Timeline: follows along the events of season 5a. SwanQueen and extremely AU
Character(s): Emma Swan, Regina Mills
Fandom(s): Once upon a Time
Words: 1,933
Warning(s): angst & comfort
Summary: "You shouldn't be wild inside if you're a beast in the headlights"
She was somewhere between joy and madness. The solidarity would not come for her in this time of reckoning. And for Emma that was far too close for comfort. As she eyed her hands, the pallor glimmering in the sun, a new feature for her dark mantra. It would instill in her head that she was no longer just Emma, Emma Swan—but Emma, The Dark One. She was the Dark One. It wasn't just a title, it was what she was now. And when she skimmed a look at the cumbersome that was her parents, no one hope can tell her otherwise.
Regina spied her under a tree, putting flowers into crowns. It was what she'd done lately, because it was all she could really do. The times of Emma being in the forefront, ready with an idea and an iron fist for justice and the like were long past in a sea of red. And Regina was not fond of this.
Sure, ask her years before now if she'd like to see Miss Swan so unhinged and incapacitated, and she'd smile so wickedly that mirrors would crack at the sight. But now, now was different—she was different—Emma, was different. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was to be the Dark One. And she'd only except the badge in due reason for her behavior in the past.
"Don't dwell, Regina," came Emma at the start of all this. She was so calm despite the madness ensuing her, and for that the regret Regina had thought would not come, had pulled at the tendrils of her dark heart. It was always Emma playing the strings, resonating the sounds with in her wrecked being.
For that, Regina would stop at nothing to have to end Emma's misery, if it meant the golden heroin would play that song once more.
She stood in the mirror, and Emma could see the parallel. The round of giggles that plagued her had not gone unheard by the dastardly queen. "What's so funny?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you in anything lighter...then, I don't think I've seen you in a dress so," and Emma waves her hands out, "formal."
"Yes, well, I'm playing the part of Savior."
"Right." Emma can't help being downtrodden. It wasn't that Regina was playing her part, but simply that she couldn't for a fact they all knew. "Me." Emma hesitated much to long. She wanted to say, "For me."
Regina clicks her tongue, but remains ever paradoxically. Emma believed she should leave then, but the brunette began to dance in the mirror. Emma watched her, restraining the urge to query on the matter. It was also, that when the woman twirled with no thought to Emma; the blonde was entranced. She strayed, only to admire the delicate, yet imprecise way Regina moved herself. Her hips had gave a sway, with an added bounce from left to right. The lack of music had not stopped her from stepping to and fro; and before Emma could stop, she'd taken Regina from her place.
Emma placed a hand on Regina's waist, and the other in hand. Guiding the woman proved easier when she hadn't struggled, but she had asked, "What are you doing?"
"You are an awful dancer." Regina scoffed, proclaiming that Emma couldn't be any better. "I know a thing or two. My job was to capture criminals, and sometimes a little dancing fell into the mix."
It took time. Emma smiled she felt Regina's muscles relax, finally bent enough to allow Emma to guid her. If Emma could muse on it, she'd say that Regina had never been more lax than when given a dance.
Odd in all circumstances, were her and Regina finding commonplace. When the two had been enemies before, they could now be idle. They shared space when before was never possible, and touch—yes touching was never something they did. But touching. Emma had noticeably become cold on the outside. Her skin lacked the warmth it once had, and when pressed against Regina, the warmth was something she'd never thought she needed. Immediately, Emma noticed the subtle difference between them, and how she wished they these little things were not so noticeable.
But Regina took Emma now, leading her with newfound valor. Emma would give a quip, but none reached her tongue. She could let Regina lead her, turn her, sway her—because she was there—always.
Yes, she'd say that at one point there were no blurred lines—no confusion to taint the intransigent thoughts of what Emma Swan was to her.
She was the mother of Henry, biologically. She was the sheriff of Storybrooke (of her own accord), and she was the Savior, the latter no longer prevalent. Regina would say Emma was always the Savior, not because of fate and destiny, but because she'd saved plenty for the sake of selflessness.
Emma had saved many.
Emma had saved her.
Regina would save Emma.
Where once it had been a lasting thought to do so—one that had to bloom from the love of Henry and the urgency of those round her—now it was first in every sense possible. She'd found that no matter how idle the thinking, her mind was fond of the imagery display. She saw Emma, painted in lilac and heavenly grace. The sadness that lied underneath her smiles were long gone and forgotten. And there, in the string of folly, was them, Henry, Emma, and Regina. A family.
She would save her, she would save Emma.
As Regina stepped down from the dais and to the golden steps, she saw her—her broken swan. She dressed in white, a halo of flowers adorning her crown, and the best attempt at bliss. Emma stood alone, deeming herself unworthy to join the praise of King Arthur. This would have been easily agreeable, once upon a time, but Regina was not one to dwell. After Zelena, this had become a new part in her change for the better. Now, Regina digressed, dancing herself to where the golden maiden lingered. There, she would bide her time and bury her wild heart.
So long as Emma bore her fangs, Regina would be there, neck bared with the harrowing maul of her catalyst. If only it meant the peace would reign, and Emma would be free.
It wasn't always like this. There were no boundaries that crossed them so thickly as the one that came this night. They'd had small arguments that never went further than a heavy hands on skin, and love bites. And when Emma halts, eyes gazing upon Regina with sheer trepidation; Regina had never craved her torment so as she did then.
The green was ever dull even in the cold darkness of their lonely, and she looked to want to leave, far and forever. And Regina was not the type to make her stay, not really. But here, in these times where they both were in need of solace; Regina would slip her fingers through the blonde tresses of her lover, let the words, "You are still Emma," grace her tongue, and hold her in the warmth of her embrace.
And this would soon be their mantra in the wreck that had become their life.
Those cold hands were still the softest when they strayed along her flesh, with two fingers curled inside. Emma's mouth set aflame all the agony she was forced to bear, and Regina inhaled every one of Emma's tragic symphonies—none too melancholy for a queen that once courted retribution in ghastly measures. And in return, Regina would take all of it.
She wanted to. She wanted Emma pressed against her, hear to heart, and with selfish need. She needed Emma, legs intertwined, and a shared desire. But the woman was determined to give her less for the sake of sparing her the cruel fate that came with being the Dark One.
And no matter how often Regina said it, Emma was only determined on giving her less.
There was a time before the soft caresses, the butterfly kisses, and the bright euphoria. There was a time when these little things were never bittersweet. Now the lines had blurred somewhere in the sea of lost memories and tainted words. Before, it was pure hatred—twisted in the ecstasy of longing, and turned into white rapture. Now, she was no longer Emma. She was the shadow of all that once was—a wretched calamity.
But when Regina entered that little blue house, saw Emma sat on the red chesterfield with an expectant smile; her heart fluttered—set asunder all the tides of emotions from before when they were Regina and Emma, and not Regina and the Dark One.
"You came. I nearly swore you wouldn't." She drew every syllable in the same dry lilt. Her gaze was bright—bright with mirth and all devious intent.
"You called. I came." Regina's honesty knew no bounds, but to be fair, she was tiring of the roundabout and the Dark One-flare. "And I know Henry would want to know what his mother has been up to."
"But that's all, is it, Regina?" Regina dipped her a nose a bit, not so acute to what she was implying. Emma uncrossed her legs, and pat the seat next to her. When Regina refused to move from the spot closest to the door (not out of fear, no, but as her magic was on the rye, there was no need to be stupid), Emma came to her.
Her strides were different, more precise and less hurried to that of Sheriff Swan. "I know you, Regina. I know you want more."
"More. What?"
They were nose to nose. And this was not an awkward arrangement, like the first time. This was personal, intimate, familiar. The warmth of her space, invading every sense, and then those predator hands stroke along Regina's cheek and neck...
Emma let her hand fall, keeping it at her side. "More information. You expect I will give it to you, because I always have—given you all of it—all of me."
"You're right." In the time Emma's eyes widened in shock, Regina stepped forward, now gaining the dominate composure.
But it wasn't supposed to be that way. They had come so far—gone through the ups and down to be at an understanding. All those late nights lying in bed musing over whatnot, was a gift in a world so wrong, only for them to be here in the darkness with just their cold words and distant stares.
"You're right, I did want more information, and now I have it." Emma made to speak, but Regina needed this to be sound and clear. "You are not the Dark One. I see, right there, that you are still the annoying and chivalrous Emma I knew those years ago."
"I am the Dark One."
"Well, of course you are!" Now, Regina was the one to smile. "On the outside—this persona you've taken is proof of that. But the thing about knowing someone is, that they know you just as clear. And I know you, dear."
"You are Emma Swan, The Savior, my light. And I will save you, just as you had me, all those many times before."
AN:
I've been wanting some Swan Queen love for a while.