"Do you ever wonder," Emma can feel Regina before she sees her. She doesn't bother to turn her head to acknowledge the other woman, just stares out the bay windows above the kitchen sink. She's staring at Regina's apple tree, bare and stiff in the cold January wind. "I mean," she begins again, her shoulders sagging forward the slightest bit. "True love, it's different for everyone, isn't it? Forgiveness too, right?"
Regina's next to her now, leaning against the counter, her hip against cool granite. She looks brittle, her whole body tense, and pain shoots through her, straight up through her, as she takes a surprised breath. They haven't spoken of this, not really, and Regina feels this horrible ache in her chest. It pushes forward, against her solar plexus, between her ribs, and then it's thumping against her sternum, contracting around her esophagus, and she can't breathe.
Regina loves Emma, she's in love with her, but something about Emma always hurts. It always hurts in the deepest, fullest part of her heart. It starts there, surrounded by cardiac muscle and blood that was never quite royal, and sometimes Regina can feel it in the tips of her fucking fingers. Mainly when she wakes up at three in the morning, forehead hot and damp with sweat, after she's been dreaming of gangly little girls with glasses and wild blonde hair. And green eyes that spark with life until Regina appears, until Regina's fingers lift her chin, and brilliant green fades to moss, then to russet brown, and blonde moves through brown to black. And that little chin wobbles against her fingers and it's all Regina can do not to scream. But it doesn't stop, it never stops, and those fearful brown eyes, wide and innocent, begin to glow violet, and coldness seeps in and she can feel the magic building before her, closing over her chest. But as soon as it happens, it's gone. And then she's looking at Emma again, Emma at no more than ten, small and bright, but something is different. Her eyes are darker, more alive than anything Regina's ever seen, but there's something dark there. It unsettles Regina to the point of sickness, and her stomach churns and her throat tightens, her eyes squeeze shut and she longs for her Emma, Henry's Emma. She's speaking, words Regina can't make out, but she hears hate and evil and death. And she wakes, her own hands scratching violently at her throat. Her chest heaves and her heart races in her ears and even the sound of her own breathing seems so far, far away. If Emma wasn't such a heavy sleeper, Regina knows she would be awake, looking at her, head cocked to the side, with that confused expression that Regina has really only seen on sheepherding dogs and certain pet bird varieties. But Emma sleeps on beside her, and she has the fucking nerve to snore, too. So Regina reaches out, fingertips tingling as she brushes them through Emma's hair, from the base of her neck until the ends slip through her fingers. She does this until she can see again, until her breathing slows, until the pain isn't so sharp anymore, until Emma wakes up, sleepy and lazy and smiling, and Regina would smile back if it didn't hurt so much, if it reached her eyes.
"Is it important?" Regina finally asks, her heart hammering in her chest. She knows this is a foolish question the second the words leave her mouth, she really hadn't intended to say it out loud either.
"Apparently here, or there, in whatever... where princesses and magic and fucking Snow White are real, true love is the most important thing of all. I mean, I was born from it, there's magic made from it, me, magic, you killed for it, so yeah, yeah, I guess it's pretty important." Emma's been patient, she's been patient to a fault lately, but sometimes, okay, all the time, she feels like she wants to jump out of her own skin and run. She thinks maybe she'd like to see the mountains, or the bluest parts of the Mediterranean Sea. No, Emma wants something normal, something boring and mundane, something like Iowa or Wisconsin, the Midwest. She's still staring at the apple tree and Regina eventually follows her gaze. Emma continues, "And I want to forgive my parents, and every single person that ever hurt me, and you, I really want to forgive you, Regina. But how does that work? How can I just accept the things you've done and the person you've been? How can I accept that you might just do them again but that I'm so ass over heels in love with you that it makes my fucking head spin?"
"You shouldn't accept any of that, really," Regina brushes a few invisible wrinkles out of her black pants. She's been waiting for this. She's been waiting for this since the very beginning, although her fears have changed form since then. "Nor should Henry. And I wouldn't be surprised if either of you chose not to. But," her voices hardens, and there it is, that coldness, the detachment, the woman who ruled with much more than an iron fist. "I would remind you, especially you, I am not extremely gracious when hurt." She's not sure what made her say it, she's not that woman anymore, and the pain in her chest surges forward again. "Damn it!" she's hunched over the counter then, her body jerking helplessly as she tries to hold in the horrible, awful, painful sobs trying to rip themselves from her throat.
Emma's not entirely sure what to do anymore. She was angry, she's still fucking furious, but everything hurts. And Regina crying, sobbing, that hurts the worst. But she doesn't move from where she's perched on the countertop, and it's then she feels something break.
Everything is fragile. The air between them is brittle, cold, and she can feel Regina's sadness slipping through the cracks. And then it's too hot, too stuffy, and it pushes against her, pushes her down, makes her skin feel too tight.
She's clawing at the front of her tank top and the soles of her bare feet press against the cabinets below, "God damn it, Regina."
"What do you do?" Regina's voice is rough and it hits Emma deep in the pit of her stomach. "What do you do when you realize, even at your most powerful, you never really belonged to yourself?" Regina's reaching for her then, her grip unforgiving around Emma's wrists. "I wanted control, I wanted to be in control, I didn't want to feel like a child, I wanted to be free." The last word is whispered against Emma's lips, as if Regina's never truly known exactly what she wanted until this very moment. She sounds surprised and assured all at once, and Emma wishes she knew what to say, because Emma's always belonged to herself. But Emma knows what it's like to want nothing but the wind in her hair and something solid beneath her feet.
"Help me, Emma."
Emma wishes she knew what to say or how to help, because as much as she understands, she doesn't. Not at all. Because Emma's never wanted to rip everything out from another person, to destroy them. And she's still angry. She's angry in the way that makes her chest ache, the way that prickles all the way down to her bones, and she's forgiven a lot of things in her life but never has she even begun to fathom something so fucking unreal. Which is probably in part what causes this disconnect, because she can still look at Regina and want and need.
Regina makes a strangled sound, something caught between her chest and her throat, and her lips are on Emma's before Emma's brain can catch up. Her grip is still tight around Emma's wrists and Emma fights against her. She is torn between wanting to tangle her fingers in Regina's hair, and wanting to wrap her hands around the smooth smooth column of Regina's throat. She wants to watch the tendons stretch and distend as she squeezes, so that Regina knows what it's like to hurt like this, to feel smothered like this. But she has the feeling Regina already knows.
Regina nips at her lips, catching the swollen flesh of her bottom lip between her teeth, and Emma can no longer think. She can only feel the growing heat between her legs and the sharpening ache in her chest. She presses her tongue against the front of Regina's teeth and gives a short gasp of surprise when Regina releases her lip in favor of her tongue. She would swear, but her tongue is caught between Regina's teeth and she's teasing the tip of Emma's tongue with her own, and all Emma can do is moan.
"Let me touch you," Emma gasps, once Regina's lips have moved on, warm and full against Emma's jaw. "Jesus, Regina, just let me touch you."
Regina shakes her head and pins Emma's hands down against the counter. She's practically purring against Emma's neck now, and her grip only tightens when Emma begins to struggle again. "Stop fighting," Regina's kisses have become chaste and quick against her rapidly heating flesh and Emma sighs.
"It's all I've ever done," slips out and Emma's eyes flutter closed in defeat. And that's the answer Regina was searching for and Emma hopes she fucking gets it.
Regina's hands slide down Emma's wrists and they flatten against the backs of Emma's hands, cool and shaking. She understands. "Is this okay?" she asks, her hands coming to rest on Emma's denim-covered thighs.
It's the first time Regina's ever truly asked permission, and the way she whimpers against the shell of Emma's ear fucking hurts, Emma finds herself nodding without a second thought.
"I don't want to fight you, I just want to run from you" is what slips out as Regina's hands slide up her thighs. "I want run far away from you." Emma doesn't miss the way Regina's fingers slide possessively through her belt loops so she pauses, covers Regina's shaking hands with her own. "But I can't. I can't, because I want you to fucking fight, like I fought, like I hope Henry never has to."
Regina whimpers again and Emma slides her hands up toned arms until they find home in Regina's hair, the heels of her hands pressed against Regina's temples. "I'm not running, I swear to fucking God, Regina. I'm right here."
It's silent, save for Emma's heavy breathing and the way Regina chokes on each breath. But her hands move through Regina's hair until one can rest at the base of her neck, pressing against the kinks and knots until Regina calms against her.
"I want," Regina's voice is barely a whisper and it startles Emma. "I need."
It's Emma who tugs at the first button of Regina's blouse and slips her hand inside. She presses her palm flat against the space above Regina's heart, "I know."
Regina presses a kiss just below Emma's ear. The air is still thick around them and she tugs at Emma's pants, "Off."
Emma slides off the counter, pressing the full length of her body to Regina's and she knows what Regina needs, but she needs this. For just a minute more. "I want to trust you. I do trust you. So why is it so fucking complicated?"
"Because nothing is easy," Regina murmurs and slips her hands up to the button of Emma's jeans. "Because if it was easy, you wouldn't want it."
Emma nods once and helps Regina with her jeans, kicking them off as she reaches for the buttons of Regina's silk blouse. She fumbles on the last button, her mind catching up with the raw, dissatisfied feeling in her heart, and she feels Regina's hands, now warm over hers.
"Breathe, Emma."
So she does, and her lungs feel so fucking full but her heart feels so fucking confused, and she's tearing at the burgundy lace covering Regina's breasts before she even knows it. "It hurts," she mumbles, kissing a fevered line down Regina's chest as she pulls the lace down enough to expose one dusky rose colored nipple.
"I know. God, I know," Regina keeps repeating as she pushes Emma back until her hips hit the counter again.
Emma hoists herself up, hissing as the cold granite hits her skin, and Regina pushes her thighs apart. She leans forward as Emma's head dips and she groans when Emma's lips close around her nipple. Emma flattens her tongue against the hardened peak, laving it gently as Regina arches further into her touch.
"Emma," Regina sighs and one of her hands moves to Emma's hip, while the other moves between her thighs. She trails her fingers through heat and wetness and Emma's hips buck forward when Regina pinches her clit. Emma whines, feeling too open, and Regina understands, presses two fingers inside, and Emma falls back against the countertop.
"God, yes."
Regina moves slowly, revels in the way Emma pulls her in, takes what she needs, and two fingers become three. Emma is panting, chest heaving, and Regina leans in, mouthing at her nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top. Emma's hand weaves through Regina's hair, holding her in place, and she moans, low in her throat, when Regina bites down.
"Fuck, more."
Regina pushes at one of Emma's knees, until her foot is flat against the counter, and a fourth finger pushes inside. Emma mewls, leveraging her heel against the cold stone, and she presses down.
"Wait," she chokes out. There are tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, falling downward into her hair, but she doesn't fucking care. She's so stretched, so fucking full, but she aches, and she hurts, and god, it fucking hurts. "Oh, Jesus. Jesus."
Regina is patient. She hovers above Emma for a moment before she leans down again, kissing one eyelid, then the other, as she begins to move again. Her arm burns and there's a sharp ache in her lower back, but she wouldn't stop for the world.
"Let go, Emma," she husks. "Let go."
Her thumb finds Emma's clit, and it's sort of messy and frantic, but Emma makes this choked sound and then she moans, cants her hips toward Regina, and then she's coming. She cries Regina's name and bites out a throaty, "Fuck!" as she writhes against the counter.
Regina's free hand moves to her own pants, tugging at the expensive fabric until it's around her ankles. Emma groans when Regina's pulls away, suddenly empty and far too exposed. Regina murmurs something soothing and unintelligible and climbs up onto the counter, on top of Emma, and Emma's eyes shoot open when she feels Regina press against her. Wetness against wetness.
"Oh, fuck," she gasps, pulling Regina down for a kiss.
Regina starts slow, pushing at Emma's leg until she can slip hers beneath it, and then she finds a steady rhythm. Emma props herself up on one elbow, wanting to watch because there's absolutely nothing more beautiful than Regina, eyes closed, head thrown back in pleasure. One of her hands is fisted in Emma's long hair and the other is pressed flat against the counter. She's still wearing her fucking high heels, the pointy-toed black ones, and Emma groans and reaches up with one hand. She cups Regina's cheek for a brief moment before she lets her hand travel downward, flat against Regina's chest.
"I wish you could see yourself right now," Emma says, circling one of Regina's nipples with the tips of her fingers. Regina's hips slow and Emma's hand finds itself splayed across Regina's stomach. "You're so fucking open." She pushes gently until there's enough space for her to slide her other hand between Regina's legs. Her thumb brushes against Regina's clit and Regina cries out. "Here," Emma murmurs, tugging at the backs of Regina's knees until Regina is on top of her again. "Ride," she instructs, thrusting two fingers up and in, groaning at the way Regina sinks down above her.
"Yes," Regina's voice is a near hiss and she wastes no time, grinding down hard against Emma's hand. "Oh, Emma." One of her hands moves to her own hair, pushing it up and out of her face as her hips rock forward, taking Emma deeper. The other moves to Emma's lips, her thumb tracing the fullness of Emma's bottom lip, and when Emma smiles, she feel something in her heart shift. "Forgive me," she gasps softly when Emma's thumb finds her clit again. "Please, forgive me."
"I want to," Emma pushes herself up, gathers Regina to her chest with her free arm. "I love you, okay?" she presses her lips to Regina's temple as she adds a third finger, pushing as deep as she can. Regina sighs against her neck, half desperate, half content, and Emma thinks of this kitten she'd found when she was twelve, huddled beneath a rose bush. Her fingers curl and twist, drawing low keening moans from Regina's throat as she presses down hard against Regina's clit. "Love you," Emma mumbles against the crown of Regina's head, and Regina comes. She gasps and her nails, oxblood and sharper than Emma remembers, dig into her sides. Her hips move of their own accord, even after the last shaking mewl of her orgasm passes, and Emma smiles despite herself.
"I love you too," Regina rasps, before she takes a slow shuddery breath and her hips still. They stay like that, Emma's fingers still deep inside, Regina curling against her chest, and everything calms. Emma's back protests but her arm tightens around Regina, strong and sure, even as her heart hammers in her chest. "I know you're angry," Regina whispers.
Emma nods once, kisses the top of Regina's head, and slowly, gently, withdraws. "So are you. So," she pauses, bringing her fingers to her mouth, licking the taste of the other woman from them and she groans softly. "Come to bed." It shouldn't be so easy, Emma thinks, to hold Regina close, to love her. And it isn't all the time, it sure as hell isn't, because Regina is fucking stubborn and a pain in the god damn ass, and she doesn't apologize for it. But Emma's had a lifetime of loneliness and so has Regina, so isn't it right that the two of them should find each other. Need each other.
Regina slides off the counter and manages to gather their clothes in her arms, and even naked and exhausted, she looks every bit a queen. "I don't know how to make it right," she admits softly, hugging the bundle tight to her chest. "I can't take it back."
"I don't want you to," Emma hops down, stretches her arms above her head. "That would mean it was all for nothing, and god damn it, Regina, it all has to be for something."
"It was," Regina stands in the middle of the kitchen, bathed in moonlight and shadow, and Emma wants to kiss her, so she does. "I thought it was for me."
"But it wasn't."
"No," Regina's mouth turns downward at that. "No, I suppose it really wasn't."