheral view, she notices how Emma turns in surprise. “How-”

“I’m the Evil Queen, Emma,” Regina says exasperated. “Villains don’t deserve a happy ending.”

There’s a small pause. “Well, not to play ‘my loss is tougher than yours,’ but as a hero, I didn’t do much better,” Emma murmurs then, waving at Hook’s grave.

Regina winces. “I’m sorry.”

Emma ignores the apology. “And you haven’t been her in a long time.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She sighs. Maybe Emma won’t understand, but the least she can do after everything they’ve been through - Emma saving her from the Darkness, Camelot, the Underworld - is try to explain. And well, it gives her something to do besides staring at a headstone. “Sometimes, no, most of the time, it’s like I am two different people and one of us is ruining all the chances of redemption, no matter how hard I try. All my thoughts are intoxicated by her.” Emma’s eyes grow wide and Regina wonders if this is when Emma turns away from her, repulsed. “It’s so, so easy to give in to evil.”

“Is it still?” Emma asks, her brow furrowing. “After everything-”

“Every day,” Regina interrupts. “Because it’s easier. Less hurtful.”

“I’d say that it would be more hurtful.”

Regina smiles, but there’s no joy in it. “You’d say that, but you’re a hero. The Savior. You’re supposed to do good - it comes naturally to you. I’m trying to be good while I’m intrinsically not and it always comes back to bite me.” She gestures vaguely at the grave.

“This is my destiny. I am what I am. I did what I did.” She turns her face away from Emma. “It doesn’t matter how many good deeds I do or how often I assist the Hero’s party to vanquish the next Big Bad, it can never make up for all the horrors I’ve done. If I’d have gone to Robin the moment Tink had pointed him out to me,” she bitterly adds, “Maybe I would’ve stood a chance then. But no. I was young and scared and I had vengeance in my heart, and perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference.” The self-deprecation is thick. “I’ve done terrible, unspeakable things. And that will always hang over me.” She smiles, but there’s no joy behind it. “There’s no redemption for me. Only suffering. And that’s all well-deserved. The only thing I can do is to hold on and fight it, because if I ever give in, I’ll lose more than I already have. Henry. You.”

Emma is quiet, and Regina wonders if she overshared. If Emma will ever understand. “I see,” Emma says then, and Regina blinks, because it’s nothing like she’d imagined Emma to say. She had expected her to turn away, maybe, disgusted with the darkness still so much present next to her. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

The acknowledgment is another surprise, and to her horror, Regina feels her throat close up and her nose starts to itch. She had followed Emma to the Underworld because she’s her best friend and because Emma had saved Regina from even more darkness by becoming the Dark One, herself. Regina knows that if she hadn’t, the Evil Queen would’ve been out in full and unstoppable. A shiver runs over her back. Even by being the Dark One for such a short period of time, Emma will never understand true darkness. Not the way Regina does. 

“But I’m not giving up on your happiness. And neither should you.”

Regina huffs, then her shoulders slump as she stares at the gravestone of her dead soulmate. “Sometimes, I wish that there was a way to purge myself of my evil counterpart. Maybe then, if I was free of her, I’d have a fighting chance at a little bit of happiness.”

There’s a touch on her shoulder. Regina turns her head, and sees a hand offered to her. She looks up to meet a shadowed gaze. “Let’s take a walk,” Emma says then, and maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way that Emma doesn’t respond to the confession, but Regina sighs and takes the offered hand without hesitation. Emma’s hands are surprisingly warm and a shiver runs over Regina’s spine. She hadn’t realized she was cold to the bone, but now that she does, goosebumps erupt over her body. With her free hand she wipes the raindrops off her face, and she feels the icy touch of her own fingers and shivers again. At least the rain has stopped. About time, too, even though it perfectly reflected her feelings of the past days. 

Emma starts walking and pulls Regina along, not letting go. What’s more, she folds her hand over her arm and tugs her closer. Her coat is as wet as Regina’s, but she can swear she feels some warmth coming from the blonde and she relishes it. 

“I hope you don’t.”

Blinking confused, Regina looks up. “What?”

“I hope you don’t purge part of yourself if you ever have the chance.” Emma doesn’t look at her, but stares ahead, her brow furrowed. “What if there’s another way?”

“Another way of what? Getting rid of the darkness inside me?”

Emma’s lips twitch. “No. How about you forgive yourself?”

The idea is so absurd, so foreign that Regina snorts. “You want me to forgive her?”

“No,” Emma smiles, briefly turning her head to meet her gaze and repeats her previous words. “I want you to forgive yourself.” The look on Regina’s face must have been alarming because she quickly adds, “Hear me out?” 

Regina nods, because that’s the least thing she can do, and Emma smiles faintly. “Sometimes, I think you’re so hell-bent on believing that you’re unlikable, undeserving, still being evil that you’re working very hard to make it true.”

Regina’s head snaps up in outrage, but before she can interfere, Emma continues. “You’re a full-package deal, Regina. And really, you’ve come so far already, even though it might not feel the same on the inside. But your inner battle - even though it maybe feels like it’s two different people, you’re still just one. It’s just easier to personify the part of yourself that you don’t like, distance yourself from it, but from what I’ve learned being the Dark One is that it makes it so much harder. And, additionally, at some point, you have to forgive yourself.”

“You only scratched the surface of darkness,” Regina immediately counters, her face pulling into a scowl as she outright ignores the first part of Emma’s monologue.

“I know,” Emma acknowledges. “I wasn’t talking about the darkness, per se. Not directly. It’s actually you who showed me that.”

“Me?”

“You forced me to look inward, remember? You wanted me to confess what held me back to give up the darkness.” 

Guilt washes over Regina as she remembers the moment at the well. “I was wrong to do that.”

“Maybe. But it was… enlightening. And it helped me make sense of a couple of things.” Now, Emma does tilt her head, and the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “For that, I guess, I do need to thank you. Because, maybe not right away because I’m a stubborn idiot at times, but definitely after, I figured stuff out, and I started to forgive the little, weak, abused foster girl for not being able to stand up to her bullies and abusive foster parents. And I could let go of the internal pressure to live a life that wasn’t entirely mine because others wanted it for me.” She sighs, and shakes her head. “Even if it meant I had to go to hell and back for it.”

It’s easier to talk about Emma than about herself. “What do you mean by that? Living a life that wasn’t yours?” she asks. There it is again, the sad smile. Why is that? And if Regina’s not mistaken, the guilt she feels inside is mirrored on Emma’s face.

“I’m… not ready to share everything yet,” she says, carefully picking her words, “but what I can say is that Hook… He was someone I settled for. Because in a fairytale town with fairytale parents, surely the daughter of the two leading characters needed a true love of her own?” She wrinkles her nose as if she’s disgusted with herself. “I wanted him to be it. Wanted to make my parents proud. But down there, I realized he never was. Maybe I knew before but I was too caught up with being left alone, too scared to let my parents down, and so I forced myself to be content with a fairytale of lies.” She smiles meekly, and in combination with her rain-soaked hair, her expression nearly breaks Regina’s heart. “I only figured that out when I was in the Underworld. I dragged you all down there for nothing.” The self-loathing is back in Emma’s voice now, as well.

“I thought you had forgiven yourself,” Regina can’t help but say, and Emma’s mouth twitches.

“Yeah, well. It’s a work in progress.”

She stops walking, and when Regina looks up, she realizes they are behind her vault, next to a tree with overhanging branches, as if it wants to embrace the two people seeking shelter under it. “Sit.”

It’s not a request and though there are a million questions Regina wants to ask, she doesn’t, and complies with Emma’s request. The dirt floor is wet and Regina’s clothes are ruined anyway, but for some reason, she doesn’t want this moment with Emma to end. Emma smiles at her. “Now, lie down.”

“What?”

“Lie down.”

“Miss Swan-”

“Back to that again, huh?” Emma shakes her head. “Don’t fight me, Regina. Please.”

“There’s mud everywhere. My clothes-” 

“-Can be drycleaned or washed. I’ll do it for you if you like.”

Regina stands frozen to the spot, unwilling to comply. Emma sighs. “Regina, not everyone’s out to get you, and you don’t have to do everything alone. There are people in this town who genuinely want to help you.” A short pause follows. “Let me help you.” 

She knows where this is going and part of her resists, but this is Emma asking. So she deliberates for a few seconds but then, begrudgingly, she relents, and slowly lowers her body to the rain-soaked combination of grass and mud. “I’ll need a long, hot bath after.”

“I’ll help you prepare it.” There’s amusement in Emma’s voice and something tugs on Regina’s lips. “Close your eyes.”

Why the hell not. Regina sighs deeply and lets her eyes flutter close. Then, Emma takes her hand, spreads her fingers, and leads Regina’s palm gently to the thinned patches of grass underneath the tree. Her breath catches her throat upon the first caress. “Just feel,” Emma murmurs. Regina feels ridiculous, embarrassed. Her eyes snap open and her fingers tense, balling into a fist. 

“Emma-”

“Indulge me.” The serious green gaze isn’t mocking at all. It’s… gentle, even. “I promise, nobody’s here but me and you. Just… surrender. And feel.” She smiles, then lies down next to Regina, and takes her hand, caressing the back of Regina’s fist with her thumb. The raging battle inside Regina continues because she doesn’t want to surrender - relenting control is weakness , and she’s not going to… until the struggle inside… stops. At least a little, as if it’s fading into the background, slowly but steadily, and she’s able to relax her fingers, one by one. Emma nods in encouragement, doesn’t stop the caress of her hand, and under her watchful eye, Regina swallows, and hovers her hand over the green blades. The leaves tickle her fingers, caress her palm, leave wet streaks on her hands where they touch her cold skin. She exhales, stares up at the sky, and to her surprise, she sees a small, blue patch between the grey clouds. Hope.

And then, she doesn’t know why - maybe it’s the intimate setting, the absurd thought springing into her thoughts, maybe it’s because she’s here with Emma, who understands her, the one person she trust the most next to Henry - even more than she ever trusted Robin, she realizes, and maybe that’s the trigger - there’s a sob escaping her throat. And, to her horror, another one. She swallows the third one away but it makes a hiccupy sound echo over the empty, wet field. She squeezes her eyes shut, as the emptiness inside is instantly replaced by a flood of repressed emotions all washing up on the surface at the same time. Her fingers curl once more, into the dirt between the grass, and she weeps. Her body curls up in itself, automatically turns towards Emma, and Emma catches her - of course, she does.

Emma pulls her close, whispers, “it’s okay. It’s okay,” over and over again, and holds her, strokes her hair, while Regina weeps and weeps until there’s nothing more to give.

She had expected to be embarrassed after an episode like this, but instead she feels strangely calm and empty. Her agony has faded away, at least for the moment. Emma is quiet, doesn’t move, as if she doesn’t want to disturb Regina, and Regina, finding herself with her head resting on Emma’s shoulder, breathes shallowly, so as to not break the silence. Emma’s arms are wrapped around her shoulder and waist, and her own arm is firmly tucked around Emma’s ribcage. “I’m sorry,” she says after a few minutes when she thinks her voice is trustworthy again, but the hoarse rasp makes her wince.

“I’m not,” Emma says as Regina untangles herself and gets up. “I guess you needed that. And I was happy that I could be here for you.” She doesn’t make a stupid joke about Regina’s first grass-touching experience, and Regina’s grateful for it. 

True to her word, Emma guides her home, runs her bath, and after some time, Regina, now warm and rosy, reappears in her living room where Emma has waited for her. She spots the empty coffee mug next to Emma, but opts to go to her liquor cabinet herself. “Cider?” she offers, but Emma shakes her head. Regina shrugs, pours a glass, and downs it.

“How are you feeling?” Emma asks carefully, as Regina sits down next to her with the second glass, nearly filled to the rim. It’s probably the exhaustion and, who knows, maybe a bit of the full glass she just gulped in and she hasn’t eaten anything yet, because she could’ve sworn she’d sat down a little further away, but their thighs touch and well, Regina defiantly thinks, she kind of likes the feeling. 

“Better,” she admits a little begrudgingly. She’s not without guilt. She does feel better, after… well, this afternoon, and after the bath, but it’s like she’s betraying Robin by doing so. She’s mulled over Emma’s words during her bath, coming to the awful conclusion that maybe, Robin was someone Regina had settled for, as well. She loved him, at least she thought she did - or maybe the way she felt was the most she could after everything, after her whole life. And maybe she shouldn’t complain because at least she got some happiness out of it, after everything she’d done. But, Regina thought as she submerged and listened to the silence underwater, it might have also been just the idea of finding your soulmate and wanting it so hard that she fought to make it work. She remembers the conversation between Emma and Henry in the garden. It’s a long time ago, but it’s etched in her brain. When Robin came back from New York, she didn’t want to be alone anymore so she welcomed him back. When she nearly lost him in Camelot, she begged Emma to heal him, because she believed she could be content with him, and without him, she would be alone. But love? She loves Henry, but that’s about it. Which ultimately, makes her even more unworthy of his sacrifice. “A little,” she murmurs as the guilt comes back in full force. She takes another hefty swig of her cider.

“Hey,” Emma says, gently taking the glass from Regina’s fingers. “Babysteps, okay?” As the glass is put away, she takes Regina’s hand in her own. 

The touch tingles, and it must be the warmth from the bath and the cider colliding because Emma’s fingers are cold-ish, and she automatically folds her hands around Emma’s without giving it a second thought. It feels… natural, somehow. There’s a hitch of surprise in Emma’s breathing, one that makes Regina look up. And when she does, she can’t turn her gaze away.

Emma’s green eyes shimmer as Regina slowly nods - her face is much closer than she thought. “Babysteps,” she murmurs. Her eyes dart from those enigmatic eyes to her mouth and back, and she blinks. She tastes the cider when she involuntary wets her own lips and she’s not sure why or how - maybe it’s everything of the past few weeks culminating in this very moment, but suddenly she finds herself leaning in and capturing those soft, pink lips with her own. 

There’s a soft, surprised gasp, and Regina takes it as an encouragement to softly kiss her. A warmth fills her, spreads to all the corners of her body and it feels so good, so natural, and she is absolutely sure that this is something she doesn’t want to give up any time soon. Her tormented thoughts melt away in the warmth of Emma, tensed muscles relax as Emma exhales and doesn’t pull away. Regina’s senses come alive; she feels everything more intensely than she has in a long, long while. She smells the faint scent of vanilla of Emma’s shampoo, tastes the coffee on Emma’s lips, and feels the velvety softness of her lips. The sensations send shivers up and down her spine, and all she can think is, more. As if they have a mind of their own, her hands travel up Emma’s arms, cupping her cheeks, while her fingers marvel at the touch of her still moist, golden hair. Her breath stutters as the pads of her fingers touch the soft skin on Emma’s neck and she intensifies the kiss, runs the tip of her tongue over Emma’s mouth, daring her to open her mouth, as her breath hitches in anticipation again. 

She feels Emma’s hands on her shoulders, her curling fingers digging into her skin, and for one glorious second, as the arousal spreads through her body like wildfire, she sees an image of herself, pushed back on the couch, lying on her back, Emma straddling her - 

And then, Emma gently breaks the kiss and withdraws slowly.

Regina’s eyes snap open at the loss of contact, her breath uneven, eyes in and out of focus as she confusedly tries to read Emma’s darkened, shimmering green gaze. Drinking in Emma’s appearance, she tries to regulate her breathing. Emma looks so, so beautiful with her cheeks flushed and a dazed expression. It only lasts a few seconds, when Emma’s signature frown mars her forehead and her expression closes, and it feels like something’s forcefully being ripped from Regina’s chest. “Regina,” she sighs, and there’s a tiny lopsided smile of something akin to regret on her face. “I cannot be your rebound.”

Cold zips through her body as the warmth did moments before, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I didn’t-”

“Robin died not two weeks ago.” Emma swallows, stands up to make the distance bigger between them. “I know you’re hurting, you’re in pain, but I… I can’t be the one to make you forget… not like this. Not this way. I just… I can’t.”

Regina’s mind is unfocused - damn that cider - and she’s searching for words but while she does, the anger that she’s so familiar with, which is so easy to fall back on whenever she’s hurting, because it’s so easy to mask her feelings with it, surges up inside her belly. And she stands up, straightens her clothes, and tries to round up her most regal composure.

“You should leave.” Her voice is clipped and remarkably calm. Rejection burns inside, roils inside her stomach, pounds in her head. 

“I should, but… I want to know you’re okay.” Emma takes a tentative step towards her, but Regina steps back and scoffs, her defense mechanism back up and running on full speed.

“I haven’t been okay since you came to town,” she lashes out, and horrified by her own words and first the astonishment, then the crestfallen look on Emma’s face, she snaps her jaws shut, turns and flees the living room, marches up the stairs, towards her bedroom, which she locks firmly behind her. She falls against it, leaning her heated forehead against the cool wood as she tries to get her raging emotions under control. Coward.

When after a few minutes, she hears the front door open and close softly, she exhales with a shuddering breath, allowing one tear to run over her cheek. The rest, she forces back. 

She winces at the memory of what she hurled at Emma. It’s not true. No matter how Emma believes that she’s the cause of Regina’s unhappiness, which is untrue, she’s also the cause of the best moments she’s had in years. But it’s too late to set things right, to apologize, and it’s one more example of her being two people. 

Evil never sleeps.

It just lurks.

A dry sob of sorrow and bitter anger combined leaves her. Emma’s right. She deserves better than to be a consolation prize. Right now, Regina doesn’t know how Emma can be anything else. If she can ever be something else. Defeated by her own anger, she finds her way to the bed and falls on top of the covers.

What if there’s another way? Emma’s voice echoes in her mind and she firmly wraps her arms around herself. There is none.

How about you forgive yourself?

She scoffs, and buries her face in her pillow. Emma makes it look so easy, but she doesn’t know most of what Regina’s done. She doesn’t deserve friends. Love. Happiness. There is no forgiveness. And yet…

And yet.

With a sigh into her pillow that warms her face, she knows that she hadn’t wanted to lash out. Curling up inside herself, she feels a tear escaping, leaving a wet stain.. It’s easier when people are angry with her, scared of her, because she’s not worthy of anything else. 

Sometimes, I think you’re so hell-bent on believing that you’re unlikable, undeserving, still being evil that you’re working very hard to make it true.

Another shaky exhale, and she reaches for her phone. Scrolling through her contacts, the letters don’t make any sense, until she stops at the one name that suddenly does.

Not everyone’s out to get you, and you don’t have to do everything alone. There are people who genuinely want to help you. A lump in her throat makes it hard to breathe, and panic flutters in her chest as her thumb hovers over the contact for a few agonizing seconds. Desperately trying to swallow her feelings away, she lowers her finger and chooses the number of the only therapist in town.

~*~

“Why are you here?” 

“Touching grass.” The answer is plain and simple, Emma’s tone a little clipped. Regina has just exited her vault where she’s spent time doing some inventory and, when spotting a familiar pair of boots a little further away, she changed course and sought her out. Emma’s eyelids are closed, and her hands are loosely resting next to her body, the only movement her fingers caressing the blades, playing gently. Regina can’t extract her gaze from them.

“Yes, I see that,” Regina replies. “But why here?”

There’s no answer, and after what feels like ten minutes, Regina sighs, readying herself to move on. Things have been awkward between them. It’s been a while since they’ve talked - really talked. It’s like… they have forgotten how to, since the incident. Since the kiss, Regina corrects herself, because she’s had three months of therapy that have taught her to be honest with herself. Of course, they have seen each other, because of Henry, and because of town’s business, but they haven’t really been alone. They both made sure of that, tip-toeing around each other, treading carefully. But then, Emma starts talking.

“The cemetery’s peaceful. Nobody’s here to disturb me.” One eye squints open. “Except you.”

“I see,” Regina answers, not sure what she needs to think of it. Emma’s voice is neutral, and Regina can’t read anything into it. “Were you waiting for me?” Something akin to hope settles in her stomach and she single-handedly crushes it the moment she recognizes it. And it’s a good thing, because Emma’s answer is swift and dismissive.

“No. I’ve been here several times. You just… haven’t been around here in a while, I guess.” It’s true. Regina doesn’t really have the need to go to her vault regularly these days. This was just a coincidence, then. It’s almost disappointing.

“Oh.” The conversation is over, and Regina feels the uneasiness crawl under her skin before it pulls together in her belly. She presses a hand to her stomach to suppress the feeling and steps away. “Well, I’ll leave you to-”

“My birthday is tomorrow.”

Regina freezes, wondering why Emma is telling her. And it’s absurd how the light feeling settles in her chest at the sudden opening to a conversation, even if it’s about something mundane as an upcoming birthday. The feeling is relief, she realizes, mixed with something else she cannot fully grasp. “Yes,” she answers, “I am aware.” Henry speaks of nothing else. 

“I came here almost five years ago,” the blonde continues, both eyes firmly shut again. Just her hands, weaving through the blades, playing with them, swiftly tapping as the grass seems to jump away from her jittery hands.

“Yes.” Regina folds her hands together. She doesn’t know why Emma is telling her, and Emma isn’t opening her eyes, so Regina takes the liberty to study her. Emma’s face is tensed, just a little, a frown just appearing on her forehead. Her mouth is a little tight, downturned in her signature frown but it’s as if the lines around it have deepened these past three months. Something’s troubling her. There was a time during which Regina would have asked what’s the matter, but after three months of awkward avoidance and limited conversation after Regina kissed her, she feels like she has lost that privilege. So she just waits.

Regina’s missed her. Terribly, she reluctantly admits. After how they left it after the kiss, after her outburst, she’s missed the camaraderie, the friendship, the togetherness of the two of them. The understanding of each other. The warmth. The ever-present tension between them that seems to connect them in so many ways - or that did, for so long. Everything has changed and she hates herself for it, but there’s nothing she can change about the past. These three months have been empty - as if there’s a hole in her chest that nothing, not even Henry, can fill. The simple notion of the two of them at the cemetery, just the two of them, makes something settle in her stomach, and she folds her hands over it protectively.

“Did you mean it?” Emma suddenly asks, and Regina tilts her head.

“Mean what?” 

“That you haven’t been fine since I arrived.” The words are spoken matter-of-factly, but there’s an undertone that rips through Regina’s chest and bruises her heart.

Her breath catches in her throat as a wave of guilt and embarrassment surges up from her lower belly, spreading throughout her body until it thunders in her head and chest. The idea that Emma has carried those vile words inside her for so long makes her feel physically ill. “Oh, Emma, no. That was… I was emotional, hurt, I lashed out… I shouldn’t have said that.” She sighs, and presses her hands hard against her stomach to suppress the nausea. “I’m so sorry.”

The corner of Emma’s lips twitch in acknowledgment, but she doesn’t respond otherwise. 

“It wasn’t fair,” Regina continues and all she wants is to make it up to Emma. She just doesn’t know how, and a familiar feeling of self-loathing surfaces. Three months of therapy and one simple question can send it all down the drain. She swallows, and without invitation, she sits down close to Emma, in the grass. Instinct wants her to grab her hands, but when she looks down, she sees how Emma’s fingers have dug into the soil. Remembering the first time she saw Emma do it, she instantly feels helpless and a lump gets stuck in her throat. 

She doesn’t want Emma, who’s done so much for her, who’s always stood by her side, to think that Regina really meant the words she hurled at Emma. “Please, I… No. It was…” She doesn’t know what it was. Evil . She wants to say something, to make it right, but it’s been three months. Three months is a long time to mull things over and have words burn into your soul.

Regina knows how words can fester. She closes her eyes. Her anxious heart thumps quickly and she breathes carefully, the way Dr. Hopper has learned her whenever things get too intense. Emma Swan makes her feel intensely, she realizes. Then again, Emma has always been a weakness of hers.

Maybe not a weakness but a strength, something whispers inside her, remarkably close to Dr. Hopper’s voice. She suppresses a scoff, but they keep echoing in her head, including the conversation surrounding it. 

The sessions with him have been laborious, and Regina has walked out more than once when things got too intense. She’s insulted him, asked if he’d go running to Emma once more when she felt threatened by his questions - when she felt unsettled and wanted him to quit on her because that would be what she deserved - but he has surprised her by keeping his cool and sticking around. Even his dog has taken a liking to her. 

Three months of talking and working through her youth and present life. Emma has been a constant in their conversations about the present - how can she not, being her son’s other mother and someone who’s saved Regina from herself more than once? Regina owes her a lot, and she will admit to it freely. There’s just one question that she has never answered.

Do you love her? 

Love is weakness , echoes her own answer in her head. Pounds in her head. 

“Okay.” The thundering echoes in her head make her nearly miss Emma’s reply. When Regina looks at her face, she sees that the blonde has opened her eyes. Emma studies her. A shadow crosses her face and Regina knows she’s the cause, and wants to make it better. She holds her gaze, and Regina can’t look away, mesmerized by the lights reflecting in Emma’s green eyes. She sees Emma’s lips move, realizing she’s said something.

“What?”

Emma smiles without restraint now, and Regina is overcome by a feeling of warmth - this, this is what she’s missed. She feels the vibration, light as a butterfly wing, but it is there. This connection between them has been gone for so long and having it back, even if it’s just for this moment, even if it’s so faint, it means… a lot. “I said,” Emma repeats, “join me.”

Regina’s momentarily puzzled before she realizes what Emma means. Touching the damn grass. The moment the realization dawns on Regina’s face, Emma chuckles. “Suit yourself,” Emma hums, and it’s purely the fact that Regina wants to prove Emma wrong that she carefully leans back and gingerly lays her body down in the grass, next to Emma, but at a distance that is… safe.

Automatically, Regina’s palms open to feel the undergrowth and she scowls. Emma chuckles, the sound warming Regina from the inside out, before the frown returns. “What?” Regina wants to know, and Emma stares back. 

“I have kept something from you and it feels… like you need to know,” Emma murmurs then, but they’re close enough for Regina to hear it clearly. The tone is so serious that Regina’s heart sinks. “Maybe… maybe it’s not fair to burden you with it after all this time,” Emma then swiftly continues and for a few seconds, she closes her eyes, breaking the gaze. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“Emma.” The green eyes flutter open again. Regina smiles, and she hopes it comes across as an encouragement. “Will it make me angry?” she says lightly, meant as a joke, but Emma hesitates.

“It might.”

Now it’s Regina’s turn to frown. “Seriously?” She feels how her own fingers press into the soil as anxiety settles in her stomach - whatever can Emma reveal that makes her angry? Emma shrugs.

“I trust you,” Regina then says simply, because it’s the truth, and as a response, Emma exhales a shuddering breath. That’s… unexpected. Regina narrows her gaze. “Is it that bad?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Regina blinks and she wonders if she’s heard wrong. She presses herself up until her arms are straight and support the weight of her upper body, as she glances down on Emma. “What?”

“I’ve known since Camelot.” Emma swallows visibly. “I know it sounds insane, but at the well, you know, when you asked - I was forced to acknowledge things and I fought against it and-”

“Since Camelot?” Regina interrupts, Emma’s words finally filtering through. 

“Yeah.” Insecurity fills Emma’s eyes. 

“Camelot,” Regina repeats. “Before the Underworld. Before you wanted to get Hook and realized-” She’s trying to put the pieces together.

“I fought it. I tried to.” Something defensive slips into Emma’s tone. “I needed to. It was confusing, after the well, when I realized- I... I needed to appease myself, my parents, you had your happy ending and I wanted you to have it and -”

All sorts of thoughts tumble over each other at this revelation and she feels hot and cold and hot again and goosebumps spread over her body. She turns away from Emma to gather herself and her thoughts together. Emma has feelings for her, has had them since Camelot because Regina forced her to look inward, and still Emma went down to the Underworld to get Hook, resulting in Robin’s death - she shudders. No wonder she felt guilty. 

“Killian was the only one who wanted me, and I turned him into a Dark One to keep him. And even then, no matter the shitshow he caused, he didn’t let me sacrifice myself and I thought… he needs a second chance. He didn’t deserve to die in my place. And you were happy with Robin, and maybe I could take his place down there if nothing else worked, I was ready to-”

“You’re blabbering,” Regina snaps, horrified by her own emotions surfacing and attacking to protect herself, nausea playing up at Emma's willingness to sacrifice herself for Hook, of all people. Emma’s jaws audibly snap together. When Regina turns back to her, Emma’s narrowed her eyes. 

“I’m telling the truth,” she defiantly says. “I just wanted - you don’t have to do anything with it. I won’t pressure you into anything either. It’s my problem, not yours.”

Problem, problem, problem. The word pounds in her head because it might be, maybe, but before Regina can say anything, Emma’s gone, having teleported herself out. 

Regina exhales with a shudder.

Emma never teleports when she doesn’t need to. 

Apparently, it really is that bad.

~*~

“Why?”

It doesn’t take Regina long to find her. Her mind’s been racing ever since Emma left her. Some of the puzzle pieces have started to fall into the right place. Some things make sense now. Others… not so much. Emma’s at the beach, her bare toes digging into the sand. The wind is playing with her yellow hair and it hides her face from sight momentarily, so she can’t see the response to her snapped question.

“Why what?” She sees how Emma’s fingers tighten around the shoes she’s holding as she mirrors Regina’s tone. “Why did I tell you earlier? Why did I fall in love? Why -”

“Stop being so defensive,” Regina snaps, and Emma narrows her eyes, refusing to look at her. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained on the horizon. 

“Why did you leave? And why do you think it’s a problem?”

Emma scoffs. Her eyes twitch. “Because I thought… I caused Robin’s death. You must hate me.” The self-deprecation is strong in her voice. “And you might not want all of this emotional mess.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me to start forgiving myself? Maybe you should take a page out of your own book.” A short pause. “I have.”

This draws Emma’s attention away from the horizon. Regina rolls her eyes. “I haven’t gotten very far yet, but I’ve been seeing Dr. Hopper. It’s… a process.”

“I get that.” Emma’s eyes flicker nervously over Regina’s face. “I just thought…”

“Assumptions are a dangerous thing,” is everything Regina says. She hasn’t really thought this through. All she knows is that Emma makes her feel good, and that, when she looks at her, she wants her to be happy. Her stomach flutters nervously. “You didn’t cause Robin’s death. Hades did that.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have been down there-”

“By that reasoning, I could’ve prevented all of this from happening by not saving your mother from her runaway horse, decades ago,” Regina says irritably. It’s easier to reach for her annoyance than to talk about what it’s really about. She’s scared and it’s easier to revert to her old ways.

“Yeah well. Maybe.” Emma doesn’t sound convinced, her voice sullen and defeated, and she turns from Regina. Emma’s slipping away like sand running through her fingers and Regina feels powerless. She wants the connection between them back, wants Emma back. 

“Emma, wait.” The woman freezes, shoulders tensed, but doesn’t turn. 

“Love is weakness.” More tension builds in Emma’s frame, and Regina hastily continues. “That’s what Mother always said. There never was room for affection because it would mean a weak spot that could be utilized. And she was relentless in teaching me that lesson. She took Daniel's heart and crushed it.” 

Regina swallows. “I’ve used weaknesses relentlessly. But when I got here, and when I became a parent… Henry became my weakness. I knew that but I felt safe until you came to town. That’s when I realized that you were dangerous.” Emma stands still like a statue, only her hair is moving as the wind plays with it. “I thought first because you were going to utilize my weakness, but it was something else.” She steps forward, toward Emma’s back, momentarily distracted by her shoes sinking away in the sand. “And I think I first started to realize it when Pan’s curse hit. And after, when you returned from New York, you believed me about not having cast the new curse.” 

Another step forward. “I responded so fiercely to you because I protected myself. Because you… in many ways, you’ve always been my weakness.” The tension radiates off Emma as Regina touches her shoulders, and Emma’s breath hitches. “I’ve thought about what you told me, you know, about settling. In a way, I settled for Robin,” Regina continues. “I gave him a chance because I remembered the lion tattoo and Tink’s story about soulmates and I wanted it to be my story. I never thought I would find love or something that looked like it because I didn’t feel I had any right to it after everything that I’d done, and if at the least I could have this… ” She sighs and shakes her head. “And then he died, and it strengthened my belief that I didn't deserve any resemblance to happiness.“ 

Her hands travel down over Emma’s back and, after some initial hesitation, Regina slides them around Emma’s waist. Emma exhales with a shudder as some of the tension leaves her shoulders, but she is shaking. Regina presses her cheek against Emma’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “And then I felt so, so guilty, because he deserved better. It was my fault that he was dead. But it wasn’t. And it took you and Dr. Hopper to at least… start to give me that insight and maybe, someday, I’ll believe it.” 

Emma’s head tilts slightly, brushing the top of Regina’s head with her cheek, and her hands search for Regina’s.

“You’re trembling,” Regina murmurs against Emma’s shoulder. Emma doesn’t say anything and Regina relishes Emma’s warmth, and holds her while Emma continues to shake. “Can I take you somewhere?”

Emma opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Five seconds tick away and it feels like eternity before she finally nods. Immediately, purple smoke envelops them, takes them to the only place Regina can think of. And when they materialize, they’re in the shadow of a large, overhanging tree. Emma blinks rapidly, taking in the surroundings and recognizing it immediately, as Regina sinks through her knees, taking Emma with her. “This is your thing,” Regina murmurs. “Maybe you should take the lead.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes Emma, and when she turns her eyes are red-rimmed, as if she’s been suppressing tears. “Only if you join me,” she whispers, her voice rough from emotions.

Regina smiles, then nods, and with a sigh, Emma lies down on her back. Her hands open, touch the blades, until she finds Regina’s hand with which she intertwines her fingers. Regina breathes out, and with it, a tension she didn’t know she was holding gives way. Emma turns her head and holds her gaze.  “I shouldn’t have kissed you then,” Regina murmurs, and Emma’s gaze hardens instantly at the memory of the one kiss they had shared. “It wasn’t fair to the both of us. It wasn’t fair to Robin. But now… I would really like to do it again.”

“Okay,” Emma whispers, the guarded look changing into something hopeful.  And Regina doesn’t need more incentive, leans in, and caresses Emma’s mouth with her lips. Emma sighs, a soft sound escaping her throat. It is soft and gentle and a promise, to them, to the future, and to fate. 

“Fuck fate,” Regina murmurs against Emma’s lips, and it makes Emma giggle unexpectedly, a sound that Regina hasn’t heard before but she instantly likes, and she promises herself that she’ll hear it more often.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ before.”

“I learn from the best,” Regina says, gently tucking a golden strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. 

“So, I’m your weakness, huh?” Emma says, and her eyes are sparkling like emeralds and it’s mesmerizing. 

“Yes, Emma, you are,” she sighs, a little exasperated as she rolls her eyes, “And you’re the only one I’ll ever admit it to and I’ll deny it to everyone else.” She nips Emma’s lower lip and breath catches in Emma’s throat. Regina hums in contentment. “I don’t know how to love very well,” she then admits. “I’ve never really learned. But I want to try. I want to be worthy of your-”

“Shut up, Regina,” Emma murmurs, her arms sliding around Regina’s neck and pressing her closer. “Kiss me.” There is much to talk about, and there is a long way to go, but right now, this, the two of them in the grass is all that’s important and Regina relaxes into the embrace. And as the blades tickle their bare arms, the fleeting thought that she doesn’t deserve this evaporates, slowly but steadily, until there’s nothing more than simply Emma and Regina, in a field of soft, green grass.