Author's note: This story comes to you courtesy of various requests to continue my very first story for Once Upon a Time- "Burn the Witch". Now forgive me, but I quite liked where it ended and the tone of this piece is ever so slightly different, so I thought it deserved a separate entry. It might be better that you read "Burn the witch" first, but it is not essential. You'll get the gist, I'm sure.

Note: I'd like to thank my lovely beta. MickeyBoggs for the help with this chapter.

Much love

Jane


The lamb theory

Little Bo Peep had an unlikely lesson to teach on lambs getting lost. Which is one nibble at a time. And she had a plan of action: one little, Emma sized nibble, at a time. Nothing quite specific. Her brain was still fuzzy and unable of coherent, methodical planning. She just had to get her game on, that's all, because it had been so unbelievably long since she had played the field. Graham had not really been fair game, had he? She had kept her heart separate from everything, so she seemed now to be out of practise.

But Emma was, after all, her match. So diametrically her opposite in every way that she was all she needed. Besides, war made for strange bedfellows. Pun intended. Thanks to Gold's little back stabbing and that slay-the-dragon stunt (rest in peace dear Maleficent, but guess who just won?) they now had a common enemy. They were, at least, frienemies. Too much to lose by trusting each other, and too much to lose by not trusting.

Emma knew nothing about magic but she had it spades. Regina knew all about it and had none left. Even with that imp releasing magic in this world. She needed Emma. She needed Emma magical and pliable but that was a fool's errand. There was also the little matter that no magic came from bitterness. It came from love. And all her love was used up, worn out. Daniel had been so long ago he could not kindle magic of any kind, let alone the powerful magic they would need to beat Rumplestilskin. The power of the incredible loss he had left behind was not sufficient.

So, Regina decided, she would… ensnare Emma, if not with magic, then with guile. No use crying over split milk and all that. Her magic was lost, but if she played her cards right she could still command it. She would just have to woo Emma. Did people even use that word anymore? Her attempt at seducing David had been so pathetic that it was a curse on her Evil Queen reputation. She cringed internally, embarrassed even after all the events in between. Maybe she should watch a film or something. Or ask someone. Except that sounded even more pathetic. Even if they were not all out to get her- quite literally. How does one go about the business of asking romantic advice after the age of 15? And of all things, she would, at least, preserve her dignity.

It did not sit quite right with her. She remembered the kiss from last night and she turned on the bed, curling into herself, touching her lips as if she could feel it still, that kiss.

She tried to console herself with rationalisations on how sometimes people just do things in the heat of the moment, when emotions run rampant. Maybe she was already regretting it. Or, more likely, had forgotten all about it. Gods only knew where Emma Swan had had her lips before. Scores of other lips, most likely. She felt her blood curdle at the thought. And in any case. She had to survive. It was not her fault. It was just the way she was designed. She was a survivor. And survivors had to do things. So she put the memory of the kiss where she could keep it safe from herself and concentrated on the plan.

Deep breaths, Regina. Deep breaths.

So there had to be a plan.

Step one: Get up from bed. You were dead, you're not an invalid.

Step two…

She drew a blank.

Step two eluded her.

Step two: do something. There! It sounded more proactive already. Do something.

Start with step one.

She got up, testing her legs. She should have worried about her balance first, though, because the moment she stood, she wobbled and tumbled against the bed. Right. This might be a little bit more difficult what with having been dead and all. She tried again and, admittedly, it worked slightly better that time around. Her legs actually sustained her, though her head was still spinning a mile a minute. She felt like a new born filly, trying to gain her footing, all legs and no grace.

She was still wearing the suit from the last day, minus the jacket which lay blood-stained and torn like her life on a pretty chair by the window.

She felt uncovered, almost exposed without it. Not at all put together which was, for last 30 something years all she had left: the image she projected to others. Put together and in control. She snorted and cringed at how un-lady like it was. How Emma of her.

She gave up on the jacket and fixed her hair as much as she could with still tremulous fingers. She tucked in her once upon a time white shirt. The blood stains were telling, but she was grateful that no one had taken it off of her, because she wouldn't have known how to deal with that particular brand of helplessness, even if in deferred timing. She undressed only in her own terms.

Regina took a deep breath. Time for step two. Whatever that would be. But it did help her to have a purpose. And she did have a purpose. She had herself a lamb to stray.


Regina walked down the floating staircase with trepidation on two counts: her still unsteady balance and the welcoming committee. Fine, she had woken from death to the happy feeling of belonging to them. They had been all around her, protecting her and, in a very real sense, saving her. But. Old habits die hard. And her one most ingrained habit was to hate them profoundly with every single step she took. She took a deep breath. And everyone sitting at the dining table at her feet, as it were, looked up to her. And it felt like a punch of sorts.

Facing affection is more difficult that facing hate. Hate she knew, chapter and verse. This? Totally new. And uncomfortable. For a moment, she would have preferred to face her own executioners. Which she had. No! She mentally berated herself for the thought.

So it was Snow who stood from the breakfast table and moved to her side to help her down the steps.

"I don't need your help." Oh, it was said with no small amount of venom. But her hand stayed on Snow's arm and she couldn't quite fathom the why of it.

To her credit, Snow did not flinch. It seemed that Mary Margaret was truly gone.

"And you just can't help it, can you?" And she petted Regina's hand which had the dual effect of both annoying her and prevent a retort. "How are you feeling?"

Regina was torn between needing to be mean and wanting to be nice - which was so confusing it sent her head into another fun little spin. Snow held her tight and helped her to the table with a quick – and oddly maternal- rub on her shoulders that she seemed to regret instantly. Maybe for fear her hand might have been snapped right off. (Which was reassuring!)

The gesture was quick and was over almost before it had started but it was, for the lack of better comparison, like striking a match. For a brief flash, Regina felt like the scratch paper: she would not catch fire, but there was definitely a spark. Of magic. It seemed everybody had it. Everybody but her, that is.

God, she wanted to be done with the abandonment issues. She was tired of feeling being floored by those feelings when she least expected. This with the magic? Really? Feeling abandoned by magic? Didn't this take the biscuit! She cleared a swift tear that gathered. This was time for action. No more tears.

"Thank you, dear." Snow gaped none too subtly. Around the table, four sets of eyes running the spectrum between blue and green gazed at her with varying degrees of incredulity: Snow and Henry completely shocked, James mildly amused and Emma registering on the scale of "Come hither and soon".

"Hi Mom." Henry got over the shock faster. It is true that kids bounce back faster than adults. Regina shot him an open smile, one she could not help but let it rip. She would take any crumb of affection from the child. And he seemed generous today. His smile was frank and sweet. Hell's bells, it was a smile, which in the last few months had been rare. She took it and revelled in it for as long as she dared. Her face ached at the unfamiliarity of a happy smile. Happy smiles, apparently used different muscles from evil smirks. Hers felt unused.

"Miss Swan," Regina called when Henry seemed to have lost interest in her and move on to the stack of honey drenched waffles in his plate. As sure as the tides, he was in for the mother of all sugar rushes. Great parenting, Ms Swan. Just peachy. Emma was busy looking at her cocoa. Her head snapped up. Regina's tone was harsh and snappish. Like she was having trouble adjusting to this turn of events. She repeated, more softly. "Miss Swan," Regina waited for a beat, accessing the tone, resetting her frame of mind."Thank you"

The thing about Emma Swan? It would be so easy to be her friend if life had not happened. She was so quick with the smile and the affection. She knew instinctively how Emma loved: unreservedly, without games and agendas- which was probably why she kept herself separate from the rest. She had seen it in that hospital bed, when she had finally allowed herself to really see it. She saw it now at this dinner table. If only she, herself, didn't have the nature of the scorpion.

She cleared her throat. Emma might just end up a casualty of war and if before that had been ok, now it did not sit quite right in her.

But Emma's face pinched in a smile and her hand travelled across the seat left empty by Snow and touched Regina's hand. "Any time, Madam Mayor".

"Regina "

"Ok, but then don't go complaining about excess familiarity next council meeting."

Snow placed a cup of tea in front of Regina. The grateful smile was so unusual it almost cramped her face.

"I figured that we have a war to fight and it might be better to be on first name basis… "

Henry appeared from behind James and his dwindling stack of honey soaked waffles.

"A proper war? Like World of Warcraft?" Ah, only young boys would show such glee at the prospect of war.

"I thought I told you not to play that game…"
"It might come in handy, Regina", James half joked, half defended, getting his grandpa groove on. To him, Regina came easier than any epithet. She was oddly thankful for that. And what was it all the happyhappy feelings? She was not due for her session of hormonal overload until the next century.

Regina took a deep breath and tried to get some control over herself, over the situation. Please the gods, this could not get out of her control with pretty words and tea and handholding. She was still a Queen and she had troops to command- even if it was this homemade army – a war to wage and, very importantly, a lamb to stray.

"Yes, Henry, a proper war." She raised her head, never so regal as at that moment, deposed queen though she was. "Ms Swan… Emma". And how come her hand was still in Emma's? Was she losing her ever loving mind? But she did not pull away. "Snow, James. Thank you"

The look on Emma's face told her the lamb had taken e first nibble. Apparently, the key was making nice with the parents. Oh dear…

James leaned forward. "No problem, Regina." His smile was just like Henry's before the book, unguarded. And he saw her hand still in Emma's. He must have done some math in his head, because Regina saw whatever fleeting thought it was that crossed his gaze, but he said nothing. Snow was content to stand behind him and touch his shoulders as if they had not been apart for the last 28 years. Regina felt nervous and plucked Henry's plate of waffles.

"You need to learn to share the spoils of war, Henry," and she tucked in, suddenly voracious. What was it with food today that it suddenly made all the wonderful meals she had learned to Martha-Stewart for herself in the last 28 years taste like cardboard? These were most excellent waffles and she ate with abandon, right out of Henry's plate.


She couldn't have known, but the lamb's first nibble had not been the making nice. It had been the drip of honey running down her unmade up face, the happy smile of someone who just discovered the joy of sugar and grease.

And that hand that did not seem quite ready to let go of hers.