Tink. Tink. Tink.
The soft clink of fork against ceramic plate pantomimed the smacking of wind and hail against the windows of the mayoral mansion. Flickers of candlelight danced across the room and dining room table, casting long, jarring shadows in every direction. With her cheek resting against her palm, Regina picked mindlessly at the large portion of lasagna before her.
It had been storming for three days; ever since they'd tried unsuccessfully to bring Mary Margaret and Emma home. The harsh winds and pellets of ice had turned into an all out blizzard over the last 24 hours, and all of Storybrooke was left in darkness. If she was still Mayor, she'd be out and about making phone calls, fixing any down wires, ushering the citizens of her town to a safe place in the bottom of the elementary school.
Instead, she was picking at beef and cheese stuffed noodles.
Regina sighed, frustrated, and threw her fork down onto her plate. She kicked her chair back and rose to a stand, stomping through the kitchen in an angry swarm toward her destination: the liquor cabinet. Grabbing a bottle of rum, she slammed the doors to the cupboard shut and rushed across the room to grab a glass. She stopped dead in her tracks when she brushed past the fridge.
Stuck to the door with several magnets was Henry's advent calendar. It had been a tradition since he was a young boy to open each door and read the phrase excitedly to his mother, then rush over to his gingerbread house (usually positioned in the center of the dining room table) and place another a few dollops of frosting and candy onto the roof and walls.
By the time Christmas arrived, Henry's gingerbread house was as lavishly decorated as the mansion itself.
This year, however, both the house made of baked goods and Regina's hard work laid bare.
Regina grumbled to herself and turned on her heels out the kitchen, rum in hand. She didn't need a glass; she'd just drink from the damned bottle.
Splaying herself out onto the couch, she leaned her head back and took a large swig from the bottle. Warmth immediately tickled her belly, but made the rest of her alarmingly aware of how cold it was in the house. If Henry was there, she'd have the fireplace blasting and they'd read Christmas stories beneath the light of the flame.
Regina shivered.
Sitting up slightly, she glanced over at the sofa adjacent to where she sat. Henry's blanket and Emma's red leather jacket still lay sprawled over the back of it from their last visit together before…
She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.
She missed them. Not just Henry, but that damned oaf of a birth mother of his that had somehow weaseled her way into her heart. Regina would never admit it, of course. If she ever saw Emma again, she would probably chastise her for not thinking of Henry before jumping into the portal, for abandoning him…for abandoning her.
If she ever saw Emma again…
Her breath hitched and she choked back a sob.
A chill had begun to set in her bones and Regina stood, placing the liquor onto the table and walking over to the other sofa to grab several blankets folded at the end of it. Her eyes wandered, however, to Henry's bright blue blanket and Emma's smooth jacket.
They'd never know. Chances were neither of them would ever come home to her anyway.
Regina grabbed the coat and blanket and walked back over to her couch. Wrapping the jacket around her shoulders, she curled into the fetal position and draped Henry's small blanket over her feet and legs. Comforting warmth washed over her and she closed her eyes, nuzzling her nose against the cool leather of Emma's jacket. The scent of Emma filled her nostrils, a mixture of vanilla and soap, as well as the faint smell of sweat and beer that had no doubt soaked in from years of wearing it.
On any other day, Regina would have chastised the blonde for bringing such a disgusting, dirty thing into her home. Tonight, however, she felt cradled by Emma's invisible presence.
The tears began to fall.
She clenched her eyes shut tight and opened her mouth, her chest heaving as silent sobs racked her body. Hot tears trickled from the corners of her closed lids down her pink cheeks and lips. The salty taste assaulted her tongue as a few stray tears splashed into her mouth. Sniffing, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing dark mascara and eyeliner across her face.
She buried her face in Emma's jacket and, for the first time in years, let the tears come.
Soft shuffling from her front porch startled her, and Regina furrowed her brow, craning her head over the armrest of the sofa to peek out the front window. The snow and hail made it impossible to see, but she could tell someone was picking apart the decorative rocks and flowers that adorned the entranceway.
It was where she kept the spare house key.
And only two people knew about it.
Regina leapt to her feet and bounded for the porch. Sucking in a deep breath, she twisted the handle and opened the front door.
"Uh, hi," Emma greeted shyly. "I'm home."