A/N: Written for swan queen week 4: Alternate (alternate) universes, day 4: canon divergence au.
Disclaimer: Characters and other copyrighted material does not belong to the author, and is not used for profitable purposes.
Warnings: Major character injury by fire
It wasn't her intention, but here she stands, hands clasped behind her back as she listens to the accusations of being selfish from the one person who might've thought more of her.
Regina goes on and on against the howling wind around them, Emma's ears turning red at tips. This isn't anything new, but the heaviness of this argument is felt by those who gather around them, the new addition to Storybrooke tucked neatly under Robin Hood's arm as he tries to choose between his past and his present. Between cutting words, Emma wonders whether Robin had ever thought of Regina as his future—if he had, the choice would have certainly been easy, wouldn't it?
Still, Emma understands where he comes from. Had her own first love not betrayed her, perhaps she would have run into his arms too, clung to him and complained of the heartache experienced without him. Is this why Regina keeps going on at her? Perhaps the next time Emma time travels she'll bring back the stableboy that stole the Evil Queen's heart as a girl, bring back her first love too.
"Regina," Emma says, pleading with her eyes, begging in the way she bends forward to reach out and touch the other mother of her son. Regina snaps back before Emma can make a decision as to where her hand should land, fingers curling into fists as she watches Regina stomp off into the night.
Hook says from somewhere behind her, "her majesty is better off left alone in this state." Perhaps she is, perhaps the urge to run after Regina is bred from too many moments where she's encountered Madame Mayor instead of Evil Queen, and the people who stand around her seem to agree with Hook's perception of the most wounded in this situation.
Henry leans into her side as they both watch her go, his tiny body vibrating with anger that scatters from here to there without any real place to target. Does he direct his anger at his birthmother, the one who brought about the woman who ruined his adoptive mother's love life? Does he target the poor man who stands trapped between his wife and his soulmate? Or does he let his rage burn into his adoptive mother's back as she walks away without an inkling of fight in a situation that should rule in her favour? "I don't want her to be alone," he whispers into Emma's ear instead, taking that energy and pushing it into something positive—a trait learnt from the mistakes of his parents.
Emma licks her lips, eyes canvasing the area that slowly empties out of the bystanders that have long since become bored of the family of two standing in the cold. They aren't a show, not without Regina, not without sassy comebacks and the loud click of heels that catch the attention of anyone worth their eyes. "Stay with David," Emma instructs, far easier to call her father by his name, to remember him as the strange man who cheated on his wife to be with Mary Margaret, the romance of it lost under the weight of adultery that's now null and void.
…
The first place she thinks to check is the vault, but it's been open to access for Emma far too many times, the location too obvious for anyone who wants to look. Despite her doubts, the marble casket moves under Emma's touch, shifting as she sends a prayer to Henry Sr. for his eternal peace. From the father of an Evil Queen to the guard of her vulnerabilities, she wonders what debt Henry Sr. had to pay in his past lifetimes to still serve Regina in his afterlife.
"Hello?" Emma calls, ducking down low and keeping to the shadows should a fireball come after her. Announcing her presence might not have been the best move, but if there's anything Regina hates more than unwanted visitors, then it is surprises.
"Go away." The clipped, exhaustive tone of Regina's voice is enough for Emma to deduce that Regina's in no mood to harm anyone, not when she's this tired that the exhaustion runs down into her soul. Seems that along with a lack of subtlety, Regina hasn't the sense to be less obvious with her hiding places.
Emma steps forward into the light. "Henry doesn't think you should be alone." It's easy to hide behind Henry, to let her own motivations fall onto his shoulders as the friendship that blooms between his mothers only hinge on the fact that they are Henry's mothers. Emma tries not to think about the future when Henry eventually leaves, starts a family of his own that might leave their excuses of seeing each other dried up and brittle.
"Henry shouldn't have to worry," Regina says with precision, voice cutting through the stale air of the vault. "Come tomorrow and I'll be good as new."
"It's okay to feel angry about this," Emma whispers, inching closer to Regina with each word, Regina's back tensing as she subdues a million scathing remarks. "I think you should talk about it. You never do well with supressing anything."
Regina turns, eyes ablaze as her lips curl into a snarl. It's such a feral look, one that wills Emma to step back in fear— but she stands still as if mesmerised. "You did this." It's a hiss that escapes through Regina's clenched teeth, the sound sucked back in with a harsh breath through her nose. Regina's body vibrates with energy, every muscle tense, her magic flaring only to be pulled back by an invisible leash. If she allows herself free reign now, there might never be a light at the end of the tunnel to pull the Evil Queen back into her cage. Henry could be at risk, Robin too, and Regina's anger plummets into despair almost as quickly as her next exhale.
"I couldn't leave her to die." It's such an old defence, something written in the hero handbook perhaps, one Regina didn't receive even after sacrificing so much. "I thought…"
"You've been doing an awful lot of thinking recently," Regina snaps, unable to hold this one back, the leash too long as the Evil Queen charges forward. "I think it does more harm than good. You Charmings should really just stick to herding sheep." It's a bitter blow, a weak willed one that feels more like a sobbing teenager that hasn't got any energy to punch back. It lands too far from Emma to be personal, the saviour looking on at her with an expression of hurt that speaks more for her outburst than the actual words she had used.
This time, hidden in the dim lighting of the vault where the only eyes to witness are the ones hidden away in little trinkets, Emma reaches out to grasp Regina's arm. There's sorrow in her gaze, an apology that Regina is really beginning to hate already forming on the tip of her tongue. "I'm—"
"Oh, shut up." Emma jerks her hand back at that, burned despite the juvenile words that hold no weight between them, not with a former queen who burns down villages in anger and a saviour that flings swords at the slightest hint of upset. Shut up means nothing, and yet they stand in front of each other, the cord of tension stretching with each passing moment of silence.
Regina doesn't know if she's supposed to say something, but she had once read that silence will make someone so uncomfortable that the truth will spill out eventually. Emma doesn't offer any words despite their stare off, Regina swallowing as she re-calculates the risk taken on someone just as stubborn as she.
Emma says after too long, "I'll tell Henry you're okay." She doesn't offer up the truth, not even to their son, and Regina chokes on yet another wrong decision as the saviour walks back out into the cemetery with Regina buried underneath.
:::
Regina's phone is switched off. The voicemail greeting isn't even personalised to give Emma a sense of hope when the number stops ringing for the moment just before the beep. Henry seems distressed as they walk together, his mother ignoring even him as they both sulk with their phones in their hand, hoping against all odds that Regina will stop this isolation business and get back to them.
Losing a love like this, a soulmate no less, must be devastating. Emma has only had one person who took care of her in times of need, someone she held onto when the world kept turning, someone who let her go when his world spun too quickly, Emma getting caught in the web of it all. What if she were to lose someone like Robin? Someone quick witted, skilled with a weapon, a good father. Didn't he win Regina over with whiskey and obvious flirtation, a stolen letter that had been private but read out loud? Is that what Regina likes?
"Did you get through?" Henry asks from beside her. Emma shakes her head in the negative as she quickens her pace to catch up to her parents, her baby brother in the stroller that she ignores. "Maybe she'll pick up if I try." She hands her phone over without protest, unwilling to dispute her son's claim when the number is the same, only the hand that dials is different. For all of Regina's magical powers, she's sure her majesty won't be able to feel Henry's desperation on the other end of Emma's phone.
It comes out in a rush, "have you spoken to Regina recently?" Snow looks on at baby Neal with a fondness that was never directed at Emma, mulling over the question before she shifts her gaze to her first born.
"I think she needs space. Regina has always been a very private person, and this matter is…" Snow doesn't need to say it, not when Henry swallows loudly behind them and pockets Emma's phone, tripping on his shoelaces as tears blur his vision.
Emma says, "right," like she understands, but she doesn't.
…
There's a snow monster, and Hook is behind her as she shoots aimlessly at a magical beast that only gets angrier at them with every bullet. "Plan B, Swan?" Hook asks, clutching onto her arm too tightly, fear in the way his four fingers curl over the leather of her jacket.
"We drive it away from the people, make sure it doesn't hurt anyone."
Hook's fingers tighten their grip for a fraction of a second, drawing strength from the saviour who has none of her own left, before he releases her entirely. It's almost comical how he calls out to the monster, waving his arms and running through the street with the glob of snow following. Emma considers leaving him to it, letting him be the hero of this story when what's the point of a saviour if there's no evil queen, but her legs move of their own accord and she's chasing behind the monster before she knows it.
Between the time travel and arguments, Emma has never stopped to think about the other parties involved in this, not beyond Regina, Henry, and herself. Robin and Marian are set up in the woods with the merry men, looking too cosy for Robin's heart to belong elsewhere, to be uneasy with the idea of reversing whatever growth he's made in the last however many (cursed and un-cursed) years whilst his wife had been stunted in time. The sight of them cuddling by the fire has Emma's meagre lunch roll around in her stomach.
"Emma," Robin breathes, concern written across his face as he detangles from Marian to approach the saviour. There's a certain respect to her title that the ones left in the enchanted forest during the first curse hold, a respect that isn't echoed by Regina who sees Emma as a thorn in her side rather than formidable foe.
"Get everyone out of this camp, there's a—"
It's too late, it's always too late, and whatever magic Emma can pull up from her veins isn't enough for the monster to back away. There's a blast and they all go flying, Emma's head pounding against a nearby tree as she struggles to grasp onto whatever she can still see. Everything is blurry, her head heavy as she squints to make out the image of the snow monster shattering into a million pieces, the words, "welcome to Storybrooke," something that has never been said to her.
Marian is the one to receive the polite greeting, the welcome mat at the foot of her enemy's door that Emma has had to work too hard for. It's been three years and counting but the most Emma has gotten was a welcome back, Miss Swan, Regina drained and a shade too green to be healthy as they stood by the well.
Her mouth works before her brain. "Regina," is called out, her presence being made known when it shouldn't come as a surprise anyways, not without the stench of her magic still lingering in the air. "Regina, wait," Emma calls again, struggling to stand as she races toward her once friend, fingers grasping the sleeve of her white coat as they both disappear in a plume of purple smoke.
…
"Unhand me!" There isn't any strength in the words, but Regina feels it claw up her throat until she has no choice but to spit it out at Emma.
Emma releases Regina with hesitance, dizzy from the trip and her fall both. "I want to talk to you," she pleads, chest aching and palms burning. Regina looks at Emma with a mask slipping over her features; cool, calm, and collected as she stares the saviour down. Emma hates this mask, the mask of a politician directed more at Sidney than at Emma, not when they had been fighting for their son, fighting for each other. "Please," Emma adds, as if that might make a difference, as if that might pull off the mask that slips down with a crack anyways.
"I don't want to listen to anything you say." Which, okay, fair; but Emma has so much she wants to say, things about Henry and his feelings, about how he doesn't like when Regina isn't around, about how much he loves her and wants her to be happy—no matter the cost. Henry is clearly suffering, and Emma chokes on the words as she tries to get them out.
Regina, done with the three seconds she might've afforded Emma, sweeps her hand toward the front door of the mansion. "You can see yourself out."
"No, wait—"
Regina sighs. "Miss Swan, I haven't the patience to deal with any more of your useless apologies. I want to be left alone." She's speaking to a child, an absolute child, one that will clutch at her arm to hide her wounds, but display the guilt she holds proudly on her shoulders.
When Emma's slow footsteps retreat toward the door, the pressure from Regina's chest lifting the further away her nemesis goes, Regina expects more silence. They are perfectly matched after all, two women with the same tumultuous pasts to defeat each other in the most poetic of ways. How many times must they prod at each other's weaknesses before one or the other falls down in defeat?
"I did it for you," Regina hears, the heat from the fire burning her face as she kneels down to poke at the wood. "I thought… one less person to kill, you know?"
If tears blur Regina's vision, then she blames it on the fire. "You had no right to interfere in my past." Her words come out raspy instead of strong, catching at the back of her throat as she tries to give them too much power. Regina has always been powerless, at the mercy of hands that stroked her hair and called her a good girl, strings adorned around their fingers as they moved her to their will.
"I only saved a life," Emma snaps, guilt sweeping off her shoulders to be replaced with self righteousness. Regina stands and turns at her words, eyes red but tears refusing to fall. "But choosing that life over you wasn't a choice that was mine."
Regina steps back with a gasp, that blow hitting her too hard, the fire behind her crawling up the fabric of her pants as she burns, burns, burns.
"Regina!" is the last thing she hears, her world turning dark.
:::
You promised rings in her ears, Henry's sobs playing back on a loop. It's been days, days of guilt eating her up alive, the image of yellow, orange, and red licking up the length of a woman too broken to do more than scream.
Emma tries to remember when last she had heard such a guttural sound— in foster care maybe, but it had never held so much relief despite the pain. Did Regina scream like this too when she was electrocuted? Did she scream like this when she was imprisoned by Snow and David? Did she scream when her life's work was shattered by a single kiss? Emma can't remember, she doesn't think Regina has ever screamed like that before.
Snow sits beside Emma in the hospital waiting room, a cool hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You should go home."
"I have to be here," Emma says, staring blankly ahead. "For Henry," she adds, as if that will justify her presence to her mother who sees right through the excuses of Henry who sleeps fitfully back at the loft.
Snow hesitates, but eventually says, "she'll be fine. It wasn't your fault." But it is Emma's fault; a cutting remark hitting too close to home, her voice tasting like poison as she did what Regina would do, what Regina hasn't done since Marian had been brought back from the dead, brought back from the edges of time by a saviour with a complex.
Emma refuses to break down, her eyes empty as she stares straight ahead, waiting for the news of Regina's death or recovery to reach her ears. She hasn't gone to Regina since panicking at the mansion, fumbling as she looked for water or a blanket to put the fire out, finding nothing in a state of terror other than her jacket and the sliver of a memory to roll Regina along the floor until the fire went out.
There was a blanket right there, a cloth over the coffee table, water in a glass that Regina hadn't sipped from yet. Magic. "She shouldn't be in here so long. Blue should heal her, or Gold, or—"
"Emma." Emma doesn't break down, not if anyone can't see the tears that streak down into her mother's cardigan, shoulders shaking as she refuses to see Regina, the image of her being carried away by paramedics enough to have her world shaken, to have that image seared into her brain. "Come home," Snow whispers, soft against Emma's hair. "We can talk once you've eaten and had a rest, but for now, let your father and I handle this, okay?"
Emma's shaky nod is enough of an answer.
…
Henry's expectant eyes isn't what Emma had envisioned would greet her the moment she comes home. He's sitting at the edge of the couch, leaning over the armrest as Snow guides Emma inside, his gaze following her as she slumps in the hardback chair, wood cutting into her spine.
"Will you tell me now?" he asks tentatively, his voice soft like a gentle breeze that Emma disregards. She's been doing that since Regina had been admitted, brushing off his questions that she doesn't have the answers to—not when they will spoil his view of his mothers when all this had started off as an argument. "Emma," he tries again, the cry catching in his voice. "Emma answer me, please."
The thick swallow gives her away, fingers curling around the mug Snow hands her. "We were talking. She stepped back and the fire was too high." It's as simple as she can make it, her voice detached despite the lump that sits in her throat.
"But she'll be okay?"
"She'll be fine," Snow says, coming to Emma's rescue. "David and I will make sure of it." Henry doesn't look convinced, gaze darting back to Emma who had last seen his mother, the one to stop the fire from going too far.
Emma says, "she'll be back to her old snarky self in no time." But she doesn't believe a word, smile brittle when it pulls against her cheeks.
:::
"The Good thing is that this isn't a magical aliment."
"So that means she can be saved with magic?" Gold and Blue remain silent as Emma stares them down, looking for answers that they keep to themselves.
Gold clears his throat, setting his cane aside as he takes a seat at the dining room table. "It isn't that simple," he says, gold teeth flashing in the light. "Usually we'd just wave our hands and the damage would be reversed, but this is no ordinary person we're talking about, Miss Swan."
Emma swallows, holding back her questions as Blue steps in with a nervous stutter, fingers twisting within each other as she opts to stand. "What Mr Gold is trying to say," she starts, swallowing with a tilt of her head, a half smile on her lips that falls flat. "Is that her majesty has magic of her own. It's trying to heal her in its own time, and we can't really interfere." Blue is known for being the most powerful fairy there is, yet she glances every so often at the dark one as if he may sprout fangs and eat her alive. Such a situation would have usually tickled Emma's humour, but she's not in the mood to laugh today.
Snow places a hand on Emma's arm as she steps forward. "Are you saying we leave Regina like this? There has to be another way—a painless way."
"There is one way," Gold drawls, Emma's arm tensing under her mother's touch. "We could put her under a sleeping curse, let her magic heal her body whilst her mind floats."
"No."
Gold looks to Emma with knowing, sighing as if he's been expecting Emma to put up a fuss. "What's the harm, dearie? Regina has her soulmate in town, and she's shared true love's kiss with her son… waking her up isn't going to be a problem."
"And what about after?" Because there's a burning room and Regina has already gone through that, guilt chewing at Emma's insides with particular glee.
"I could, uh," Blue looks to Gold as if remembering herself, hand raised in the air before it drops down. She clears her throat. "I could fashion her majesty a necklace that will allow her to control the flames if that's—"
"No," Emma says again. There's something about this that doesn't feel right. Emma wouldn't want to be put under any sleeping curse, no matter how serious her condition, and so naturally she's weary when they suggest such a solution for the strongest person she knows. "We'll find another way, or else stick to the morphine." Science hasn't failed her yet, not in the way magic has.
:::
They've forgotten all about him, but he comes bursting through the hospital doors a few days too late. "Regina?" he asks, gaze moving from David and Snow to Emma and Henry. They offer him nothing, not when Snow and David hold onto each other with guilty looks on their faces, and Henry leans further into Emma's side as if that will allow him to disappear.
"She's in the ICU," Emma says eventually, voice nothing more than a croak. Robin takes off without any real destination in mind, a man on a mission with his soulmate in distress. This is why Regina loves him, Emma thinks, allowing Henry's hand to slip into hers, he acts with instinct, no harm or ill intent wrapped up in an apology.
Henry tugs on her arm to get them to sit, the hard plastic of the chair causing her lower back to numb, minutes ticking by as visiting hours crawl to a close. Robin hasn't come out yet. "Ma, I want to see Mom." Henry's cracking voice that's usually unsteady in the face of puberty now cracks for entirely different reasons, Emma releasing him to stomp over to the nurse's station.
"Hey," she calls, pushing her jacket aside to display her badge in the event the nurse doesn't know who she is. "How long is Robin allowed to be in there? Regina's son would like to see her." My son, your son, our son; they had fought over the title as would two opposing sides for a precious gem, going at each other until the most wonderful of compromises was made. In this situation, Emma hands Henry over to Regina without second thought, another apology that doesn't matter.
"I'm afraid visiting hours are over," the nurse says slowly. Emma places her hands on her hips to spread her jacket further, gun clearly visible where it's holstered under her arm. "But I'll see what I can do."
…
It's only a few minutes of Henry being inside the ICU does he come back out. The blue hospital scrubs he wears are bulky over his shoulders, the tears in his eyes making him look more like the child who had come knocking at her door at the age of ten with a theory about a curse, than the young man with a breaking voice and strict instructions not to touch his hair.
He doesn't come to her like Emma expects him to, instead he runs out of the hospital into the street, the colour blue fluttering behind him as he removes all evidence of ever gracing Storybrooke Memorial Hospital.
David says, "I've got this." One foot in front of each other as he begins his chase, the ease at which he runs smooth and unperturbed by anything that still shakes the very foundations of Emma's world.
"You should see her," Snow whispers, tears in her eyes. How is Emma supposed to tell her mother that she's afraid when her clothes are being covered by the colour blue and her gun is being placed in the hospital safe? The saviour cannot be scared, not when she should rejoice at the defeat of her greatest enemy—but Emma is scared, scared of so many things, but more so of the woman who lies on her stomach, angry burns along her legs.
Robin sits holding Regina's hand, speaking softly to her as he has been doing for the past two hours. Emma wonders if he gave Henry a chance to cut in, if he offered her son a moment to process everything. She doubts it, not when Robin squeezes Regina's hand tighter as Emma approaches, refusing to give ground even when she places a hand on his shoulder. She wants him gone—it's his fault they're in this situation in the first place. A choice that should have been easy leaves them all burned, and Emma chooses to blame the one person who won't fucking leave.
"Robin," she says, but he flinches, clinging onto Regina. "Robin," she tries again with little to no effect. "Robin, visiting hours are over. Regina needs to rest." That's what gets him to leave, but not before placing a kiss on Regina's cheek through his mask, a longing look sent her way as the man finally leaves.
Whatever Emma had wanted to achieve, it isn't this. She's left alone with her greatest failure, replacing Robin's seat that's still too warm. "Miss Swan," Regina drawls, voice thick but still hers nevertheless.
"You're awake," Emma says lamely, eyes focusing above Regina's head, through the glass doors.
Regina sighs, shifting with a wince. "Who can sleep with this pain?"
"I'll tell them to amp up the morphine for you." Because this back and forth is easier than apologising again—Gods know what it would do to Regina this time.
"Emma," Regina chokes out, fingertips brushing Emma's gloved hand. "You should have… why did you save me?"
That gets Emma's attention, green eyes snapping down to finally look at Regina. She's small underneath the hospital gown, hair pushed back and face devoid of any makeup. Emma thinks she looks beautiful like this, human maybe. "Because that's what a good person does."
"You and your good intentions," Regina spits, the malice lacking from her words. Regina doesn't have any strength, not enough to remove her hand where it wraps around Emma's wrist, not enough to use magic that works overtime to speed up her recovery, not enough to send her enemy away and exchange her for the soulmate who paces just outside.
Emma says, "Robin was here." The statement a question in itself as she tries to keep it together.
"He's here out of guilt," Regina responds, teeth gritting as a surge of agony shoots up her legs. She's not on nearly enough morphine, mind painfully aware of every little thing. "Much like you," she adds, fingers never leaving Emma's wrist.
Emma swallows. There's nothing to say, nothing to add when Regina has it all down to a fine tune. "Is he choosing you?" she asks, gaze lifting back up to the glass doors, to how Robin seethes from outside with a nurse who doesn't let him back in.
"No one chooses me."
"Henry did," Emma counters with. Henry always chooses Regina, and this time Emma doesn't hide behind that truth. Regina closes her eyes, defeated. This isn't the larger than life personality Emma has grown to care for, this is someone with too many boulders weighing them down, burdens wrapped around their ankles with no way to move forward. "I'm sorry," Emma says, biting down on her lower lip to stop the tears from coming—because she's just as defeated as Regina, just as worn down.
What is the point of a Saviour if there isn't an Evil Queen, and what is the point of an Evil Queen if there isn't a Saviour?
"I'm so tired of being angry." It's whispered like a secret, the self-loathing Regina is known for coming back to slam into them both at full force. There was hope in the form of Robin, and then he was snatched away by Emma's hand, only that wasn't the case, not before the flames had done their job and Emma had spewed out a truth too painful to bear.
Removing her mask, the possibility of losing Regina because she wants to be lost too high, Emma steps out from behind Henry's shadow. In the future, when Henry starts his own family and needs them a little less, perhaps their excuses to see each other won't exist if their relationship turns sour now. Emma is willing, perhaps, to make Regina angry enough that she fights to live another day. "I thought he would choose you," she says softly, leaning down until her chin rests against the pillow, Regina's uneven breaths caressing her cheeks. "I would have chosen you, because that's what you do, right? You choose the people you love?"
Anger—that is an expected emotion, but the crumpling of the Evil Queen's face that ends in a sob is not something that Emma is experienced with. Regina's sobs shake the bed, Emma's wrist still trapped in her hold as it's dragged toward Regina's chest, resting against her beating heart. Regina cries for a long time, Emma swallowing thickly to stop her own tears from falling. One of them has to be strong in this situation, and if Emma has to hold back every tear whilst Regina finally feels the weight of everything, then so be it.
…
It's dark when she finally returns home, the lights all off, and Robin safely escorted back to his wife. Robin had been pensive the entire drive to the woods, fingers curled into a fist that rested against his lips. Emma hadn't wanted to pry, but the stifling silence was too much for Robin, the truth spilling out of him without any prompting.
"I do love her," he had said. "But Marian is my wife." As if Emma should have understood, should have been held down by the weight of that title almost as much she is by the title of Saviour.
Emma's knuckles still hurt from where she had held on too tightly to her steering as she listened to Robin's breathing, telling herself over and over again that he's Regina's soulmate—pixie dust never lies does it? "What are you choosing to do?" She had asked him, because there is always a choice, and Robin has had too many opportunities to choose right, to let his past find her own future and build his with the woman he supposedly loves.
Robin had sighed, the sound still ringing in Emma's ears as she removes her jacket now, hangs it up on the hook behind the door. "Regina is hurt. I'll be there for her if she needs me, but I have a wife." I have a wife, Robin had said again, a wife, a wife, a wife…
It had blurted out before she could stop herself, the question curling around her throat, echoing in the sound her keys make when she leaves it by the bowl next to the television. "Would you still be there if she was someone else's wife?"
"No," Robin had answered easily, so easy. She's someone else's mother, someone else's friend, Emma had wanted to say, but the words hid behind the lump in her throat as Robin essentially disregarded every relationship Regina has built that isn't romantic.
Shoes pulled off her feet without bothering with the laces, Emma trudges up the stairs to her bedroom, lingering in the doorway when she finds Snow curled around Henry who looks too small. For once, with all the excuses about doing things because of Henry or for Henry, is tangible enough that Emma steps back away from the scene. If Regina had cried into Emma's arm about being chosen, their relationship hanging in a limbo where no one can define it, then that isn't the concern anymore, not with Henry hurting between them.
:::
"Swan!" The stringy voice of Hook catches her attention as she leaves Granny's, a tray of three takeaway cups of coffee in her hands. "Haven't seen you around much."
It's a clear question, one Emma doesn't want to answer when there are two kisses between them and a traded ship that means too much to Hook—a debt Emma is concerned she has to pay. "Listen," she starts, shifting the tray of coffees in her hand. "Things are not… I mean—I can't Hook. Regina is hurt, and I need to be there for Henry."
"For Henry," he repeats, hand on his belt as he widens his stance. "The boy has many people who care for him, Emma. A few minutes to spare for me during all of this isn't too much to ask."
There's a threat of coffee spilling everywhere before Emma catches herself, fingers tightening their grip. Hook expects her to be clear minded in a relationship she's reluctant to start, what with mixed signals and the needy kisses that are spurned by the feeling of someone actually wanting her. Hook looks at her as if she's his ship, the saviour with a heart of gold and a checked past that makes her strong in the face of adversity. Only she isn't strong, not without her enemy backing her up, sparking a fiery feeling in her veins that comes along with every argument and challenge. Hook is in love with Regina's Emma—but she'll never be that person for him.
"You're my friend, Hook," she says, stepping closer to him. "I appreciate everything you have done for me, but I am not ready to be anyone's partner just yet." Even as sheriff, Emma works alone, her father constantly out of the loop as long as Regina is standing beside her.
There isn't anything Hook can say, but he does afford her a scoff before he ambles away, flask tipping to his lips as he crosses the road.
…
Regina finds herself in the company of Emma Swan again, guilt overshadowed by the concern that's clear on her face. "Is that for me?" she asks, pointing to the coffee cup that sits on the stand beside her. She's been restricted to hospital food and water, her wounds healing enough that it doesn't hurt as much anymore. Magic really is a miracle.
"Are you allowed to have this?" Emma asks, eyeing her with scepticism. When Regina throws her a softened glare and simply holds out her hand, Emma gives in and passes the coffee over.
There's a sigh that emotes how grateful Regina is for the beverage, but she doesn't voice it out loud. "I'm waiting," Emma says, and Regina sighs into her coffee with the weight of expectation.
"What are you waiting for now, Miss Swan?"
Emma looks over at her. "The blame, the yelling, the—" she chokes, clearing her throat to hide the cry in her voice.
Setting the coffee down, Regina lays back on her side when the strain of sitting up on her elbow becomes too much. "Everyone gets burned by their past, with me this is just literal." Maybe it's the morphine, but Regina laughs at her own expense, Emma's tears finally tracking down her cheeks as she watches on with agony.
Emma asks once Regina has quietened down, "do you want him?" Regina's smile drops at that.
"He's my only option," Regina says. Emma's stomach plummets.
"Maybe," Emma agrees, swiping underneath her eyes. "Maybe not."
There's something heavy sitting in the air, something that Regina can't see. It's the suffocating lack of knowledge that has her lean up on her elbow again, hoping the slight elevation in height will help her see whatever it is better—it doesn't, and Regina is only left with one burning question. "Who else is there?"
"Henry," comes out of her mouth before she can stop herself. The answer instantaneous, Emma hiding behind the shadow of her son once again. Regina lays back down, eyes blinking as she tries to substitute the romantic loss of a soulmate with the platonic love for her son. "And me," Emma adds.
Regna scoffs. "Bold of you to weigh yourself against a soulmate."
"Bold of me to love you more than he does."
A pin drop could be heard, silence descending on the pair as they stare at each other. Emma hadn't meant to say that, but now that the words are out she can't imagine taking them back. It rings true, doesn't it? How long has she felt this way about Regina that getting burned by their regrets is what it takes to realise this?
(Had it been with Hi, and you're Henry's birthmother? Or had it been with I know her, I believe her to I invited her?
Had it been when Regina smiled, welcome back, Miss Swan on her lips, or perhaps between heated glares and scathing remarks that had them too close to each other?
Emma doesn't know when, but she knows what she feels now.)
"Say something," Emma urges, unable to take the silence any longer, unable to prolong a rejection that will inevitably come.
Regina lays back down on her front, eyes closing as she debates whether to reach for the cup of coffee just to have something to do with her hands. In the end, they curl around her neck, keeping the pillow down so that she can still read Emma's expression. "You should have told me sooner," she whispers, feeling light despite everything, feeling more than she has since Robin had pushed aside blue, red, and white balloons, Marian! Escaping his lips in a breath of disbelief. She had envied him then, had been angry that he got a second chance where she didn't, not when she had placed all her chips on his shoulders, Robin dusting them off like leaves.
"And now?" Emma asks, fidgeting in her seat, feeling too young to be in the presence of a queen with years under her belt, a woman who flounders just as much as she does.
"And now you let me heal," Regina says, eyes closing.
:::
Marian is pregnant. It's been three weeks since she was brought back from the past, two weeks since her majesty's accident, and already there's a life growing within her.
Robin is elated, but she can see the way his shoulders are sturdier, how he pulls Roland under his arm as if the child doesn't have a mother despite her presence. Marian doesn't like this, not even if she pulls Robin down to her in their tent, allows him to speak to her stomach as if this child is a blessing she might've asked for.
They're learning, the both of them, to slowly work within the parameters of a new realm, of a child who is a year older than when she last saw him, to a soulmate ordained by pixie dust that isn't Marian. Robin assures her that his duty is to her, but Marian doesn't want duty, she wants her husband back.
This is how she finds herself at the step of a mansion that is imposing in its brilliant shade of white, the large building not as huge as the castles she's used to seeing when passing by royal roads. When she pounds her fist against the door, the wood swinging open to allow her to peer inside, Marian doesn't expect the saviour to answer, not when the last time she had seen the blonde woman, there had been clear animosity between the queen and her.
"Marian," Emma says, a small smile on her face. "What brings you by?"
"I want to talk to the queen," Marian responds, wasting no time in displaying her hand. This isn't a game she wants to play, not with lives hanging in the balance. Emma's stance widens, protectiveness clear in the way her muscles flex and her lips thin. Marian says, "please." and Emma relents when she hears the desperation in the tone of the bandit's voice.
"Follow me." Marian does as Emma instructs, stepping into the threshold of the mansion with wide eyes and fidgety hands. She's here on a mission and she will not let the wonders of this world deter her path.
"Someone is here to see you," Emma says, Marian being lead into a room within the house, the fireplace empty and the walls too cold.
Regina nurses a glass of water, legs raised on a footstool with no stockings to cover her skin under a too short skirt. The scars from a fire that isn't lit is clearly visible, although only if Marian cranes her neck to try and see along the sides of the queen's legs that shouldn't have been healed so quickly. "Marian," Regina greets, her smile tired and her shoulders relaxed. "Come to see the queen brought down by a few flames?"
"I've come to ask for my husband back," Marian snaps back, in no mood to pander to the queen's self-depreciating antics. Regina looks taken aback at her outburst, and Marian mentally pats herself on her back.
Regina says with a slow deliberate voice, "he chose you, I don't have anyone to give." From beside her, Emma rolls her eyes, although the action is too affectionate to be bred from the anger Marian is so used to seeing.
"He's only with me out of duty, he wants you, and—"
Regina cuts in, "have you thought, that perhaps I do not want him?" Marian hasn't considered it before, not without wealth and a title that sits on Regina's side, not with a lack of memories and missing thirty years on Marian's side. "He has made his choice, Marian, I do not resent him for that."
"I would," Marian says. "If I were you I would have… I would have done horrible things with that heartbreak."
Regina chuckles, turning toward Emma who lays a hand on Regina's shoulder. "Or perhaps I found something that was right in front of me all along. We all have choices, and I've made mine—if you really want to know what Robin wants, I suggest you ask him. It's always nice when someone asks what it is that you want."
The queen isn't supposed to be this nice, not with their last interaction ending with one of them being handcuffed and other throwing around death threats— but here she is, leaning into the saviour's touch with the gentlest expression on her face. "Does he know?" she asks, because there's a child in her belly and her husband's soulmate doesn't want him anymore, not when she has the saviour at her arm who looks at her like that.
"He will come to know," Emma says, confidence oozing off of her in waves.
Marian takes a step back, fingers brushing over the wall until she reaches the doorway. "I'll let him know," she offers, swallowing thickly as she turns to make her leave, Emma following her as far as the doorway to watch as Marian opens the front door and disappears down the pathway.
"You made a brave decision," Emma says, her voice pained.
Regina sips from her glass of water, swallowing as she turns to the empty fireplace. "I made a selfish one," Regina rectifies, bending her leg at the knee to run her cool fingertips along scarred flesh, the touch still stinging in places. "What if I never heal, Emma? What then?"
It's a loaded question, one that holds too many hidden meanings, but Emma turns to answer it regardless of the fact that she's discarded her saviour duties to be by Regina's side, Ruby surprisingly taken with Elsa, the reason behind their snow monster. "Everyone heals, it's just a matter of time and patience."
"Two things the saviour has trouble with," Regina teases, an easy smirk returning to her face.
Emma smiles back, thumbs hooked into the loops of her jeans. "Two things I've always had when it comes to you." Regina turns away to hide her blush, but Emma catches it regardless, hope blooming in her chest where guilt once sat. "David will be done with his shift soon. I'd better get going."
It isn't like Regina will be left alone for long, not until Henry returns from school with a brave face for them all, applying ointment to Regina's legs and bandaging them even when she refuses to receive such treatment. The burns are nothing more than angry bruises, her magic working overtime to bring her back up to full strength again. Although Regina still calls out a soft, "Emma, wait."
Emma pauses, looking over at Regina with a question in her eyes.
"Can you light a fire for me? This room tends to get cold."
"You're not…"
"Scared?" Regina asks, clutching the glass of water in her hand too tightly when Emma nods. "For this," she whispers, "I'm willing to take a chance." They aren't talking about a fire anymore, but Emma still moves to crouch down in front of the fireplace, stacking a few pieces of wood atop each other before lighting a small flame. Regina doesn't flinch like she expects herself to, not when the warmth of it has her close her eyes, the flickering flame feeling more like home than anything else has.
A hand grasps her own to ground her, Regina's eyes opening to stare into Emma's as they ask whether she's okay. This silence between them lingers, Regina placing the glass of water beside her on the table, her now free hand moving through Emma's hair to pull her unconsciously closer. This is everything they've both been building up to, the final defeat of the Evil Queen by the lips of the saviour that press against hers.
It's soft, gentle as Emma cups her cheek, a small sigh resounding against Regina's lips as she swallows it down with another firmer kiss. If Regina considered Emma a choice before Robin, perhaps none of them would have been burned by the regrets of their pasts, not when Emma handles her with a reverence that speaks for more than just taming the Evil Queen, but for being special enough to see Regina beneath it all.
"Will you wait?" Regina asks against Emma's jaw, eyes closed as she catches her breath.
Emma smiles against Regina's cheek, pulling back with a sheen of tears in her eyes and a glow from the fire behind her. "Regina," Emma sighs, chuckling as she brushes back dark hair behind Regina's ears. "I'll wait with you until Henry comes back from school if that's what you want." But that isn't what Regina wants, the former queen pulling back with a sulk. "And," Emma adds, tugging on Regina's hands to gain her attention again. "I will wait until you are ready to choose me. I'm here, I won't leave you for anything or anyone."
"Anyone?" Regina asks, just to make sure.
Emma cracks a smile, grinning from ear to ear and says, "there has only ever been you—other than Henry of course, and…"
"He comes before anyone," Regina agrees, breathing out a relieved breath. "But you come a close second, Miss Swan, even with all your good intentions and charming qualities."
This time Emma laughs at the half hearted insult, Regina's hands in her own as they look to each other lovingly, the fire behind them a warm friend rather than enemy that had started this all. "I'm okay with being second to Henry," Emma breathes, resting her forehead against Regina's as her laughter dies down, content at last.
"It's about damn time!" They hear, jumping apart at the screech that comes from the doorway, Henry flinging his backpack to the ground as he makes his way toward his mothers. He's had a rough time witnessing the effects of their arguments, his name ping ponging between his mothers as they use him as a cover for emotions that doesn't belong to him.
Emma squirms under the embrace of her son as he squishes her close to Regina, his head on their shoulders as he tries to hide his tears. "Kid," she says, "what you saw—"
"Was awesome," Henry cuts in. "I think it's awesome. Right, Mom?" He turns to Regina, his chest heaving as he tries to hold onto the hope that this time, his mothers have made the right choice.
"It is," Regina agrees, caressing his cheek, her other hand squeezing Emma's. "We're finally going to be happy." It's all the confirmation Emma needs, her face burrowing into Henry's shoulder as he hugs them again, a smile spreading on her face as she thinks about the days that will come, the days of healing and arguments, of past regrets that will climb up again, of a magical town that will need a saviour no matter the occasion— but most of all, the days of happiness and warmth that will be worth it all.
Fingers brush through her hair, the touch delicate and soft. When Emma looks up, Regina looks on at her with a small smile, "you're my choice," whispered over Henry head as the guilt of bringing a dead woman from the past finally falls away, her arm encasing both Regina and Henry in an embrace that feels just as warm as a fire made not from regrets, but from the strength of moving on from them.