What do you need to know? Let's see...
Regina and Emma have been together for well over a decade, married and living together in Storybrooke. They adopted two children: Henry and Snow. We join their lives one Fall evening, in what turns out to be the calm before a very specific storm.
Trigger warnings will be added on a chapter by chapter basis, but the big one up front is for mental health issues: depression, bipolar disorder, and the pharmaceutical treatment of them.
While this story is based on the musical Next to Normal, various adaptations have been made. That said, IF YOU KNOW THE BIG REVEALS OF THE NEXT TO NORMAL PLOT, PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL THEM FOR OTHERS. If you're familiar with the book and score you'll know roughly what to expect, but let's leave the new audience with some mystery, hmm? So no giving it all away in the comments or anything ;)
Regina waits, mentally counting the steps along the driveway. Timing it to near perfection, she turns on the lamp just as Henry passes by the open door of the study.
"Hey," he grumbles, stopping in the unexpected spotlight. "What are you doing, waiting up for me? You haven't done that in a long time."
"I've been sitting here for hours, counting up the different ways you could have been killed," Regina replies, closing her well-worn copy of Jane Eyre and setting it aside. Her nightshirt is flimsy, but wearing Emma's oversized fisherman's sweater on top is cozy. Next time, she'll remember her slippers.
"So what were the top contenders?" Henry asks, sitting on the footstool in front of her, his long legs bent awkwardly and his hair falling in his face. "Or are you just going to accuse me of snorting coke again?"
"If you must know, I had it narrowed down to bird flu, a train crash, or a gang fight."
"In Storybrooke? Dream on, Mom."
"We both know you don't stay in Storybrooke all the time, Henry," Regina scolds. "Now go, get in bed before your other mom gets up and realizes you've been out all night again."
"Why does she get so mad at me?" Henry whines, getting up and heading back out towards the hallway.
"Probably because you're a pain in the ass," Regina reminds him, getting up and turning the lamp off. "Her words, not mine. Get some sleep, could you?"
"Night," Henry says with a chuckle, jogging towards the stairs.
Dawn is already fighting its way through the dark skies as Regina walks into the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to take back to bed with her. A moment later, she notices her daughter standing by the open fridge, a bottle of energy drink in one hand and a book in the other.
"Snow," Regina whispers. "It's four in the morning. Is everything okay?"
"Hmm?" Snow replied, not looking up from her book. "Oh, yeah. I got hungry. And there's no point going back to sleep now. I mean, I have practice before school, and this math homework isn't going to calculate itself. Not to mention that paper on the food imagery in fairytales, which is just... yeah. What are you doing up?"
"Thirsty," Regina offers, waving her empty glass to demonstrate. She doesn't feel inclined to share Henry's breaking of curfew with his sister; the girl might be a sort-of genius and a prodigy with a bow, but she also has the unfortunate habit of tattling. There are times when, despite the love that Regina knows she has stored deep inside her, Snow irritates the everloving shit out of her. "You should get some rest, sweetheart. I'm going upstairs now, to have sex with your mother."
"Woah, woah, woah," Snow groans, finally closing the refrigerator. "That's definitely TMI, Mom. But I'll go back to bed if you promise to stop talking."
"Deal."
"Goodnight."
Regina fills her glass at the tap, smiling at having grossed Snow out so very easily, listening to the quiet of early morning settle over the house again. She takes the stairs in measured steps of her bare feet, like a gymnast measuring her paces.
Slipping into the bedroom, she isn't surprised to see Emma hasn't moved. Still sleeping like a toddler who collapsed mid-run, limbs splayed in ways that really shouldn't be comfortable, but she finds her way into these positions every night, often at the expense of Regina's peace and comfort.
"Hey," Emma murmurs against the pillow as Regina shrugs the heavy sweater off and lets it fall to the floor. "I heard voices."
"Oh, you know," Regina murmurs, pulling down one strap of her nightdress and then the other, gaining Emma's full attention in a half-second. "Just me, talking to myself."
"Are we, uh..."
"If you've got the energy, I thought we might."
"Oh hell yes, I've got energy. You don't drink as many coffees as I do in a day without keeping a little energy in the tank." Emma's oversized t-shirt that doubles as pajamas is up and over her head in an instant.
Regina kisses the last words off Emma's lips, smiling against her smile as their tongues meet briefly. They're past the years of sneaking into the bathroom first to regain a minty-fresh mouth, one of the countless obstacles Regina threw up in trying not to become overly intimate; the children changed all that, as they did with just about everything else.
"What brought this on?" Emma mutters as Regina kisses her way along Emma's jaw, lingering over that spot beneath her ear that makes her toes curl and her fingers grasp blindly at the sheets.
"Can't I just want to make love to my wife?"
Emma's nose wrinkles at the bareness of the statement, the overly sentimental term that she's never quite managed to feel at ease with. Not that Regina minded the frantic whispers about fucking or a hundred other ways Emma used to find to talk dirty in bed.
"I'm not complaining," Emma says, her voice deepening as arousal takes hold, which Regina takes as a cue to straddle those narrow hips, smirking when they're already tilting upwards in the usual impatience.
"Uh uh," Regina clicks her tongue in a tut of warning. Without her nightdress she can feel the cool air on bare skin, Emma's insistence on keeping the temperature low only heightening the sensation right now. Regina draws one hand slowly down over the curve of her breast, tapping out a silent tango over her abdomen, and just when Emma sucks in a breath of anticipation at Regina's hand making it to Emma's body, Regina opts to slide two fingers deliberately between her own thighs.
"Hey!" Emma protests, but she's biting her lip and her breathing is already ragged at the sight of Regina touching herself in such a blatant display, right there on top of Emma.
"Patience," Regina scolds, reluctantly pulling her fingers free and hovering her fingers over Emma's mouth for the split-second it takes for her to start enthusiastically sucking on them. "But yes dear, you first," Regina says then, Emma's tongue warm and wet as it swirls around her fingers.
When Emma releases her hand, Regina takes the opportunity to rake her fingernails lightly over Emma's breasts, enjoying the hiss of pleasure that provokes. This body she knows as well as her own, knows when to tease and when to pick up the pace. And right now, Emma's trembling with just a little desperation, so Regina won't be cruel.
"Oh!" Emma cries out softly as Regina's mouth descends on her willing body; this, Regina muses as she moves, is what power feels like.
"I'm late," Emma grumbles, pulling a silk blouse from Regina's closet. The teal will bring out her eyes, as if Emma gives even a single damn about that, but it probably means she's forgotten the dry cleaning again.
"That'll teach you to take a whole fifteen minutes," Regina mutters, welcoming the stab of bitterness. That much feels familiar. Emma rolling over to 'catch her breath' turned into soft snoring quicker than Regina could groan in frustration, and here they are with Emma rushing off to join the life of the town again, Regina left behind with her rain check and an apologetic kiss on the cheek when the alarm went off.
"What?"
"Nothing, dear," Regina turns back towards the window, curling her leg under her and sitting down on the white chaise that takes up most of that corner of the bedroom. Her silk robe offers no warmth on mornings like these, and she's wrapped in Emma's gray terrycloth instead. "I was just saying that it's going to be a beautiful day."
Emma moves closer, and Regina drinks in the smell of aloe from her shower gel, mixed with the perfume Snow bought Emma for her birthday, a pleasant but weak scent that owed more to green tea than anything in Regina's own collection of musks and spices.
"It's raining," Emma argues, peering through the space where Regina has already parted the heavy cream curtains.
"I happen to like the rain," Regina snaps, feeling peevish but too tired to conceal it. Everything seems to take more effort now, her ankles creak as she shifts position, as though they're starting to protest at treading water. Just the breakfasts and lunches now, and she'll have the quiet house to herself again, a few hours to breathe and clean without interruption.
"Still," Emma can't let the point drop, pulling her shoulder-length curls into a messy ponytail. "It is that drizzling rain. And it's Monday. And it's freezing for September… but sure," she relents, kneeling on the chaise in front of Regina. "I guess your little morning surprise makes the day look a bit more beautiful."
"Smooth talker."
"I am sorry about-"
"It's fine. I should go fix the lunches. See you downstairs."
"After work, maybe?"
"Maybe," Regina lies, already knowing they won't find the time. She can't tell Emma that her skin has gone back to feeling raw, that just like so many other days Regina no longer feels like being touched. Instead she keeps quiet and slips out of the bedroom.
Henry's waiting when she enters the kitchen, the overhead light buzzing gently and flickering at the ends to suggest a new bulb will be required soon. Regina sighs, making a mental note for a trip to the hardware store that might take up her afternoon. The town is so quiet during school hours, but it makes the whispers easier to hear when she's almost the only one walking the streets.
The smell of cleaning products hangs in the air, sharp and antiseptic. Regina flexes the fingers on both hands, her skin still red and starting to crack from the harsh chemicals; in her desire to clean every surface she'd forgotten to pause and put on gloves.
"You've surfaced." She smirks at her son. "I thought I'd need a crowbar to get you out of bed after your curfew-breaking."
"I have plans." Henry shrugs, taking a gulp of orange juice straight from the carton. At Regina's frown, he shakes it to show it's almost empty, he's simply finishing it off.
"Of course you do," Regina says, pulling bread from the bread bin and placing the bag beside the chopping board. "Did you have cereal?"
"Yeah," Henry confirms, rolling his eyes. "And don't sound all smug, Mom. You have no idea what I get up to all day."
"Au contraire, Henry." She moves over to the fridge now, scanning the contents and adding to her shopping list. Perhaps groceries can wait until tomorrow, the late night is already creaking in her joints. She pulls lettuce and some tomatoes from the crisper, enough to supplement the deli meat that Emma must have brought in on Saturday without having to be asked. At least the family will never starve. "You have gym first two periods. Then calculus, then English. And practice after school."
"Not bad," he remarks. "But which practice?" He helps himself to an apple from the bowl, almost a conciliatory gesture considering how often Regina nags him about nutrition, before retreating into the laundry room beside the porch.
"Soccer," she guesses. "Your kit should be on the-"
"Got it," he calls back, but he doesn't rush to come back through when he hears his
sister's hurried footsteps thundering down the stairs.
"Lunch, Mom?" Snow demands. "The bus will be here any minute."
"I can drop you, if you miss it," Emma offers, following behind their daughter. She's clutching her car keys in one hand, red leather jacket draped over that arm. With her free hand, she shoves the Sheriff's badge into place on her belt. The transformation is complete, and Emma's face settles into the frown of a day given over to petty disputes and pointless crimes.
"I can make the bus." Snow isn't quite whining, but she does look tired. Regina thinks tonight they'll have a family talk about bedtimes and being responsible with homework. Their daughter has been obsessed with getting early admission to Yale, and though Connecticut isn't the farthest she might have chosen, Regina still feels the first pangs of rejection deep in her chest.
"Lunch will just be a moment," Regina assures them, pulling slices of bread from the bag and slapping them down on the board. The lettuce is already torn and washed, so she drops some on each slice with no small amount of irritation at the impatient audience. "Patience is still a virtue, darling."
"Don't bug your mom, kid," Emma warns, but she's smiling broadly all of a sudden. "I have her running a little behind this morning."
Snow groans. "You're being gross again, aren't you?"
"Nothing gross about it," Emma corrects, patting Regina's ass as she passes to fill her Thermos mug with coffee. "Hey, can you pick up some groceries today? I have that training session all afternoon, God knows when I'll get out."
"Mmmhmm," Regina answers. "You go earn the bacon, I'll bring it home and cook it."
"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about half the time," Emma teases. "Snow, did you get your recital date yet?"
"You mean you actually remembered I have one?"
"Tell me the date," Regina says. "I'll put it on the calendar when I'm done with this."
"Mom, the calendar is still showing December of last year," Snow says, taking an apple with much more care than Henry did, inspecting each one before making her selection.
"Well then," Regina corrects, irked at another missed detail. "Merry Christmas."
"Yeah, Merry Christmas," Snow groans. "And Happy Hannukah while we're at it."
"Where's your violin?" Emma asks.
"By the front door," Snow fires back. "Jeez, Mom. I know it was expensive but do I have to have it strapped to my body at all times?"
They bicker back and forth as Regina tries to focus on the task at hand. Her fingers are trembling when she reaches for the knife, but she grips the handle firmly and slices the tomato without incident. As she lays the juicy red circles in place, she realizes she hasn't made enough for her growing family. There's plenty of meat to go around, and so she reaches for more bread, starting the routine all over again, keeping the ratios exactly the same each time.
It's still not enough. But she's running out of space on the island counter. Oh well, the stool will do. Four more slices, more lettuce, more tomato. There's no meat left? Maybe some cheese, in a minute. She can't bring more things from the fridge until she just makes sure there will be enough sandwiches for all of them.
Only four slices fit on the one free stool on this side. No matter. The floor. After all, didn't she just spend half the night scrubbing it to a bacteria-free shine while waiting for Henry to show up?
The room has gone quiet. There's no tomato left. That's okay. More lettuce. It's good for them.
Then there's a hand on her shoulder and Regina feels that tilting sensation in the pit of her stomach. Emma. Her work voice, the soothing tones she reserves for drunks and lunatics and crying mothers.
"Mom?" Henry asks, sounding very young as his voice wobbles in concern.
Regina looks to the laundry room for his support, but he offers a tight smile and slips out of the back door.
"I'm fine," she answers anyway. "I'm making sandwiches. On the, uh, floor."
Over Regina's head-she doesn't remember kneeling, but how else can you make a sandwich on the floor tiles?-Emma hands Snow a five-dollar bill. A look passes between them, and this time Snow slinks off without a dramatic sigh or any kind of comment on Regina's state.
"Regina," Emma says, squeezing her shoulder. "Why don't you go get dressed, hmm? I think it's time we paid Archie a visit."
"I was just-"
"I know," Emma soothes. "Just to check. We won't be there long. And we'll have lunch at Granny's instead."
"What about the sandwiches?"
"I think I'll pass, if it's all the same to you."
"What should I wear?" Regina asks, the thought of her sprawling closet suddenly paralyzing. "You're wearing my shirt."
"Anything you like," Emma replies. "Something warm, okay? I'll meet you by the car."
"Regina!" Archie is as effusive as ever when he opens the door. No doubt Emma has called or sent a text to warn him of their arrival. Regina ducks his offered handshake, looking past him for the only part of these appointments she enjoys.
"Pongo!" She calls softly, and she barely has to click her tongue before the giant dog comes bounding across the room in a jumble of long legs and black dots.
"Another flare up," Emma is explaining in a low voice, and Regina rolls her eyes while she has her back turned to both of them. All these euphemisms and complicated words to explain that she was overtired and got a little messed up over the lunch bags.
"You can wait in the car," she announces over her shoulder as she ruffles Pongo's soft ears. His nose is as cool and wet as the rain outside and Regina smiles at the feel of it against her wrist, his warm breath coming in happy pants. If Emma dislikes the coldness of the command, she's smart enough not to comment on it in front of Archie. Usually Regina is dropped off and Emma lurks elsewhere; being in the office with Regina must feel like accepting part of the blame for her condition, and Regina can't fault Emma for wanting no part of that.
"Well," Archie says, closing the door behind Emma and indicating that Regina should take her usual spot on the couch. He's dressed too formally as ever, right down to the lopsided bow-tie that he no doubt spent too long fussing over in front of the mirror. A dozen cruel remarks about making the effort for no one gather on Regina's tongue, but her heart isn't in it and she swallows the barb instead.
Pongo follows Regina to her seat with his tail wagging strong enough to let him take flight if only he were designed for it. The moment she's comfortable, he rests his chin on her lap, looking up at her with those big, sad eyes.
"You've been missed, as you can tell," Archie points out.
"I don't need to be here," Regina snaps. "I'm only doing this to keep the peace."
"It has been eight months," Archie counters. "Checking in isn't the worst idea. You know I was reluctant to end our regular sessions."
"Closer to nine," Regina corrects, because she may not be able to keep track of her sandwich ingredients but she's relished every moment of freedom outside of this overly fussy drawing room that masquerades as a place of comfort. If she concentrates, she might even be able to time her time away from it down to the minute. "Maybe we should call Emma back in. She's the one who's so concerned."
"You don't feel able to talk about what happened this morning?"
"I made too many sandwiches," Regina sighs. "I didn't sleep well, so I'm tired. But since we both know I'm not walking out of here without a new prescription and a bunch of follow-up appointments, can we just skip the pleasantries?"
"We don't have to rush-"
"What'll it be this time? Ativan? Xanax? Or are we going to move right on to the Buspar? Dealer's choice."
"Regina, we have to discuss your symptoms first. I've been treating your bipolar disorder for sixteen years, and we both know it's not that simple."
"Fine. But I don't have all morning. I have grocery shopping to do."
"I'll take a cocoa, Rubes."
"On a Monday morning?" Ruby smartasses, but when she turns to fully look at Emma, Ruby reaches for the whipped cream can and cinnamon shaker without needing to be asked a second time. "Everything okay there, Sheriff?"
Emma's used to her family life being a matter of town discussion by now, it's hard to keep any secrets in a place this small. All the same, the reflex to deflect prying eyes is strong, until she forces herself to remember that Ruby is a friend, and there's nothing much to worry about right now.
"Just one of those Mondays," Emma answers, trying to keep it light. "It'd be a lot easier if you'd finally agree to come be my Deputy instead of just volunteering at events."
"I'm not selling this place," Ruby reminds her. "Every time Gold makes an offer I can feel her looking down on me, disapproving."
"We're not getting any younger," Emma argues. "But you know where I am if you ever change your mind. Thanks," she says, accepting the cocoa. "Regina wasn't feeling too well this morning." She drops the last bit of news casually, looking away just long enough to let Ruby marshal an appropriate reaction.
"You took her to Dr Whale?" Ruby asks a moment later, and despite the years of Emma saying she doesn't need it, the question still drips with unsolicited sympathy.
"Nah, just Hopper."
"Ah," Ruby fills in the rest of the blanks herself. It's the crazy kind of ill, but not bad enough for actual injuries. "You okay?"
"We all made it out in one piece, so yeah." Emma won't be bitter, she won't, but somewhere in the past few months she can see now that she let her guard down, she started assuming that the 'okay' would last as long as she wanted it to. "Don't say anything when we come in for lunch later, though?"
"Of course," Ruby replies. "Let me get you a chocolate chip cookie. They're fresh out of the oven."
"You're late, Regina."
"Let's overlook the fact that I showed up late to this fifty-minute party and embrace the fact that I showed up at all," Regina suggests. "Don't bug me, doctor."
"Trouble at home this morning? I didn't see Emma's car outside."
"We walked," Regina explains. "No doubt she'll be over in the diner, just like last week. Drinking something with too much cream and gossiping with the Lucas girl. But let's pretend I think she's sitting outside in the hall. It's important to her that I believe in these little displays of devotion."
"You're still upset with her? For bringing you back to therapy?" Archie's sweater has a garish pattern that bothers Regina, and perhaps today she won't bite her tongue to spare his feelings.
"No," Regina corrects. "Although dragged would be a more appropriate verb."
"You'll hurt Pongo's feelings." Archie smiles at his beloved pet, head resting in Regina's lap again.
"He'll love me regardless." Regina shrugs. "Loyalty is such a stupid quality, don't you find?"
"I don't," Archie sits up straighter in his chair. "How are you feeling? Missed any days on the new meds so far?"
"I've taken my two a day, don't worry. And I don't really feel any different, except for sleeping a little easier. No more using Dan Brown novels as a sleep aid."
"You like Dan Brown?"
"No, I hoped reading them would make my mind desperate enough to sleep as a form of self-defense. Valium is, fortunately, even more effective."
"Ah. Anything else?"
Regina leans back against the couch, running through the regular questions in her mind. They'll be done sooner if she skips to the answers he needs to check off.
"I'm starting to bloat," she says, pouting just a little. "My rings feel tighter."
"That's all?"
"No I'm nauseous, constipated and have no appetite whatsoever," Regina announces as she bends to greet Pongo. "Although somehow I've managed to gain six pounds, so thank you for that."
"Ah," Archie starts to scribble on his pad. "We might need to tweak the dosage, in that case. We'll get it right eventually."
"Such an exact science," Regina groans. "And no, no increased desire to hurl myself off a bridge, since I know you have to ask that, too."
"Do you feel any better during the day?"
"I haven't tried to garnish any floor tiles all week."
"Well. That is good news."
"Cocoa," Ruby says, placing the mug in front of Emma. "And don't you dare try paying for it this time."
"Yes, ma'am," Emma replies with a mock-salute. "It's quiet in here this morning."
"You're waiting for Regina?"
"Yeah, it's gonna be weekly for a while. You'll have to start charging me after all."
Ruby takes a seat opposite Emma in the booth.
"Snow was in after school on Friday. I think she has a boyfriend."
"Well that should suck up all the free time she doesn't have."
"One of the Nolan boys," Ruby continues. "Don't ask me which one, though. You don't think she's acting out because of Regina, do you?"
"It's nothing, honestly," Emma insists. "Just letting Archie keep an eye on things. Christ, did you see all this coming when we met?"
"I don't think anyone did," Ruby confirms. "One of the kids the other day was going on about Kathryn, you know? Bitching her out over closing the park, because they all like to take their stolen beer down there to drink it."
"Do they now?"
"Oh come on, Sheriff. I know when you're turning a blind eye. Anyway, I said something about 'you're lucky it's not Mayor Mills, or you'd all be in real trouble'. And they didn't have a clue what I was talking about."
"She was a great Mayor," Emma replies, instantly on the defensive. Ruby places a calming hand on top of Emma's own.
"I know. Youngest in the history of the state of Maine, all of that. We really would have missed you both around here if you'd taken that job in Boston, Emma. Maybe one good thing is that you two got to have a home here."
"Yeah," Emma concedes, pulling her hand away and sipping at her cocoa. "I never thought I'd have a real home. And here I am, more than twenty years later."
"You look great for 50," Ruby says, her voice solemn.
"You bitch, you know I'm only 41!"
"Oops," Ruby teases. "What time are you picking Regina up?"
"I have a while yet," Emma says. "Now why don't you tell me about this young man you've been stepping out with? I could do with some salacious gossip."
"You sound like Granny," Ruby groans, and there's just a tinge of sadness to it, making Emma feel guilty all over again.
"Still. It might cheer us both up."
"How's week two treating you?" Archie asks, settling into his chair still in his hiking gear. Regina hoped moving her appointment would buy her a cancellation and a day off, but he had insisted he could fit her in for an early evening session. "And the new adjustment?"
"Technically, we're in week three."
"I meant the past week," Archie amends. "You're certainly looking very well."
"Well, doctor, you flatter me. But we'd better not. My wife is waiting in the car again."
"Regina, I wasn't-"
"I know. And I was kidding, obviously." It's so easy to make him blush that Regina rarely tries. Tonight, she can almost muster a smile at the simple victory. "At the moment I have absolutely no desire for sex."
"Speaking of Emma, how are things at home?"
"As well as can be expected," Regina explains. "I manage my illness; Emma manages her disappointment. We fit that in around school and her work and family dinner. It's… fine."
"She's disappointed that you relapsed?"
"She doesn't say so," Regina amends, scowling at the unasked question. "But of course she is. How could she not be? When we met I was young, vibrant, even powerful. If not for… all of this…" Regina waves her hand in that vague way she's perfected over the years. "I might even be in Congress by now. We'd certainly be settled in Boston, or perhaps Washington. But she turned down that job with the BPD and that was that, I suppose."
"Did you ask her to? Turn it down, I mean." Archie's silver pen hovers over the legal pad that he seems to think lends him an air of legitimacy. Regina had agreed to be treated by him out of convenience, despite knowing about his less than excellent degree from a college that might as well have issued its diplomas from a cereal box. Today that seems a particularly frustrating compromise as he fumbles through the obvious questions.
"No. She made that decision on her own," Regina clarifies. "Because of Henry, really. It was back when he got sick."
"Of course."
"Actually, I think I'm done for tonight," Regina says because she can taste the metal under her tongue. "I don't want to talk about the life I might have had."
"Are you okay? You've gone quite pale," Archie leans forward in concern, almost treading on Pongo's paw. Tonight's position of worship has the dog sprawled over Regina's feet, but she gently nudges him aside. She knows what's brewing inside her, another pointless panic attack, and she refuses to have it with an audience.
"Fine," Regina lies. "You've just reminded me there's something I need to talk to Emma about. I'll come again before the end of the week."
"I think we should-"
"I promise," Regina adds, slightly desperate now.
"Very well," Archie relents. "Try to make it by Thursday, then."
Regina nods in agreement and makes quick strides towards the door. She locks herself in the bathroom before Archie can follow her out of the office, and starts trying to breathe through the crushing tightness in her chest.
"Honey, I'm home," Emma announces from the door of the study.
"The honey's in the pantry," Regina sasses back, peering over the top of her reading glasses. "So you'll have to shout a little louder for it to hear you."
"One of these days I'll get to use a pet name, and you'll let me get away with it," Emma grouses. "You look busy."
"I'm proofing Snow's college applications. And sorting through her supporting information. I can't leave it to those idiots at the school."
"You offered?"
"She wasn't going to ask."
Emma comes fully into the room, closing the door behind her. She weaves her way through the furniture to lean on the corner of the desk, looking at the laptop screen with little interest.
"That lunch you packed today was delicious, for the record."
"It was just chicken parm," Regina says, tapping away at the keyboard to delete a redundant phrase. "But I'm glad you liked it."
"You're doing better, I can tell."
"You're only saying that because you got to eat with a knife and fork instead of a mop and bucket this time."
"Seriously," Emma leans over to kiss Regina sweetly on the lips. It feels welcome, and familiar in the way that makes Regina's heart clench with happiness for a moment.
"It's just the initial lift," Regina reminds her. "Every new pill does this for the first few weeks."
"It's been five. It looks-"
"I'm saying, don't expect a miracle. I do feel like I'm on top of things again though, that much I can admit."
"How about you get on top of me, then?" Emma suggests, wiggling her eyebrows in mock-seduction. "Only we have the house to ourselves for a change."
"Well," Regina considers, the twinge between her thighs making the decision very quickly. She closes the laptop and pushes the papers aside. "If you promise to be normal with me. No treating me like a piece of fine china, Emma."
Emma grabs Regina's wrist and pulls her to her feet. The kiss, when it lands, is just short of bruising, and it leaves them both breathless.
"Too delicate?" Emma asks, bending over for a moment and hoisting Regina over her shoulder in an improvised fireman's carry.
"Put me down!" Regina squeals, the laugh bubbling up and out of her throat before she can think about it. "If you throw your back out, Emma…"
"You weigh next to nothing, I think I can handle it," Emma throws back, although there's the hint of a groan as she looks at the height of the staircase, which only makes Regina laugh harder.
"Come on, Romeo," Regina teases as they move up step by step. "Put me down, and you can have me right here on the stairs."
Emma doesn't need to be told twice.
"I have a transfer in the morning," Emma says, checking her phone as she slumps back against the pillows. "August was supposed to take point, but his leg is playing up again."
"That's a pain for you. All the way to Portland?"
"Yeah. But it means I'm not here to take you to Archie's. I can call and move the appointment if you want, so he knows it's my fault."
"No need," Regina assures her, squeezing Emma's thigh where her hand is already resting. "It's a ten-minute walk. I'll even look both ways before crossing the street."
"You sure?"
"Yes," Regina assures her, with a kiss. "It's really not a problem."
"How are you feeling? The cocktail should be starting to settle now, we're hitting five weeks."
"I have a headache. Actually, I've had one all week, save for a few hours last night."
"I won't ask what the cure was," Archie says with a knowing little smirk. "Anything else?"
"My vision gets blurry, mostly in the evenings," Regina admits. "I've taken to wearing my glasses again. Oh, and my toes get numb. I don't always notice until I get up to walk around, but it happens."
"Circulation can be affected," Archie confirms. "So there's one more pill I want you to add to the regimen."
"Mom?"
Regina only meant to listen for a moment, not to be discovered. Lost in the fast bowing of the allegretto, she finds her own fingers twitching to play the piano line of the sonata, but Snow is just as proficient without accompaniment, her fingers nimble and her rhythm assured.
"Sorry," Regina offers. "I know you don't like to be disturbed, but this is-"
"One of your favorites, I know. You're such a dork about Ravel."
"You're playing beautifully. Ms Smart must be pleased with your technique."
Snow puts the instrument carelessly on top of her schoolbag, dropping the bow beside it.
"You don't have to pretend to care, you know. I know you have a lot on your plate."
"Speaking of plates, what are you in the mood for, dinner wise?"
"I have plans," Snow brushes the offer aside without a thought. "I'll eat at the diner with my friends."
"Right. How's the second movement coming along? You never did like anything blues. Too much improvisation for you, right?"
"Something like that. Are you sticking around, or…?"
"I'll be downstairs," Regina sighs. "Have a good practice."
"I can't believe I've been coming here for almost two months," Regina says, fiddling with the rings on her wedding finger.
"But how do you feel? It's just been seven weeks," Archie corrects, falling into their usual game.
"I don't feel like myself, really," Regina struggles to put it into words. There's a numbness that's crept into her daily life, a softness at the edges that makes her able to shop and cook and check over homework. She's even back to semi-regular sex with Emma, and that's clearly doing them both good, not least because they're both tired enough to sleep through the night. "In fact, I don't feel much of anything."
"No extreme emotional episodes?" Archie looks satisfied as he studies her. "Sounds to me like you're stable, Regina. That's excellent news."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely," Archie confirms. "That's what we've been aiming for this whole time."
Regina surveys the messy racks that take up half of the garage, surrounding her Benz where it waits under a tarp. Emma parks her beloved Bug in the driveway come hail, rain or shine, and the rare times she brings the cruiser home it waits in the street as a reminder of who exactly lives in what used to be just Regina's house, once upon a time.
Voices by the garage door startle her at first, but she slinks behind a shelving unit overflowing with gardening equipment to stay out of sight at the sound of Snow chattering to someone Regina doesn't recognize.
"I'm pretty sure we don't have anything you could use," Snow is explaining. "I mean, I don't have anything like that, and even though my Moms got pretty wild back in the day, there's no way they kept a bong lying around for me to find."
"I'd like to meet them," the boy says. "I mean, I'm not one of those guys who gets scared of bullshit stuff like that. I'm not scared of commitment."
"Calm down, David," Snow warns. "We made out a few times, I'm not looking for a baby daddy."
"Is that an apple tree? Cool, I can make a bong out of an apple," David declares, and whatever reaction Snow has makes him laugh. "What?"
"Does your father know you smoke so much?"
"He doesn't give a damn, so long as I stay on the football team and don't give him too much school crap to sign," David answers. "He has a farm to run, and my brother to worship."
Whatever they say next carries out of Regina's earshot, and for a moment she considers following until she sees Henry watching from the door that leads into the laundry room.
"When did she get a boyfriend?" Regina asks.
"Don't know, don't care," Henry answers as only a big brother can. "I can keep an eye on him, if you want. Freak him out a bit."
"No," Regina says, and if it's wistful she can't help it. "Clearly she doesn't want the family involved right now. I remember how that goes."
"So you're just going to spy on them?"
"I just… how did I miss that? I'm here most of the time."
"You kind of miss a lot, Mom," Henry reminds her. "But you know, they're young, they're healthy, they're ho-"
"Don't finish that sentence," Regina tells him. "I wonder if they're in love?"
"It happens," Henry says with a shrug. "Oh God, is this going to be one of those times you get all misty-eyed about how you and Mom met?"
"No," Regina snaps. "Although it would be nice if you actually listened to these stories sometimes. It's your history, too."
"History is for dorks, Mom. Who cares about the past? I'm going to get a soda, you want one?"
Regina shakes her head.
"Marry me," Emma blurted, frosting from the cupcakes still on her top lip. "I mean it, Regina. Let's be a family, for real."
"What do you know about family, Emma Swan?"
"Nuh uh, not gonna work. No bitchy Mayor crap to push me away."
"You sure about that?" Regina demanded, looking down at the crib they'd just assembled in the guest bedroom. "Mother won't like it. Just like she doesn't like me taking in a child I found on the doorstep."
"You run the whole town, Regina. Who cares what she thinks?"
"This is her house, technically."
"So marry me, and we'll buy that shack in the woods. Or that place that used to be the mill. I don't care, as long as we don't have to sneak back to separate houses every few days to pretend we're not totally living together."
"And even with this baby?"
"Henry found us, Regina. It's a goddamned sign, I swear to God."
"You can't talk like that and be a Sheriff's Deputy," Regina pointed out. "You have to be polite to the people you serve."
"So teach me to talk all fancy. It's been a year already, and you're still rubbing off on me."
"You're even younger than I am, Emma. You sure you want to throw your life away on bitchy me? And adopt a baby with me? What if this is a 'goddamned' sign for you to pack up and get the hell out town like you've been threatening since you showed up three years ago?"
"Nope, not that kind of sign," Emma declared, before kissing Regina firmly on the mouth. "Marry me, you pain in the ass."
"Don't say I didn't warn you…"
"You're evil," Emma groaned. "But I'm totally taking that as a 'yes'."
"You were supposed to take that with breakfast." The accusation echoes against the tile, and he steps into view behind her, letting Regina see him in the mirror. Sure enough, he has a soda in his hand.
"I felt nauseous first thing, so I didn't have breakfast," Regina explains, shaking the little orange bottle, mocking Henry just a little. "A couple of hours won't make much difference. What are you doing home, anyway? Your sister has a free period, but you don't."
"Stop being creepy about my timetable," Henry demands. "How are these pills working out, anyway?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure a house could fall on my head and I'd barely feel it," Regina admits. There's something in Henry that makes it easier to tell him the truth. "And I think they're possibly why I keep missing things. All that numbness, you know?"
Henry steps up and hugs her from behind, bending his knees so as not to tower over her. His chin digs into her collarbone, but she's grateful for it.
"You have a bony chin," Regina accuses, laying a palm on his cheek. A moment later he pulls away, his son's duty completed once more. She misses the lean strength of him instantly, the muscles of his upper arms no longer pressing her sides and anchoring her.
"If they make you so numb, maybe you shouldn't be taking them," Henry suggests, picking up the bottle and peering at the label through the shaggy hair that falls in front of his eyes. "Swan-Mills, Mrs R. DOB-"
"I'm anticipating your age jokes, Henry, and I'm finding none of them hilarious."
"So take your pills," he says, handing over the bottle. "Don't let me stop you."
"I have to," she says quietly.
"There's no 'have to'," Henry reminds her. "What happens when the things you miss start including me, huh? How do you think that's going to feel? For me, I mean."
"Emma would be upset if I stopped again now."
"Mom's always upset about something. She won't even look at me, remember?"
"I mean, it was just one little slip. Anyone could flip out on a Monday morning, right? It was just a bad day. And here I am again, drugged to the eyeballs. I miss… feeling things."
"A bad day could happen to anyone," Henry agrees after a moment. "And I do love you, Mom, but you're way less fun like this."
"Was I ever fun before?"
"Maybe not intentionally? But sure. I've always thought so."
"And they are just pills. It's not ever going to be some magic cure," Regina rationalizes, the taste of rebellion in the air.
"Exactly."
"And you won't tell Emma?"
"She wouldn't listen to me if I did," Henry points out, not unreasonably.
Regina pops the lid on the little orange bottle, and considers. Take the dose, keep the routine, smile and everyone enjoys the calm a while longer. Sure, it never lasts, but wouldn't it make the most sense to just behave again?
She breathes in deeply. Breathes out.
Breathes in again.
And tilts the bottle over the toilet, letting every last one splash into the water.
She pulls Henry close then, drinking in the scent of grass and sweat that lingers despite the soap and deodorant in evidence.
"You ran home, didn't you?" She asks.
"No point playing hooky if I'm going to hang around and get caught, is there?"
"We could play hooky together," Regina suggests. "Go somewhere this afternoon."
"Only if you're willing to drive to Waterville for milkshakes."
"I'm not supposed to-"
"Shakes, or no deal." Henry stands firm on that point, wriggling out of her hug again.
"Fine, you have a deal," Regina concedes. "Now scoot, I have a whole bunch to get rid of, and some things should be done in private. Like this is supposed to be our private bathroom, mine and your mom's."
"Don't take too long," Henry insists. "And make sure you hide the empty bottles."
"Wow," Emma says, stumbling into the living room still in her pajamas. "You actually painted the whole room in a morning?"
"I did," Regina says, placing the roller back in the tray. "I really love the brilliant white, don't you? I thought some stencil work in the corner…"
"Whatever you say," Emma agrees, pulling Regina into a one-armed hug. "You're really on a roll these past couple of weeks. The house has never looked better."
"Archie says it's important to have goals. And projects to occupy my time," Regina reminds her wife. "Let me clean up and I'll make pancakes."
"You don't have to do that."
"Ah, but I want to," Regina insists. "I'm thinking pumpkin and ricotta?"
"God, you're amazing. Then you'll take it easy for the rest of the day, right?"
"Well, there's a hike this afternoon that Kathryn is organizing…"
"Do I have to go?" Emma groans. "I spent all of last night wrestling a drunk Leroy into a
cell."
"Not if you don't want to," Regina offers. "But you don't mind? I think I need the fresh air after the paint fumes."
"Knock yourself out."
"Snow!" Emma calls out across the driveway. "You and your friend here can help with the groceries. And don't you have orchestra on Wednesdays?"
"No," Snow answers, reluctantly taking a paper bag brimming with vegetables until the boy takes it from her and another straight from Emma's arms.
"Hi, Sheriff Swan," he says, blushing to the very tips of his ears.
"You're the Nolan boy," Emma realizes. "How are the sheep doing? Your daddy better be keeping his fences in order, I don't want to write up any more accidents."
"He is," he mutters. "My dad wanted to thank you for bringing that to his attention, but he hasn't had a chance yet. I'm David, by the way. The eldest."
"The eldest twin?" Emma smiles at him bothering to make the distinction. "So you're the football player, not the doctor-in-training?"
"That's right," David confirms as Emma leads them towards the kitchen.
"And Albert Nolan doesn't want to thank for me for shit, son, but nice try. At least one of you in that family has some damn manners. You staying for dinner?"
"No!" Snow interrupts. "We were just leaving when you waylaid us."
"Sorry, missy, but your Mom called me three times to remind me it's family dinner tonight."
"David has homework."
"You can do it here, after dinner," Emma suggests. "If you can sit through Snow's practicing, anyway. All that classical music is wasted on me."
"I like it," he says, lying his ass off.
"Actually, David has surgery in the morning," Snow tries again. "So he should probably get going. He has to fast."
"It's only 12 hours fasting," Emma corrects, enjoying getting under Snow's skin so easily. "And a man deserves a last meal. Just stick the bags on the counter, you two. Let's not risk Mom's wrath by attempting to put things away."
"We have a guest for dinner?" Regina enters as though summoned by the mention of her title. A crisp blue apron without a single stain covers her deep red blouse and black tailored pants, diamonds glinting at her ears. Instead of the French twist she's favored lately, her hair is down and blown out in careful layers, the whole look set off by the killer patent black heels that click as she moves around the kitchen, queen of all she surveys. In that instant, Emma wishes their daughter and her guest very far away indeed, because the kitchen counters have never looked more inviting. "Good, I made plenty."
"I'm David," he introduces himself, but Regina already seems to know who he is. Not surprising, she might not be as involved in the town these days, but she's known it her whole life, unlike Emma. David wipes his right hand hastily on his jeans and extends it for Regina to shake. She does, with a bemused smile, before looking past him at Emma and winking.
"And just who are you to our Snow?" Regina asks, the very model of feigned innocence.
"He's my friend." Snow jumps in before they can mortify her. "What's for dinner anyway? Maybe it's something David is allergic to?"
"I don't have any allergies," he mumbles, staring at the floor.
"I made your favorite," Regina replies, rooting through the bags now and producing the crusty bread Emma picked up from the bakery. "Slice this up, darling," she says, handing it to Emma. "And feel free to use that sword in my study. It's not just ceremonial, and David here might need a visual for what happens to any boy who messes with our little girl."
Emma snorts at that, and David looks panicked for a long minute until Snow whispers something in his ear. The old Regina is very much in attendance tonight, and the fact that Snow smiles instead of rolling her eyes only confirms it.
"You need any help?" Emma asks, deciding to hell with the kids and grabbing her wife en route to the fridge for a satisfying kiss.
"No, to the dining room with all of you. We're having a little treat before dinner. Snow, dear, set another place for David when you get in there, please."
"Fine," Snow says, stomping off down the hall with David. Emma steals another kiss before marching right after them, mostly to spoil any fun they think they might have, alone for a few minutes in the dining room.
"Mom already set a spare place," Snow says as Emma enters. "But I'm totally taking credit for it."
Regina listens to the voices from the open dining room door as she lights the match. It takes a deft wrist to light all the candles in one, but she doesn't quite make it as she lights a second and finishes the job. She can't hear the conversation clearly, but she hopes Emma is teasing both Snow and Henry relentlessly, they don't have company often enough to really indulge in that. David seems nice enough, despite his little weed habit. But Snow had been right about her mothers' wild days, at least, and Regina isn't prepared to be a hypocrite on that score.
She takes careful steps down the hall, out of practice in the heels. Regina relishes the moment to pause in the doorway, all backs turned to her but Henry's and she watches her family at ease around each other.
"Happy birthday to you…" she starts to sing, and Henry's smile is suddenly as bright as the candles. David turns first, his own smile a genuine one until Snow grabs his arm. No, darling, don't spoil it, Regina thinks. They're going to celebrate Henry's birthday, just like they did for Snow a few months before.
It's when Emma turns that Regina's voice falters. Her wife's face doesn't reflect her own pride and joy, instead she looks to be on the verge of tears.
"Henry," Regina says, interrupting her own song. "Tell your mother and your sister to lighten up, could you? They're spoiling the whole effect."
"Uh, I'm David?" David replies, even though Regina isn't looking anywhere near him. She's looking at her beautiful son, the tallest in the room, wearing a Ramones t-shirt that is definitely stolen from somewhere, because she sure as hell didn't buy it.
"I'm not talking to you, dear," Regina sighs.
"Whose birthday is it?" David asks.
"It's my brother's," Snow whispers, her voice only that quiet when rage has her in its grip.
"I didn't know you had a brother," David replies, and when Regina looks at him now he seems completely bewildered. Really, it's not that complicated. Maybe she'll have to reconsider letting Snow date such an idiot.
"Regina," Emma interrupts now, taking the cake from Regina and placing it on the table. Regina cries out when Emma leans over and blows out the candles in one loud, careless breath. "He's not here."
"Yes I am," Henry argues, gripping the back of one of the chairs.
"See?" Regina pleads.
"You have a brother?" David asks again.
"No," Snow replies. "I don't. He died before I was born."
"What?" Regina hears the buzzing again. The taste is in her mouth but no, no, she is not letting this go. It's Henry's birthday and they will celebrate like a family.
"Listen to me," Emma is begging now, taking Regina's hands in her own. "Henry isn't here. Can you see him right now?"
"Of course. He's right there."
Next to Normal is a Pulitzer-winning Broadway musical that I was lucky enough to see a number of times in 2009 and 2010. The subject matter it deals with is highly emotional: mental illness, grief, suicide, the practice of psychiatry, and the family unit. The main character, Diana, is someone who resonates with me as being very similar in terms of pain and outlook to Regina, and from that an adaptation to form this AU began.
All characters have been left as close to their existing canon as possible: Emma is still a foster kid, Regina had a difficult relationship with her mother, Snow is precocious and frequently annoying.
Finally, there is some fantastic meta discussion in the fandom when it comes to Regina and mental illness : .com(/)tagged(/)ouat-and-mental-illness .
This story is not an attempt to pathologise her, but rather an application of the musical's theme of appropriate recognition and treatment when it comes to depressive disorders, particularly when it comes to the impact grief. While I appreciate the limits of the DSM when it comes to race, gender and sexual orientation, I feel there's a relevance here for Regina and the exploration of her character and relationships, so please bear with me? This is certainly not a love letter to the existing practice of psychiatric care.
Any 'diagnosis' is framed by my own personal experience and further research, and this should not be mistaken as diagnosing canon Regina with anything.
Thanks to writetherest, chilly-flame and paradoxalpoised for editing eyes and brilliant minds :)