My first ever fic, and all credit goes to SQPrompt on Twitter – thank you for planting this idea and helping me bring it to life.

"I can't sleep," the silky, impatient tone of Regina Mills breaks the silence, rousing Emma from her own peaceful slumber. Rolling onto her stomach with both eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the dim, yellowish glow from her girlfriend's bedside lamp, one hand blindly searches for the brunette. Upon finding nothing, and hearing an amused snort, she finally cracks open one eye to track Regina with a muffled 'where—?'

It's not until Emma manages to lazily prop herself up against the headboard, that she finds the other woman perched at the very edge of the bed with one hand irritably combing through a disheveled head of dark hair. "I can't take much more of this. I've barely been able to keep my eyes open all day, and now that I actually have the luxury to close them…this happens?!" "

"Regina," Emma murmurs, her own voice unusually thick as she scoots closer to join the brunette. "Is there anything I can do?"

This has been an ongoing occurrence for months, now. Despite her evident exhaustion, Regina can't seem to sleep for much longer than an hour or so at a time, and it's starting to show. Not only is she more cranky and short-tempered than usual, but dark circles now shadow equally dark eyes, and her features appear uncharacteristically sunken and pale. It truly is painful to witness, but Emma's come to realise that she's virtually helpless. They've tried everything; from chamomile tea (which Regina has decided she hates) to meditation (which Emma has decided she hates – the downward-facing dog is a bitch!), no natural remedy pulled from the internet has proven effective.

"No, there's nothing you can do," she replies, her sleep-deprived state forcing those words out far more harshly than intended. A frustrated sigh quickly follows, and Regina's hand joins the one currently resting her shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Emma, I shouldn't have woken you up. Go back to sleep."

She should have known that wouldn't work.

"How about a book—"

"I've tried, dear. I read all the time, you know that."

"Okay," Emma agrees, visions of her girlfriend curled up on the couch with a book in her hand immediately springing to mind. Resting her chin on Regina's shoulder, an arm encircles the woman's waist from behind as her free hand travels to the mayor's lap to intertwine their fingers. "What if I read to you? Less brain effort, right? You can close your eyes, relax, and listen to my dulcet tones as you drift off into a peaceful, Swan-filled slumber." The last part elicits a chuckle, which, in turn, brings a smile to Emma's face.

"That sounds equally as terrible as your suggestion to 'count Swans instead of sheep', Emma." The older woman points out, but she seems to actually consider the offer while leaning into the blonde's embrace. "What would you read to me?"

This could end terribly. Emma isn't much of a reader, and doesn't shy away from expressing her lack of interest in the novels Regina loses herself in almost every evening. What could the blonde possibly read to her girlfriend without dozing off herself?

"It's a surprise," she announces, pecking the other woman's cheek before untangling their limbs to clumsily exit the bed. She's almost certain she hears a barely suppressed mewl of discontent once their bodies part, which only encourages her to speed up the process of finding a book, so she can quickly return to Regina. "Back in a sec!"

Barefoot, the blonde quietly pads across the hallway to Henry's room, stubbing her toe at least six times while muffling countless whimpers against her palm. Honestly, the lengths Emma Swan will go to for Regina Mills. Nudging her son's door open, her eyes are glued to his motionless silhouette as she crosses the room to approach the bookshelf in the far corner. He doesn't stir; not even when his mother's shin collides with the telescope stand by the window, eliciting a hiss and a string of curse words. Much like Emma, Henry could no doubt sleep through seven tornadoes and a tsunami. Unless, of course, you're waving ice cream under his nose – another quirk he acquired from Emma.

Squinting, the moonlight streaming through her son's window provides enough light to identify the book she's come for. Plucking it from the third shelf, she retraces her steps —purposefully avoiding the demonic telescope stand this time— to the hallway, quietly closing the door behind her before returning to the bedroom. By the time she arrives, Regina is already tucked under the covers, head slightly elevated by an extra pillow stolen from Emma's side of the bed.

She knows fine well Swan won't have the heart (or guts) to even challenge her.

"What's that?"

Emma chooses not to answer, the book hidden from view as she climbs into bed beside her girlfriend. Regina's impatience is quickly winning over, since the silence is met with a huff as she shifts closer, seeking their natural position; tucked under the wing of Emma's arm, partially resting on her chest with the blonde's chin upon her head. Once comfortable, Regina finally catches a glimpse of the title, eyes narrowing before widening almost comically.

Three...two...one...

"You can't be serious, Emma. Harry Potter?! What am I, six?" Before she can pull away, the blonde's arm tightens around her frame. She can't hear Emma's laughter, but judging by her violently trembling shoulders, she's thoroughly entertained by Mills' reaction and incredibly pleased with herself. "You're ridiculous."

"Oh, come on! You'll love it, and if you don't? Well, you'll pass out from boredom. Either way, you'll fall asleep." It's spoken with confidence, followed by bold lips meeting her temple as nimble fingers flip through the pages before arriving at the first chapter. Regina is astounded, truly, but she's too physically and mentally exhausted to even argue. Instead, with a heavy eye roll, she curls an arm around the other woman's waist before dropping her head once again. The moment Emma opens her mouth, dark eyes close.

"Chapter one: The Boy Who Lived." There's a snort, followed by a muttered 'obviously'. "Regina, I won't read to you if you do this the whole way through."

Silence.

"Good girl," she smirks, soldiering on. "Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last—"

"Emma, are you adding your own narration, or is this how the entire book actually goes?" A snooty voice interrupts, earning the brunette (well, the top of her head) a glare. Swan doesn't respond, which elicits another huff from the woman in her arms before a tense, "...carry on."

And so, she does. "They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense."

Thankfully, Regina falls silent for ten minutes, torn between actually paying attention to what's being said, and simply listening to the blonde's steady heartbeat as her muscles relax for the first time in days. Her eyes alternate between opening and closing, catching Emma each time she turns the page, and attempting to follow along until they can no longer resist succumbing to blissful darkness once again. Strangely enough, she feels at ease; leg draped over Emma's thigh, a possessive arm around her lithe frame, as she falls into an 'I'm oh, so incredibly lucky' frame of mind. This beautiful woman has sacrificed her own sleep to help Regina, and will no doubt experience her own form of exhaustion come morning. She could have easily rolled the other way and ignored her, leaving the brunette to deal with her own problem — but she didn't, did she? No. Instead, she did the same thing she always does: explored yet another potential method to cure her girlfriend's insomnia.

Because that's what Emma Swan does, and Regina's come to realise her kindness isn't completely down to the so-called 'hero complex' she once believed it to be. It's because she's simply good, and Regina is completely and utterly besotted with the idea of someone loving her to that extent.

"— very wrong he was. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting off into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign..." Yawn. "...n-no sign..." Finally, Emma's grip on the book turns slack, head rolling until her cheek meets the top of the sleeping brunette's head. She, much like Mr. Dursley and Regina, is next to fall asleep, losing her place in the book in favour of curling an arm around her girlfriend.

"Emma. Emma, wake up. Emma. You're late." A hand on her shoulder disturbs her sleep for the second time, encouraging a soft groan as one arm covers her eyes to shield them from the bright room. Talk about déjà vu. "Emma, come on. Get up."

Finally, she manages to peel back the covers and straighten her posture, emerald eyes meeting brown. Oh, crap, Regina's already dressed?! "I'm up, m'up," she murmurs, taking a moment or two to shake off the cobwebs of sleep as the brunette drops a brief kiss onto her forehead. Even in her drowsy state, she can tell something's on Regina's mind. Before she can ask, the woman's off; slipping into her heels, running a hand through her hair, and exiting the room.

Again, she opens her mouth to call out 'goodbye', but her girlfriend's face soon reappears, and the words die on the tip of her tongue. Regina's features are pinched in deep thought, lips pursed before she curiously questions:

"Did Mr. Dursley ever find out why that cat was following him?"