the empire of dust
The sheets on her bed are stained.
Her pillows fall off to one side, some on are scattered across the floor and others mix in the direction of her head and feet. She lies flat on her back on the floor, her gaze turned upwards to the ceiling and staring at white paint. It looks more like grey, but she never paid any attention when she moved in. She sees the paint coming off at the edges on the top of the walls. Significance of the mundane is something that is only a child's luxury.
It's her day off and she was supposed to go out with Ruby or Mary Margaret. She doesn't remember.
Her thoughts are directed towards the week, the emotional rollercoaster that plagued everyone. It scares her that something came so close to unravel her past. Change is so evident now, that being confronted with it is becoming something that she's got to learn to grapple with. Particularly when she's with her.
Her distance from Regina is something born out of the simple need to protect herself from the ever-shifting mechanics of their relationship. She still isn't able to trust her and her mother thinks it's the best decision Emma had made so far. The level of understanding herself had evolved in the process.
Her mind is a mess. Things she had forgotten became things she remembered and this made her even more enigmatic.
The knock on the door takes her off guard.
She pushes away thoughts of her own happily ever after as she heads for the door and throws it open without bothering to check who the uninvited guest might be. Awkward silence issues from both sides of the door while she considers slamming the door into the other woman's face. In the end it is Regina's haunted expression that made the final decision for her, reminding Emma that she owned her this much.
Despite their sordid history as of late she realizes that the other had never been to her place before tonight.
"What can I do for you, Madame Mayor?"
In retrospect, it's about an answer that she has. That she knows she has. But she stands there, in front of her with her eyes dark and her lips pursed together. And it's here that she starts to wonder if she really knows what she's asking her.
Emma watches the dark woman with a mix of wariness because it's just about the only thing she can find herself seeking reassurance in. Change is good. Change is scary. Change is unpredictable. This mess gave her back her son but she's still not quite sure if this is where the story is going to end.
"Time with my son."
Emma wants to argue that Henry's not hers anymore. The boy doesn't even remember her in the first place. But she's hardly the one to make this decision when Regina's sacrifice directed her happy ending. Yet, a dark shadow crosses over her face, defiant and angry, with perhaps a small undercurrent of jealousy intermingled. It blows over just as quickly, like a false winter storm, leaving behind only the emptiness she had come to expect.
"I can't make him remember you."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Please, have a seat…", the blonde says, making room for the older one to step over her threshold.
Eyes, the color of a dark starry night, remain glassy and unfocused, and she takes a minute before she complies. Emma's shoulders drop noticeably, as she reluctantly clears her throat.
They sit in the kitchen and Emma can't help but watch the former Evil Queen. If truth be told, watching her had become her new pastime. And she couldn't help but wonder which realm was worse – the demons she battled in slumber, or the ones she had met face to face.
She hands her a glass of red wine and tries to shake of the thoughts of her grandfather forcing himself on a much younger version of the other woman.
One time she found her asleep in the office. She had just stepped up to reassure herself that she was safely asleep. It was addicting, this obsession, and it demanded an addict's price from her soul. The way Reginas eyes moved restlessly underneath the lids or the tortured expression on her face. Without fail she tried to interpret everything she saw. In the end they were all haunted by the past.
"How about we…"
There was no itinerary, no specific agenda, not when you're only make-believing that you have a real destination in mind. They had to make it convincing for Henry. She wants to make her son to know his other mother again. To fall in love with her the same… well let's not talk about that one…
Regina empties the glass without thinking and almost grabs the bottle to drown her sorrow in the pleasant warmth of alcohol.
"We could go out…"
Emma doesn't know what she's talking about. Maybe she had too much wine, maybe not enough, maybe she can't make up her freaking mind.
"Miss Swan, I think that's highly inappro…"
The light flickers when Henry opens the front door with a greasy bag from Granny's in his left hand. His smile genuine, young, perfect. Regina's heart stutters a beat as she turns and leans into Emma, breathing deeply, like she memorizes her scent, and somehow associates it with being safe. Slim arms reach up, almost tentatively, and encircle her neck. Her touch is feather-light, like the wispy stir of butterfly wings.
"Okay…"
The acceptance in Regina's voice breaks her heart. Again, she's giving herself away to get a glimpse of somebody else's happy ending.
Fin.