A/N: First of all, I'd like us all to observe a moment's silence.
...
Okay, so this is nothing more than a post-ep, one shot thingy written simply to make me feel better. I had been working on the next chapter to This, I Find In You, but after watching The Miller's Daughter I have too many feels to write straight.
It probably isn't all that well written, and these two are probably a bit OOC, but I don't care right now.
I really don't.
...They told us that One Would Die, and then they went and killed entire swathes of this fandom.
When she arrives home to the mansion, she sees her sitting there on the step: blonde hair, black jacket, legs sprawled out in front. The sight makes her blood boil, and her jaw clench.
"What are you doing here?"
She looks up, and her eyes… they look dead.
Weary.
Grey.
"David told me what happened. Rumple told me what to do. All this blood and he still wants more. …I guess that's why they call him the Dark One. He called it a 'pre-emptive strike'."
She spits out the phrase bitterly. An eyebrow is quirked.
"…So you're here to kill me?"
How cute.
Her words give the other woman a temporary jolt.
"Me? No!" she sighs, and slumps again, "…I'm hiding out. Like mother, like son, I guess… running away from home because you've discovered that someone you love isn't who you thought they were. Just 'cause Charming can cope with it doesn't mean that I have to… it doesn't mean that I should."
Well, this could be interesting.
"So you ran. Here?"
She shrugs.
"…So I might've had another reason."
"Oh?"
Emma pulls her legs in, and leans forward on her elbows, her grey gaze intense.
"Look, I know you want to rain down hell-fire on Snow White and, quite frankly, I can't blame you. 'Cause right now? I'd curse her too. And while I wouldn't mind cheering you on, I do need to keep you from hurting the one person you still care about."
Henry.
"…Snow lost her mother, you've lost yours and I'm getting the feeling that I've lost mine as well. We need to stop this thing now, because if it keeps on escalating, then Henry's going to lose a mother too. I'm not about to let that happen."
Emma's words strike a resonate note, but Regina's smile remains wry, her eyes cold.
"I would have thought that you'd be the one doing all the 'happening'. I can't understand why not. I hardly think he'd mind."
The green eyes roll in a manner so familiar it aches.
"Cut that out, Regina – of course he'd mind. He's the one who asked me to protect you in the first place. 'Cause, yeah – you may have missed the memo – but I'm supposed to be a Saviour. I'm supposed to save people." Her head lowers, and her voice softens, "…like what you were trying to do. I admire you for that. I know what it's like to love someone like that, and what it's like wanting them to love you back. But you did. And she did. And… and I'm sorry."
She's saying all the wrong words, and all of the right ones.
It's typically Emma.
It's bizarrely familiar.
"…'Sorry' doesn't cut it."
"I know."
She pats the space on the stone next to her and Regina sits, despite herself. The silence isn't as tense as she'd expected it to be, sitting side by side with the spawn of her most mortal enemy.
"Could you have done it?"
Emma doesn't give her a sideways glance, staring out with grey eyes, her face set in a most serious mask.
"Do I have it in me? Could I have killed her? Oh, yeah. I might be the product of True Love but I know my own darkness. I suffer no delusions there. …But if I'm going to kill someone, I'm going to give them an honest death: face-to-face, with my own two hands." She makes a face, "But not like that. Not with… magic."
"…How good of you."
She means it sarcastically, but it does occur to her briefly that, perhaps, it is.
The other woman shrugs nonchalantly, as though admitting she'd kill someone with her bare hands is no big deal. And right now, it doesn't seem to be.
"Yeah, well, if Snow can pull a stunt like this and still be considered on the side of 'good', then I figure there's not a foot I can set wrong that'll keep these people from seeing me as the White Knight."
Regina slumps a little – she recognises the feeling, if only in reverse.
"And there's not a foot I can set right that will keep them from seeing me as the Evil Queen."
Silence falls between them once more, only this time Emma is the one that sees fit to disturb it.
"Henry doesn't. …See you as the Evil Queen, I mean."
And honestly, Regina's heard far better lies than that.
"Miss Swan. Really?"
"Okay, well, he might. But… if it's any consolation, he thinks I'm as bad as you are."
It is.
"…That's new."
"Yeah, well, I lied to him. He's upset that I didn't think he could handle the truth."
The unspoken parallel between the two of them hangs in the air.
"Oh."
"He still loves you. But love doesn't mean overlooking things. Some of us just have to learn it the hard way."
Evening is setting in, bringing the accompanying chill. Regina's tired, and everything aches, and she's disheartened by the way Emma Swan has managed to steal the fire of her anger, leaving her with nothing but sorrow. It hardly seems fair but she finds that, especially considering whose daughter she's sitting with, she'd rather this than be alone.
And the fact that she doesn't find that thought disconcerting is probably the most disconcerting thought of all.
"…So what now?"
Emma shrugs, hugging her knees up under her chin.
"Snow White called it 'justice'. Rumplestiltskin called it 'blow-back'. I think I'm going to call it a day. I'm going to get into the back seat of my car… I'm going to curl up inside a bottle of Jack… and I'm going to sleep, and pray to God I don't dream. Everything else can wait till tomorrow."
Emma's on her feet, and half-way to the gate. She nearly doesn't hear the quiet voice behind her.
"…Would cider do?"
She stops and spins on her heel, not entirely sure that her ears aren't playing tricks on her.
"Huh?"
Regina's eyes are down-cast, her fingers clasped tightly in her lap.
"…you said you were going to curl up inside of bottle of Jack. I asked if cider would do."
Her smile is soft and genuine, grey eyes sparkle with green.
"Cider would do just fine."
A/N: That's all I got. Let me know how I did. Let us commiserate together. Now I'm going to go and drown my sorrows in fluff.
Goodnight.