If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back
For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two
For the girl that I knew
Who was reckless, just enough
Who gets hurt, but who learns how to toughen up
When she's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love
And then she'll get stuck
And be scared of the life that's inside her
Getting stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her
To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes
That's been gone, but used to be mine
—"She Used to Be Mine," Sara Bareilles
The letters seem to mock her. "Pregnant" they spell out, small and black and so inevitably and undeniably real that, for just a second, she actually forgets how to breathe. Her chest constricts painfully, it feels like she's suffocating. And then she takes one deep breath and starts weeping. It's loud and ugly and she's glad that Killian isn't home because he would immediately demand to know what's wrong, wouldn't leave her alone until he'd eventually wear her down enough for her to give up and just tell him because it was easier than fighting him. After all, that's how he'd won her over all those years ago; by simply wearing her down. He'd broken her and called it love.
She looks at herself in the small, tarnished bathroom mirror. Her skin is pale, eyes red-rimmed and tired, hair hanging limply over her shoulders. She looks like shit. It didn't even occur to her until today, but she must have looked like this for a while. (Years, she thinks, ever since Killian and his relentless courting made an appearance in her life.) There's a sudden shiver running down her back, cold dread pooling in her stomach.
She ruined her life. He ruined her life. She doesn't know where it comes from all of a sudden, this realization, but once she starts thinking about it, she cannot stop.
She deserves better than this. Better than a shabby apartment, a controlling spouse, feeling numb inside for so many years. Her unborn child deserves better. True, she has promised herself and the people around her not to run anymore when things get hard, but this is different. This is not being scared of accepting love and affection; this is giving herself the love and affection she has been denied by Killian for years. No one ever said it outright, but she knows that her parents, as well as Regina and Henry more or less disapprove of her relationship with Hook. And while he was never outright violent or physically abusive, the way he treated her left its obvious marks.
The fire in her eyes is gone. She still remembers the time when she first came to Storybrooke, all infallible confidence and red leather, fighting Regina tooth and nail. Regina, who has always made her feel something—anything. (And still does, on the semi-rare occasions they see each other these days. It's not that Hook actually forbids her to see Regina, but it's obvious he doesn't approve of the brunette.) Regina, who is her friend. Who cares about her. Her questions of "Are you happy with him?" had eventually turned into "He's not good for you, Emma!" but she hadn't wanted to listen. She should have listened.
She doesn't pack much—still doesn't have much in the first place—just throws a change of clothes and the charm bracelet Regina gave her for Christmas three years ago in a duffel bag—and is out of the door before she can second-guess her decision. She needs to do this, for herself, for the baby that is apparently growing inside her. There is no way back.
Because she doesn't know where else to go, doesn't want to turn up at her parents' door at midnight when they are already sleep-deprived thanks to Neal and baby Eva, so she ends up at Mifflin Street. (Of course she does.) Regina kept the mansion despite Henry leaving for college a few months back, reasoning that he would be back for breaks and finding a new place and then moving everything was too much of a hassle.
She can see that the light in the study is still on, that Regina is still awake either doing mayoral paperwork or reading a book. For a while she just stands and stares. Stares and thinks of what could have been if she'd just been brave enough.
She hears rather than sees the front door open, and when she looks up she sees Regina, her silhouette illuminated by the light from inside the foyer.
"Emma?" the older woman asks tentatively, and slowly steps out onto the path leading to the house, feet bare.
"I fucked up," the blonde whispers in response, looking so small and fragile and defeated that it almost breaks Regina's heart. The brunette is quick to take the last few steps toward Emma, pulls the other woman into her arms and holds her as tight as she can while Emma's tears seep into the fabric of her blouse. They do this for each other now, years after the initial constant conflict and hate; they support each other now. (To be honest, Regina had never supported Emma's relationship with Hook though, because Hook just isn't good enough for Emma; never was, never will be. But she wanted—still wants—Emma to be happy, to choose who and what and where, so she stood idly by, waiting for it to fall apart. Waiting for tonight.)
She ushers Emma inside, sits her down on the couch, and then settles into the spot next to her. For a moment she is not sure if it's ok to touch Emma right now, if physical contact is going to calm the blonde or if it will make things worse. But Emma is already reaching out for her, one of her hands gliding under Regina's blouse, clutching at her side, the other sliding from her hand, over her arm, to her shoulder. A moment later, Emma is half on her lap, her head tucked in the crook of Regina's neck.
"I don't want to raise a child with him. I can't. I just can't," Emma mumbles against Regina's chest. She's afraid to look at the other woman, afraid to see the disapproval in brown eyes.
"You're pregnant?"
Regina has expected a lot of things after finding Emma in front of her door tonight, but not this, never this. They talked about children, about a sibling for Henry when he begged for one a few years ago after Emma and Hook first got together. On a night that involved a little to much red wine, Emma admitted that she would happily raise another child with Regina but definitely not with Hook. At that, Regina wanted to shake her, wanted to scream "Then choose me!" But instead she stayed silent and instead downed the rest of her wine. And now they're here.
"Yes. I'm sorry."
Emma is still not looking at Regina, but her thumb has not stopped caressing Regina's side under her blouse.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"I don't know."
Emma starts crying again, then, desperation about her situation getting the better of her once more.
"I don't even recognize myself anymore. I didn't realize until today, but what happened to me? What did he do to me?"
"He used you. He took and took and didn't give you anything in return." She is careful not to blame Emma for anything that happened. It's not her fault, she just wanted to be happy and thought she was making the right choice. And who would Regina be to judge, anyway. She spent years hung up on a married man because Pixie Dust told her he was her soulmate.
"He broke me," Emma sobs, clutching at Regina. It is quiet for a while, because Regina doesn't know what to say. Hook was bad for Emma, yes, but she before she all but whispers, "I should have chosen you."
"What?"
"I should have never started anything with Hook and instead… you know. But I was so afraid, and you had the whole Robin situation going on, so I just…"
But Regina still doesn't get it, doesn't want to hope what Emma is saying means what the brunette thinks she's saying. It can't be, it's impossible. Emma would never…
"Emma, what on earth are you talking about?"
"I'm pretty sure I was in love with you," Emma admits eventually. She sounds so small, so afraid—afraid to be rejected, to be laughed at. It's little orphan Emma, who has been given up and left behind her whole life. "Maybe I still do."
Regina just looks at Emma in wonder. Emma, this woman, who has turned her whole life upside down. Who has given her a son. Who has fought her. Who has saved her. Who has loved her.
"Oh Emma," Regina sighs, because she doesn't know what else to say. This is what she has been waiting for for close to five years now. For Emma to love her. She kisses her forehead, instead; kisses the tip of her nose. Emma closes her eyes and she kisses those too. Eventually, she presses a kiss to the corner of the blonde's mouth. It feels so natural, so right, that Regina has to seriously restrain herself to not lean back in and give Emma a real kiss.
"You should go to sleep, dear. I'll get the guest bedroom ready for you." She tries to disentangle herself from Emma, but, instead of letting go, the younger woman holds on even tighter.
"Please don't leave. I can't… I don't want to be alone right now," she admits, and Regina's heart breaks all over again. She wants to be here for Emma, wants to comfort her, love her, but she also doesn't want to overstep the mark. She takes a deep breath.
"Do you want to sleep in my bed? Would you be comfortable with that?"
When Emma nods immediately, the top of her head slightly bumping against Regina's jaw, the brunette can't help the smile from appearing on her face and mumbles "Let's go then" into the other woman's hair. This time, her attempt to get up from the couch is successful, and once she is standing, she reaches for Emma to pull her to her feet too.
They make their way upstairs in silence, still holding hands. She maneuvers Emma onto the bed, while she goes to get a pair of silk pajamas from the closet, laying them down on the bed next to Emma for her to change into.
When she comes back from the bathroom, Emma is sitting in the exact same position as before, the pajamas still untouched next to her. So Regina gets on her knees in front of Emma, giving her a questioning look as if to ask for permission, before she slowly takes off Emma's boots and socks, her jeans, her flannel shirt. She hesitates a moment when it comes to the blonde's bra, but Emma gives her a slight nod, so she carefully unclasps it and slides the straps off the blonde's shoulders. She puts Emma into the pajamas and motions for her to lay down, before she walks around the bed to climb in on the other side. This is by far not the first time they have shared a bed, but this definitely feels like the most significant one.
After Regina turns off the bedside lamp, the two women lie next to each other in the dark for a moment, unmoving. The only sound Regina can hear is Emma's breathing which is still somewhat ragged, until there is a ruffle of sheets as Emma turns and snuggles into Regina's side, nuzzling her nose into Regina's neck.
"Thank you," Emma mumbles, already half asleep, as she presses a kiss to Regina's neck.