Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, I just simply borrow and play with them to my desire. I would like to own Regina, though. That'd be nice. You know what else would be nice? If the writers stopped making her cry every episode. I'm guilty of that here, though, so I'm sorry.

Note: This was written 8 months ago but never posted on here. It's been revised and some parts have been rewritten. So yes, this isn't happy. The title and the voice of this story is based on the song, "Foreground" by Grizzly Bear. Take a listen if you'd like. I do hope you enjoy, though. Any words would be appreciated!

Foreground

You've spent a great deal of your life angry.

Angry at others and their betrayal, their incompetence, their existence. It's manifested into more parlous things, your obsession with revenge and hunger for control being a few. It's dangerous to have your anger to mix with it all, but it's your fuel and ever since Mother took your heart, anger is really the only emotion you know.

You were angry for a long time with Emma Swan. From the moment you held her child to the moment she brought him back to you, you were angry with her. Angry that she could give birth to someone as precious as Henry. Angry that she was the focus of his love.

Anger seeped further into your veins, staining your core, unfurling like a venom in your bones. It's made the curse weaker. Henry's made the curse weaker because he began to make you feel things, hope being one of them. He's also made you feel remorse, and at times you wonder why your eyes sting with tears when he runs past you without so much as a wave. If you were able to see yourself now you probably wouldn't have made that deal with Rumpelstiltskin.

But if you hadn't, you wouldn't have met Emma Swan. If you hadn't met Emma Swan, some events in Storybrooke wouldn't have happened and as threatening as they were to your authority and to the curse, it made you feel… alive. It became a game, and as much as you wanted to keep your secrets hidden, you also wanted them to be found.

Because in all your years of living you've never met anyone quite like Emma Swan. No one was able to challenge you, expose you and irk you as much as her and the fact that she's able to do all three only makes you more fascinated with her existence. Yet it wouldn't seem just to say I'm actually the Evil Queen your offspring accuses me to be! because then that gives you nothing. It takes away the allure and the power and that's all you really have.

So you exposed yourself in other ways. You made it very clear what it was. When it began, exactly sixteen weeks ago, you made it clear to Emma what this was, would continue to be and would ever be.

A good lay. A simple fix. A quick fuck.

Yet with each caress of the fair skin and sweep of the blonde hair, you've come to realize that it's become more. You remember feeling a warmth at your core when she first pressed her body flushed against yours; a little tingle between your legs, that if you ground your hips just right, could be satisfied. But then that warmth began to spread — to your fingers and to your lips, where they yearned for a touch you would beg for and that — that was when you knew.

And then, when a little thumping in your chest began to inhabit the vacant space without so much as a warning, you knew it had to end. Though it began in a sporadic nature, the sight of Emma Swan nearly made it a normalcy.

She was like a drug.

Like the fairy dust that had the ability to transform the most fearsome of adversaries into a frailer form, Emma Swan could ruin you. Like the dust, she held a great deal of beauty. Yet you knew that if you really touched her, you'd be done. You knew that if you were to ever have Emma Swan, it would make all that you've worked for — in both worlds — vanish. You knew it would destroy you.

And it's why you had to stop it.

It's why you wrapped the covers around yourself and never asked her to stay. It's why you never acknowledged the worth of these arrangements. It's why you turned a cold shoulder every time she tried to make this more than what it ever could be. It's why she stopped climbing through your window and it's why you shut her out.

You've known for quite some time that saving is what Emma Swan does; she's always been the White Knight, and it really isn't a surprise that Kathryn takes a liking to her. It really isn't a surprise that she stays at Kathryn's bedside past visiting hours and it really isn't a surprise when you drop by to catch them in an embrace far too intimate for eyes.

What surprises you is the feeling in your chest; that thumping and that venom that continues to spread throughout your body, numbing and hurting all at once. You leave the flowers at the counter and go home, bathing yourself in water that almost burns your skin.

Kathryn comes by a week later.

"I know you hate her, but Regina, if you see what I see.." she trails off with a smile at the corner of her lips.

"I don't hate her."

You lov—

"You don't?"

"No." You manage to say. "As long as you're happy, Kathryn, especially after everything that's gone on, what more can I ask for?"

And it's true. Abigail was one of those people in the land who never really bothered you. And perhaps, since she's so lost here, giving your 'blessing' is the least you can do as friend. Well, she's the closest you have to one. The last person you called a friend is currently dwelling below, trapped in another form.

Emma comes by later in the evening to pick up Henry.

The ever dramatic child that he is (you're sure a cape isn't needed for a picnic), he spends a great deal of time packing his bag for the weekend. Though you'd never allow to anything like this, something inside you tonight lets it. Perhaps it's that extra glass of cider.

"So, you and Kathryn." You keep your focus on the rim of her glass, following it as she lifts it up to her lips. You don't ever remember them being that plump.

"Yeah." She swallows. "You're not upset, are you?" You hold back a scoff at that, because as much as she knows this bothers you, she hasn't the slightest clue as to how deep it really cuts. And she shouldn't.

"I don't have the right to be." You say. Your eyes then meet hers and that's when you see it. Concern.

"Regina.." Emma sets her glass down on the kitchen island, circling it as she comes closer to you. Your knees are shaking, and you take whatever power you have left and steel your emotions. "Just say it. Just say it and I'll come back."

You want to. Oh, how you want to. She pleads you with those eyes that are somehow able to tremble along with those lips. Your eyes catch the way they part, holding back the slight hitch in your breath as you remember how they feel against yours. She leans into you then, poking her tongue out as they trace the edges of her teeth.

"I don't want you." You say, and though it comes off with the utmost certainty you want so desperately to take it all back. But you can't. The moment the words fall from your lips you know that it's the end.

This is the end of what could have been your happy ending.

Emma steps back, eyes brimming with tears as you hear Henry make his way down the stairs. "He could've been our son." She manages to say. She then casts her gaze to your chest, eyes watching it rise and fall more rapidly that it should.

You watch Emma leave. You see her and Henry out, holding your voice with as much resolve as you wish him a good weekend. He looks at you with curiosity. Before he can even question the pleasantry Emma has him out the door, shutting it without so much as a glance back.

You sigh, turning as you look into the mirror again, holding your glass as you watch your own face fall with contempt. It blurs under your scornful gaze, and if you hadn't drank so much wine you'd think that the mirror had actually moved. You throw your glass so that it meets with the one that taunts you. It shatters to the floor and for the second time you think of how pathetic you really are.

The first time you broke this mirror, it was for doing something you shouldn't have done. Tonight, you've realized, is for not doing something you should have done. You look at the shards of glass at your feet and you begin to pick them up. There's little pieces of yourself in them and no matter the angle it's still the same. After twenty-eight years, you're still the same.

You've spent a great deal of your life angry. Angry at others and their betrayal, their incompetence, their existence. But being angry with yourself, you've realized, is nothing in comparison.

It's far much worse.

I'm in the process of writing a much happier sequel to this, perhaps a second chapter. If I like it enough and find that it does justice to their relationship, I will definitely post it. Otherwise, consider this story complete. Thank you so much for the read!

Also, for those of you disturbed or uncomfortable at the Emma/Kathryn pairing and are wondering why I've written that: this was prompted to me, therefore I had no option than to write that relationship out. So yes, Emma and Kathryn.