Post Underworld.
The story begins shortly after Robin's death, kicking off with a flashback and moving straight to his funeral. There are minor adjustments to the original sequence of events; for example, at the time of Robin's funeral, the town of Storybrooke already knows about Hook's return. I would really love to hear your feedback! Hope you enjoy! xx -r

Chapter One – My Good Friend Grief

"That's what true love is. It's sacrifice, giving up everything for the person you love."

- Regina Mills

"Regina, " is what he had said, barely able to push the word out. He was too weak, too feeble to speak as he lied sluggishly in her arms.

She held him tightly, clenching every muscle that could assist her, but still, he was slipping through her fingers.

So she held tighter.

Somehow hope that he would remain alive still burned. Or flickered…she didn't know. But it was there. And it was the only thing she had.

"Regina…look at me," he begged, knowing he didn't have much time.

But she couldn't. She couldn't dare look him in the eye. So Regina clenched harder, bowing her head in shame instead.

It should have been her. She was the target, she was wanted dead, but he…

He shielded her—like any brave man would—from death's touch and willingly took the hit.

"You'll be okay," he consoled her, even though that's what she should have been doing for him. But her lips had betrayed her and remained clamped shut, almost as firmly as she held his body to hers. It was her turn to shield him.

Though even her shield, powerful as it may be, was no match for the fate coming for him. Because his breaths became uneven and she watched him struggle while his trembling hand reached for her face, stroking her cheek with a feather-light touch for the last time.

"Find…" he breathed, unable to finish his sentence. And that is what made Regina's eyes flicker up to his, catching the distinct shimmer she was all too familiar with. The shimmer that frequently made her lips curl into a sheepish grin.

Not this time though.

He smiled weakly as he said this, never breaking his gaze even when Regina tore hers away. She curled her mouth into a thin line, tasting the salt from her wet, quivering lips before meeting his eyes once more.

"…Love again," were his last words, his last breath, his dying wish.

His lids slowly fell, blanketing the ocean-blue eyes in which she never thought she'd see the last. And shortly after, so did Regina. She hurled over him, refusing to let go, strengthening her grip even though deep down, she knew there was nothing left. He had already slipped through her hold, no matter how tight.

Hope faded from within her, blown out like a flame that burned on its wick.

And hope was gone.

He…was gone.

She keeps herself together, despite the tears clouding her vision, despite her son engulfing her in his skinny arms, despite Robin's body lying underneath the hood of the varnished, oak casket. Yes, even with all this, Regina's composure is still in effect.

She makes sure it is.

Because displaying her emotions, laying them out there for all to see, it's not an option. Being vulnerable is not an option. She's a queen dammit. So she plasters on a brave face and her walls stay up, maybe even soaring a bit higher than before. But the cloak of confidence she wears does little to assuage the raging storm that floods her gut.

The guilt gnaws at everything in her, chipping away piece by piece. And while unshed tears fill her lids, glossing over chocolate-brown eyes, the emptiness inside her continues to grow.
It should be her.

The heavy drops of rain patter on the roof of her umbrella distract her for just a moment. But her eyes still burn through the casket, staring directly at the arrows and handpicked, red roses delicately placed on top.

Regina can't find it in herself to speak, blood-red lips revolting once more. Just like that night. Only this time, the only thing she clenches onto with all her might is the arrow she has yet to place over the coffin. She'd hold onto it forever if she could, just like he would her heart. And then she feels a pang in her chest as if the turmoil that boils inside her wasn't enough.

Zelena, before a few others, comes to offer her sympathies as she parts the ceremony and Regina manages to provide a slight nod in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the casket. For now, it's all she can handle. Even the slightest of movements made it harder to keep herself in one piece.

So she doesn't move. She just breathes.

But even that becomes a difficult task since the thick, muggy air doesn't slip in and out of her nose as freely as it should. And suddenly she feels like she's choking, suffocated by unspoken words that sit agonizingly at the back of her throat.

Soon her vision is completely blurred by the desperate attempts of keeping her anguish locked away. And what were once people are now blobs of black and beige that slowly begin to leave the ceremony. Or flee maybe…because the cloak can only hide so much and people seem to notice the surging rage.

She can't blame them, though. It scares her to no end to think that there might still be a chance of reverting to her old, vile self. She would lose everything she's worked so hard for. Her son, her family (unconventional as it is but a family nonetheless), her friends, Regina could kiss them all goodbye.

It's a pat on the shoulder by Snow's gentle touch—which incidentally, cools her off to some degree—that tells her she is the last to leave. Finally, Regina stands alone in front of what will be his final resting place. No prying eyes, no one to watch her let go.

And then her walls sink to the ground. The cloak dissipates, the violent storm inside her erupts and sobs burst through her lids like a damn had just ruptured.

It's all too real now that the smell of freshly dug earth becomes prominent in the air. It hangs over her like a neon sign, flashing at her…reminding her of the sole reason for this mess.

Her own damn self.

A part of Regina though, can't figure out what she's truly feeling. Is it remorse? A feeling of liability? Guilt? Or is it pain from the loss of a man she loved? She can't tell. But she's also not in any state to think straight, and the arrow she strangles in her fist doesn't help with making anything clearer.

Grief is a curious process.

Robin was normally the one to defog her brain in times like this. But now he's just a memory, a chapter in her life that has come to a tragic end and she has to turn the page. She has to…

…Find love again. It was Robin's dying wish.

But it's easier said than done. It all is. Moving on, accepting a loss, becoming stronger, resisting the urge to rip everyone's throat out, finding love…

Easier said than done.

Loving Regina is not the difficult part. It's loving the evil queen along with her. Loving all of Regina, good and bad. And besides Robin, she can't think of anyone who might be able to handle that darkness, someone who is willing to accept that part of her. Except maybe there is. There's—

She feels a light squeeze on her arm. For the love of God. Couldn't she get at least one minute of privacy in this ridiculously dimwitted town?

It is only her eyes that wander down to the source, catching a short glimpse of bare, slender fingers that hold her tenderly, before darting them right back up. There's only one person who has yet to give Regina their respects, and she happens to be standing right beside her.

She shrugs the woman's hand off her arm. There was something about her touch that was almost…comforting? Which would be fine really, if she hadn't wanted to melt in the woman's arms like a piece of chocolate would in her mouth.

She shakes the delusional, yet oddly stimulating thought away from her frazzled mind. "Emma please, I've had enough people feeling sorry for me today."

"I know," she nods affectionately but remains at Regina's side. She can practically feel the heat from Emma's searing gaze.

Regina closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath before opening them again. Breathing becomes easier. Only in the slightest of ways, but it's progress, progress made by a gesture as simple as a squeeze on the arm. It's alarming though, how Snow's similar expression didn't have the same effect. Grief was strange that way…

"So why are you here?" Regina asks. She doesn't mean to sound unappreciative, but it comes out that way. So Regina turns around, hoping glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks would contradict her tone.

A tight-lipped smile is what comes to Regina's attention before anything else—because, for reasons she can't understand, her gaze always lands on the woman's lips before meeting blue-green eyes. And they're not quite the ocean-blue that she's accustomed to but it wears a familiar shimmer. A shimmer that makes her head tilt in wonder because it's the same one he—grief makes people see the strangest things.

"You need a friend Regina."

"What I need is to be alone," she grinds out while turning back to the casket. But still, the blonde's eyes pierce through her, and she feels a slight tingle ripple through her when Emma takes a small step closer.

Nothing is said, but Emma doesn't leave. She stands next to the lifeless, shell of a body that is Regina's and looks down at the coffin with her. If she's honest, Regina is grateful for the stubbornness that resides within the blonde. It plays a large role in her annoyingly constant need to help others even when they so clearly want nothing other than to revel in self-pity. But her words didn't mirror the thoughts in Regina's mind and admitting her gratitude out loud was something else entirely. Her pride would let her do no such thing.

You'll be okay.

Yeah right. Regina doesn't believe that. Love had been ripped from her reach too many times. She had seen death too often to be anywhere near okay. Daniel, her father, her mother and now…Robin…all passed away with one thing in common: Regina being the last thing they had set eyes upon. And she watched—her face stricken with horror—the life wash away from each of their eyes. It's an awful sight that haunts her each and every day.

And then she feels a hand graze over hers. Emma's hand. It's the faintest of touches, but it brings Regina back from the dreadful memories. That alone surprises her. No one, not even Robin, has ever been able to liberate her from those dark moments so quickly. She even finds a bit of solace in the small token of companionship but then again, grief made one look for solace in everything.

So she shakes it off, gripping the arrow with so much force her knuckles turn a ghostly white. It's then that frustration overwhelms her because holding the damned thing and all its significance, all the space it occupies in her heart, doesn't ease her torment the way that—It's the grief talking.

It's not long before Emma's fingers curl over her balled fist, and they now hold the arrow together.

But Regina's hand doesn't surrender. If she did, if she was to let go of the arrow, it meant that this was all real, that Robin had sacrificed his life for hers. Letting go of that arrow…it would only mean that she was letting go of Robin.

Emma tugs their hands a little, walking Regina up to the coffin until they are at arm's length away.

A soft-spoken voice reaches Regina's ears.

"Together," the blonde nods.

She turns to Emma, eyes wide with defeat, and finds sympathy etched on the woman's face. Frankly, she meant it when she said she was tired of people feeling sorry for her. But Regina doesn't call her out on it because Emma was right. Regina needs a friend right now and the woman beside her well…she's something of the sort. Their relationship is complicated, to say the least.

Never just friends…never anything more.

So she nods—because she doesn't have enough strength to do anything else—and Emma delicately guides her hand toward the coffin.

Their hands hover over the casket, Regina's reluctance keeping her stiff.

She can't do it.

But thankfully Emma does nothing to rush her; she leaves her hand over Regina's and waits in silence.

Her fist trembles under Emma's, and suddenly their eyes lock like magnets.

"You'll be okay," she promises with the slightest of smiles.

Maybe.

And there it was again. The shimmer. The one she thought she would see for the final time when he…when he last set eyes on her.

But she's grieving. It's normal to look for similarities of a lost loved one in someone else.

Something flickers in her chest, like a stubborn car engine that needs to be ignited a few times before it roars to life.

Hope.

It's barely noticeable, but it's there. And it allows Regina to loosen her grip around the arrow, letting it fall to the tip of her fingers. She lowers their hands by an inch, beseeching eyes never leaving Emma's. Then a bit more, until the varnished wood with a smooth finish meets her fingertips.

Holding her breath, she shuts her eyes.

And she lets go. They let go. Together.

Her shaky hand still hovers over the coffin until Emma's fingers slip through her own and gradually pulls their hands away. Regina squeezes back, probably harder than she had intended too, and exhales deeply.

She feels the loss immediately when Emma gently retrieves her hand to give her a reassuring squeeze. However, the slight pressure on her shoulder isn't what grabs her attention. No, it's the cold air whirling around her palm where there was once warmth, where there was hope, where Regina could swear there was more than a friendly affection.

Grief. It's the grief.

But now her walls grow higher than a bean stock ever could. And suddenly there's this urgent need to protect herself from everything she's been feeling since Emma decided to make an appearance. There's this fear that maybe it isn't the grief, maybe it's—

She turns away from the blonde, leaning her head back to keep the pool of tears from escaping her lids. "Please leave."

"I'm staying."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she snarls, shooting Emma one of her best evil queen glares. Suddenly it's brewing inside her again—the darkness—and she doesn't feel the need to suppress it like before. She needs to look out for herself and shutting people out is the best way she knows how.

"Regina I'm staying. I'm here for you," she ensures, keeping her hands up at her side like she means no harm. And she almost sounds sincere, but Regina won't allow herself to fall for it.

"Why don't you go and snuggle up to your precious pirate," she drawls. "I'd imagine he'd want to spend every minute with you after—what is it? The third time he dies?"

"Regina please, I just want what's best for you."

"And I don't need your pity," Regina snaps.

But Emma doesn't move.

The gratitude Regina had for the blonde's stubborn attitude quickly changes into aggravation. It shows too because she feels the pulsing vein on her forehead protruding.

Apparently, Emma doesn't get the hint. She huffs like a toddler who isn't getting their way and even makes it a point to plant her feet firmly into the ground. "I'm not leaving. If you want to go, I'll take you home, but I won't leave you alone."

Regina plasters on a malicious smile, every bit as wicked and corrupt as she intends it to be. "That's fine dear. If you won't leave—" she steps closer, invading Emma's personal space. "—then I will."

Before Emma could even fight against it, a cloud of purple smoke surrounds Regina at the twirl of her finger. And along with the intoxicating haze that swirls around her, she vanishes into thin air.

It's the morning after Robin's funeral. There's an open bottle of tequila on the floor, at least a dozen crumpled up tissues, one empty shot glass, oh and a splitting headache that makes Regina want to hurl. It's as though an army of sugar-hungry children beat her brain like a helpless piñata. And just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she sits up. Christ.

Regina's body feels like there's a weight attached to every limb and the bubbling alcohol in her stomach is about to make its way to the back of her throat. She rubs her temples in a circular motion in hopes of soothing her migraine, but it renders utterly useless. She may as well just grab a stick and whack the damned piñata herself.

This is all Emma's fault.

Regina wouldn't have locked herself up in her vault for the night if it weren't for her. She wouldn't have drowned herself in cheap tequila either, but that isn't something she wants to explore. It would take far too much time to sort out her feelings right now.

Instead, Regina uses that time to bring order back to her mess of a vault. And while she's at it, her hair could use some as well…maybe even her clothes.

Okay, everything. Everything needs order.

So that's what Regina does. She cleans. The floor, the coffee table, the mirror, the daybed, Regina cleans everything. She needs a distraction. Thinking about Robin put far too much weight on her chest. But when Emma came to mind, that weight lifted right off, floating away like a feather in the wind.

And that is why she is currently on her hands and knees, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, scrubbing away spilled, sticky alcohol and picking up tear-damp tissues. To hell with composure.

Grief is exhausting.

In a crisp white blouse, a freshly ironed pair of slacks and her favorite trench coat, Regina makes her way to Mary-Margret's house. While Emma had conducted her little search party, apparently inspecting every corner of Storybrooke for Regina's location, Henry had spent the night with the Charmings.

Eighty-six text messages and twenty-eight voicemails from the blonde had told her so—among other things.

Which is silly really. There's only one place Regina goes to for peace and quiet. Her vault. It's her haven, her hideout; everyone knows that. No phone service, no unwanted intruders, just Regina and her thoughts.

So after practically sterilizing the damn place, she quickly changed into a more suitable outfit—because the one she slept in was fairly wrinkled and just simply would not do—and now, after reading every missed text and listening to every single voicemail, she struts with as much confidence as she can towards the Charmings' apartment.

Walls high. Poise reinstated because now, eyes slice through her like she's a piece of raw meat.

Car engines rumble, soft wind rustles through fallen leaves and there's a faint drilling sound from down the street. But the noise rapidly fades as her sense of hearing becomes monopolized by one thing.

Whispers.

The suppressed murmurs come from every direction. Everyone speaks in hushed tones, doing little to conceal their painfully obvious focus on her, but no one has the audacity to speak directly to her. Figures. The spineless cowards wouldn't even greet her on a good day. But they do however continue to blatantly stare at her with furrowed brows as if she's a felon who's been wrongfully released.

Her head sinks beneath her shoulders. Typically this type of behavior doesn't comply with Regina. Normally she'd have a fireball at hand, ready to launch it at anyone who looks at her the wrong way. But Regina needs to think about Henry. She needs to think about all she has to lose if the evil queen in her returns to the throne. So she lets them be, ill-bred and craven as they are.

At least the piñata party in her head begins to subside. But it does nothing to alleviate the ache in her chest, which could not have decided to emerge at a worse time. She just wishes for Robin to be at her side. She wishes for her true love to magically reappear, to liberate her from the restraining eyes that still flash in her direction and from the prejudice undertones that are being spewed along with it. She wishes for—

Fast-paced footsteps, hammering loudly against the concrete snatches her attention away from the muttering buffoons. It's almost like this person is running, like this person is running towards her. Dull thuds on the ground intensify from behind, and Regina's stance becomes more defensive if not downright rigid.

She freezes the moment she steps past Mr. Gold's Pawnshop, her shoulders tense with fear. And then a familiar voice yells angrily at the developing crowd of people whose gazes never leave Regina. "Don't you people have some place to be? Things to do? Here's an idea, why don't you all scram and mind your own goddamn business. Regina is not some zoo animal for you to irk and prod at!"

It's then that Regina's shoulders instinctively drop with relief. She turns around to find whom other than—no.

"Found you," Emma pants with a genuine smile, clearly having difficulty catching her breath but content with her success nonetheless.

The blonde's coincidental turn up was exactly that. Coincidental. The wish she made meant absolutely nothing. Besides, wishes don't come true…especially not hers.

"So you did," Regina says dryly. And sure enough a subtle grin tugs at her lips when the small, prying hoard of people slowly disperse. But she quickly subdues it before Emma could notice. Allowing it would mean she was letting the blonde back in. And bringing down those walls, granting Emma the access to all her erratic emotions, well…it's not going to happen. Emma needs to stay out for Regina's sake, for her own sake.

So Regina nods her head farewell at the smiling blonde, preventing her own lips from cracking into one, and turns away. She swallows hard before taking a step forward. But before her heel hits the ground, Regina is pulled back by a firm grasp at the elbow.

"Regina wait," Emma calls out, never letting go of her hold on Regina's arm. Her tone drowns so with an affliction so dark that Regina wants to abandon all attempts at pushing her away.

But she can't. And she tries so hard to shove it all down but the tequila from last night won't have it.

Regina winces in discomfort from the churn in her stomach, seemingly adding to the profound concern that already veils over Emma.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" the blonde asks inquisitively.

She ducks her head down as she wraps her arms around her stomach, allowing Emma's hand to glide down to her own. "I'm fine."

But 'fine' doesn't mean fine and Regina's words once again don't match up to the mix of emotions that clutter her. Because for the fourth time, she had to watch a loved one die right before her eyes. Because every time she thought she was happy, life had to rip it all apart. Because when she should be mourning Robin, she finds herself drifting closer to Emma, wanting nothing more than to spill every ounce of what she's feeling.

Maybe she can. Maybe she can let Emma climb over those walls. And just before the voice in her head could advise her against it, her gaze meets parted pink lips. Then it moves up to glossy eyes that glaze with compassion.

The ache in her chest is replaced by something much more soothing. A warm feeling, like she's stepping into the sun after being in the shade for so long. It blossoms through her and makes Regina's heart flutter like a butterfly does its wings.

Hope re-surfaces. Hope that maybe she will be okay, that perhaps there is a chance at finding love again.

And the idea of telling Emma everything doesn't seem so ludicrous anymore. It's a split second decision that has her hoping to God that her lips don't do what they're so famous for and remain glued together. She's going to do it. Consequences be damned.

So, with her head held high and complete disregard for all the many reasons as to why she shouldn't do this, Regina clears her throat. "Emma I—"

"Swan! There you are!"

They both tear apart, breaking their gaze to meet the source of their unpleasant interruption.

And there he was—dressed head-to-toe in cheap leather and revealing far too much chest for Regina's liking while he prances over with a hook for a hand—Killian Jones.

He stops when he reaches Emma, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, which makes Regina wish he were the piñata so she can whack him senseless. "I see you've found Regina."

They share a quick glance before Regina rolls her eyes. "Look at you, stating the obvious. The underworld must have done quite a number on you."

She can't believe she was foolish enough to consider exposing herself to the blonde. What good would that have done?

Surely it was part of the grieving process. It had to be.

"It did more than I can say for Robin," Killian shoots back at her.

Regina glares at the man, a look so deathly she could feel the hatred seep through her pores. His smug presence irritates every inch of her being. Heat begins to radiate from beneath her palms, and there's a fireball just about ready to spark with his name on it. But it's Emma that curls Regina's hands shut, holding them tightly at waist level.

"I know how hard this must be for you," Emma says as she stands between her and Killian, probably hoping to defuse the tension but failing miserably.

Regina rips her hands out of Emma's grasp and backs away defensively. "Actually no. You don't. You have no idea how 'hard' this is for me." Frustration is evident in her tone, but hurt and agony quickly step in and take the front seat. Her throat constricts in a way that makes it hard for her to speak. She pushes through it, her voice coming out hoarse and thick with emotion. "Your 'true love' is here, arrogantly flaunting his return every chance he gets. And for what? Defeating Hades? Oh right, my sister did that. A selfless sacrifice? No, wait, that was Robin's doing. As far as I'm concerned, you once again continue to get everything while I have to sit here and hope that maybe fate will eventually spare the lives of the people I love. So no Miss Swan, you haven't got the slightest clue how I must be feeling and you never will."

Killian reaches his hand out to Emma and pleads her to leave with him but the blonde, much to Regina's surprise, swats his hand away. "Regina I know you're angry—and you have every right to be—but I'm only trying to look out for you."

Emma wears a defenseless look on her face, and Regina nods her head in disapproval, refusing toherself be swindled by such mediocre tactics.

A venomous smile graces her blood-red lips. But as quickly as she masks her dismay, tears still threaten to spill. "And as I've said before, I don't need your pity, Miss Swan. I am very much capable of looking out for myself. After all, I've been doing it my whole life."

"I know you are. But it doesn't hurt to get a little help now and then. You have people who care about you now, people who want to support you. Regina you don't have to go through this alone. Let us help…let me help," Emma implores. She sounds every bit genuine too, even managing to take a small step closer without Regina noticing. And then she takes another.

They now stand face-to-face, gazes darting from lips to eyes, eyes to lips. There's an almost undetectable hitch in Emma's breathing when Regina inches her way closer. She may not notice much of what's going on around her, Killian's awkward ahem for instance, but she does notice, for a third time now, the shimmer that lives in Emma's eyes. And she looks at Regina the same way…the same way Robin does. Did. The same way Robin did.

It most likely means nothing. Emma feels sorry for her. There's no other reason behind it.

But then pupils dilate, of this Regina is sure and now there's only one question floating in her mind. With her head tilted to the side and a frown sweeping over her brows, she asks with the utmost gravity she could muster, "Why do you care so much anyway?"

And that's when the fake, villainous smile returns. Space between them increases because Emma falters and looks down at her own two feet that begin to kick away at everything around her. With her hands buried deep in her pockets, she snaps her head back up to Regina. Uncertainty etched onto her face as she takes a moment before responding.

It's as though Emma is the one grieving now like they've switched places. Because looking at her, in the troubled state she seems to be in, is like looking in a mirror. It's like she's looking at her reflection. And for a moment Regina thinks that she might say—

"I…I just…" Emma hesitates.

"That's what I thought," Regina says sharply. "Take my advice from our last encounter Miss Swan, grab your one-handed wonder and stay out of my business. If Henry needs me, he'll know where I'll be."

"Regina wait! You can't just—"

But she's gone before Emma could finish, consumed by purple smoke and transported to where she was earlier that day, where she always finds herself in difficult times like these.

She has a feeling this grief nonsense is going to pester her for a while.