You worry.
To the town, Regina is nothing but cold eyes and hard edges; a pristine example of a hard ass with a well-deserved tragic backstory. At home, though, with you, when her bitter facade ends and those brick walls she has spent so much time building finally slip down, you get a glimpse of the real Regina.
She's warm and emotional, cuddly and unsure; about herself, about this relationship she has with you, and how much Henry really loves her, but that's okay. You have delicately taken down each strategically placed brick, scraped away each layer of mortar, and replaced it with a type of reassurance she has never had before: love. And you'll keep her loved and full of all of the kinds of things a home is supposed to have every day for the rest of your life.
You remember high school psychology; Jung and his archetypes and persona. We are all actors here, putting on different shows for different people. Regina's mask is just a little bit thicker and heavier than most. You know she gets tired.
As you step into her lamp-lit office, that worry is still there, and fear and exhaustion seem to emanate off the wallpaper, engulfing you in a hold that makes it hard to breathe. It's six o'clock, and Regina should have been home an hour ago. She wouldn't forget you. She could never forget you, but she could get caught up in her paperwork and lose track of time. You've called her seven times, sent fifteen text messages, and left four voicemails, all unanswered, but you know she's here. You can feel it.
You hold your breath, trying to eliminate any sound in the room, and that's when you hear it, a wheezing sort of whimper that has you running behind her desk. And there she is, a shivering bundle of grey pencil skirt and matching jacket hugging her knees below the solid oak surface. Your heart breaks. How long has she been under here?
"Gina?" you whisper, tentatively reaching out a hand to wrap around her ankle, to wrap around anything that can bring her comfort. "It's okay, Gina. You're alright."
But her head stays down against her knees, and her body continues to tremble, tears soaking the hair that's fallen around her face. You retract your hand, rubbing your fingers together when it comes back wet and sticky. Red and wet and sticky. Blood. You clench your eyes shut at the sight; marvelous crimson against your stark white skin. This is your girlfriend, your Gina, and if someone's hurt her, you don't think you can take it.
"Regina?" you try again, opening your eyes. "You're okay, now, but you're hurt. I need to see where the blood is coming from, okay?" She doesn't exactly agree, but she doesn't fight you either as you follow the red trail up her leg, edging back her skirt to reveal a deep gash and a tear in the fabric.
"Please," she gasps, head flinging up to stare past you as she pushes your hand away. "Please, Leopold. Not tonight."
That's when it hits you. The blood trickling down her inner thigh, the torn clothing, Leopold. Gosh, no.
"No. No, Gina," you assure, taking her hand firmly in your own and using the other to stroke her hair back. "He's not here, sweetheart. It's just me, Emma. Just you and me. Do you know where we are? We're in your office, in Storybrooke, and you're safe." You swipe away her tears with the pads of your thumbs, and her eyes meet yours. "Just you and me," you promise. "Just you and Emma."
You press a lingering kiss to her forehead and feel the clammy skin push harder against your lips before easing off, keeping in time with her ragged breaths. She's not wheezing anymore, her throat making that weird whistling noise as her lungs try to take in enough oxygen, but you can tell this panic attack isn't quite over. She's still not fully with you.
"Let's get you out of there," you say, tugging lightly on her hands, and she allows you to pull her up into her desk chair where you can get a better look at her.
You keep your grip on her hands and study her, trying to gauge exactly how strongly her mind has its hold on her. Her usually perfect makeup is messy on her face, dark mascara bruises spreading out under each eye and lipstick smeared onto her cheek. You lick your thumb and gently wipe it away, testing a smile. "You're alright now, Gina. Do you know who I am?"
She nods and tucks down her head, and you hope and pray she isn't building those walls back up again. This isn't your home. She doesn't feel safe here.
You lower yourself to your knees and meet her eyes, gently kissing each knuckle as you go, before you reach up and cup her face. "What happened, sweet girl?"
"Scissors," she says quietly, eyes tracking sideways to the shiny metal on the floor, then back to your imploring emerald ones.
She doesn't offer any more of an explanation, and a full minute passes by before you understand. She must have dropped them, and the blood dancing down her leg would have reminded her of… no. You don't even allow his name entrance into your brain. He has tainted enough of Regina, and you're not going to let him intermingle with her in your head, too. She's safe there, without him, and you plan to keep it that way.
"Everything is alright, now," you say again, and you'll say it ten thousand times tonight if that's what it takes to get her to believe you.
"I want to go home," Regina whines out, and it's the first time you have ever heard her beg. "Please, Emma. Take me home."
"Shh," you soothe, pressing your lips against her temple to try and stop the tears before they can pick up their pace again. "We need to get your leg looked at, and then I promise I'll take you home."
She nods, and you can tell it's going against everything she wants. She's exhausted and wants nothing more than to go home to bed, but she's giving you this, letting you take care of her because she trusts you. Your heart swells.
Your own tender hands grip onto her elbows to help her stand, then snake around her back and into one of her own hands for support. She hisses as you take the first step, hand gripping tighter onto yours. You want to pick her up, but it seems forceful, and she has already given you so much control, it's only fair if you allow her to keep some as her own.
"The bug is right outside the front door," you say, shifting so that her arm is now draped across your shoulder to help and alleviate the strain she's putting on her injury.
Regina holds her breath and bites her lip as you lower her into the passenger seat. You kiss her again, this time on the tip of her ear. It's all you can do, but you can tell it's helping. She's still panicky, and the kisses seem to keep her grounded.
You squeeze her hand as you drive and fill the silence with reassurances; it's okay, she's beautiful, you love her; anything you think might make her feel even the slightest bit better. You park in front of the emergency room and help her hobble through the doors, demanding a nurse to get Whale as you bring her straight into the nearest empty room without waiting for any sort of direction.
You've just gotten her set up on the bed, left hand clenching her right when Whale walks in. She whimpers as you life her skirt to show him the still bleeding wound, and you tighten your grip as you move up the bed. "No, Regina," you assure. "Nothing bad is going to happen here. He's just going to fix your cut."
You both watch as Whale brings out a suture kit and slips on gloves. It's as he is preparing the syringe with anesthetic that Regina jumps up.
"No." The single syllable is strangled as sobs shudder up through her throat, giving renewed strength to her tears and stealing her breath away.
"It's alright, Gina. You're okay," you soothe, pushing her back to lie against the mattress as you smooth back her hair, your right hand now holding hers. "It's alright."
You glance at Whale, who is now wiping the area with an alcohol pad, and then press your lips to her temple again. You hear her gasp when the needle goes in and her upper body wiggles, free hand moving up to grip your shirt. You pull back and sit on the edge of her bed, blocking her view as Whale threads the suturing needle. You never make her let go, and you never stop running your hand through her hair. Regina's face tightens with each tug of the needle, and you whisper reassurances, promising home and love and bed.
Whale taps your should when he finishes, and you thank him then he slips from the room.
You gently pull Regina up into a hug and kiss away any remaining tears. Her eyes are droopy and tired, red and swollen from the numerous salt-soaked raindrops that have slipped between their lids and swirled down her cheeks.
"Let's get you home, now." You stand and lift her into your arms this time, thinking it's best that she doesn't try to walk on a numb leg. Her hand is still grasped onto your shirt as she curls into you. You carry her through the waiting room and out to your car, tucking her into the safety of your passenger seat. She grabs for your hand as soon as you slip into your own seat, and you squeeze lightly before putting the bug in drive.
At home, you carry her up the stairs to your shared room and attempt to deposit her onto the bed, but she jerks away from it and refuses to let go of you.
"Not… not the bed," she stutters. "Not tonight. I can't… I can't sleep in a bed tonight."
You don't question it, knowing the kind of unwanted memories her panic attacks bring, and take her into the bathroom instead to set her on the edge of the tub. You disappear for a minute to slide into your pajamas, and come back with hers in hand. Setting them on the counter, you ease her out of her work clothes and wet a rag to remove the makeup from her face. You put her arms into the shirt and button the silk before rinsing out the rag. You kneel in front of her, meeting her eyes to ask permission to scrub away the blood on her leg. You move onto the edge of the tub beside her and tuck her against you, then begin slowly removing the crimson river that trickles all the way to her ankle.
When the red is gone, when there are no more reminders of her past husband, and no more salt trails down her cheeks, you help her into her pants and wrap her up in your arms to carry her to the couch downstairs. You retrieve blankets and pillows from the hall closet and tuck yourself beside her. It's tight, but you fit, and you know it's exactly what she wanted.
"Good night, Gina," you whisper, pushing your lips against her cheek in another kiss. "I love you."
"Good night, Emma." She turns in your arms and fists onto your shirt. "I love you, too."
To the town, she might seem cruel and relentless, but to you, she is Gina. Wonderful, beautiful, Gina.