The Road Back
"Who was the last person to hold you like this?"
It was whispered so softly Regina almost missed it, but the ethereal hiss was enough to break the silence and, like a pebble in a pond, the ripples only magnified the longer she prolonged the wait for her answer.
Her head lay over a warm shoulder, tilted slightly to the side, embracing long, dark curls in hooded sight. The arms around her waist tightened as if to prompt a response and, frowning into the candlelit living area, she felt the memory overtake her as though a fresh heat had befallen the silent house.
The air clouded with muted voices, too far within her memory for Regina to truly hear, but the feelings were real. A snippet of lost conversation – holiday plans – glistened in her mind's eye as though she was back there. This time, she allowed herself to fall.
"…or Switzerland?" Emma asked, smiling against the shell of Regina's ear.
Regina shrugged in her grasp, their dancing having long since fallen into a swaying routine, and Emma took this as a sign to continue, oblivious of the future she was hoping to paint.
"England? You always wanted to see London."
"Anywhere," Regina breathed, eyes closed, teetering over the brink of her subconscious. Her head was heavy against the other woman's shoulder and she doubted, even in case of emergency, that she'd ever be able to lift it. Should flames engulf their silent house now, she mused, she'd watch them burn. Let the fire consume her, she thought.
The memory did not fade, but rather left her abruptly, cold and quiet. The arms around her felt her shiver and, understanding the learned rigidity of Regina's back, the question was left to drop. The dead air, silent but for the rustlings of past ghosts, had all the answers she required.
# # # #
"I can't do this anymore."
Regina took a breath, her lungs suddenly feeling empty of the burden that had left with that last mouthful. She waited, tense, for a reaction. Just as she had imagined in each thousand different scenarios that had crossed her mind, the face before her crumpled with devastation. Blue eyes, confused and widening, raised as she stood, searching Regina's face as though she might find the answers there, secretly hidden behind the mask that she had never been able to pry from her.
"What?"
"What?"
Emma felt her heart stop. Not for a second, not a skipped beat like she read in books, how she had imagined it might feel to be suddenly thrust from Equilibrium into something much darker, mutated by hope and fear. Her heart stopped as though it had lost all reason to beat.
"I've found a hotel," Regina stated, ignoring the question.
Emma had heard her just fine; she knew it by the tears already glistening in those familiar green eyes. She had to swallow past the fist blocking her throat, feared, perhaps, that Emma's desperation had given her some superhuman ability to stop whatever she had to say next from crawling out of her mouth. She forced herself on.
"I'm taking Henry with me-"
"Like hell you are!" Emma suddenly cried, her upset turned to anger.
She rose from the sofa quicker than she thought capable, and was in Regina's face before she could think to stop. "You can go wherever the hell you think you need to, but you are not taking my son."
"Our son," Regina reminded her, a threat to her words. "You might have birthed him, Emma, but he is legally mine, too."
"You're not taking him," and, already, she was thinking of arguments that might need to be used in court. "Go, Regina, but you're not taking him."
She threaded her hands together in front of her, possibly just to hide their tremble, and watched as the rose-tinted flush burning Emma's face caused all present tears to dissipate, evaporated by sheer fury.
"We're already packed, Emma. Henry's waiting in the car."
Emma's anger burst with the blow and her body lurched toward the window. Sure enough, sitting in the back of Regina's black Mercedes was a tearful-looking seven year old. The sight caused her heartbeat to return tenfold, as though making up for its earlier desertion, and she spun towards Regina now with agony etched across her features.
"I'm not letting you take him." She willed her voice to increase, begged for it to find purchase in her earlier rage. "Anything, Regina, but not h-im."
Regina blinked against the hitched-breath, determined to remain indifferent. Far too many tears had been shed already, she reminded herself. Enough.
"He'll call you once we arrive," she was saying, already making to leave when Emma's hands were suddenly on her arms, and her back was slammed into a wall, a less than gentle thud stinging the back of her head. Suddenly, all memories of her childhood sweetheart were lost to the terrifying mother pressed against her chest.
"You're not leaving," Emma ground between teeth, and although both reason and sense eluded the idea, a part of her mind was already planning on shouting for Henry and locating some rope. "I won't let you leave."
Regina did not struggle against the grip, did not bat an eyelash at the speck of saliva that flew to her cheek from a flick of Emma's desperate tongue, and watched as the emotions battled for dominance within the green gaze before her.
"Let me go, Emma."
A whine was wrenched from pink lips, tears falling now as realisation settled in. There was no stopping this, she suddenly knew, they were leaving her. She tried to force her grip to tighten, or her fingers to rise to Regina's olive-toned neck and make her incapable of leaving, but her body was unable. She wasn't wired for that.
In one last, desperate attempt to blu-tack the crumbling fractions of her life back together, Emma pressed her lips, rough and needy, against Regina's mouth. Her tongue was easily forced inside, and to make up for Regina's apparent reluctance, she attempted to plead, silently now, into her mouth. It hurt, more than anything, when she realised that Regina couldn't hear her.
Their lips parted with a cry, Emma's tears wetting both their cheeks.
"Emma. Let me go."
The memory was jostled away by the steaming blow of a whistle, and the great metal beast she was sitting in began to set off, the chugging of the old wheels crying out for maintenance. Regina had been surprised, at first, to find the steam train still in use, and had wasted no time in booking tickets. She told herself it was a happy coincidence, but the believer beaten down deep within her wondered if this was a sign. During their earlier years, what might have once been called a courtship, Emma had promised her that they would ride the old steam trains together. Each and every one of them, in a circle route, going nowhere and seeing everything.
She wondered, now, if she'd see half as many interesting characters as they had often vowed to travel beside: the quirky, foreign doctor; the middle-aged psychiatrist suffering a mental breakdown, a single mother and her clan of unruly rascals. All life within Regina's cabin was quiet. A child cried from across the aisle, pleading for sweets, while another sat peacefully occupied by a portable games console.
Her eyes fell almost subconsciously to the seat beside her. She thought herself lucky to have been given a window seat, and the man who sat beside her, pleasant enough to sit without conversation, filled his chair well. She could not help but think, however, that it should be a smaller body occupying the space.
Every year, Emma's parents would take Henry in for three weeks of his summer vacation. He enjoyed the wide, open space of their Montana ranch and, as breathless as the western country air made her feel, Regina had rejected each offer to join Henry for a holiday away from Boston.
She had once allowed her heart the indulgence of thinking of Mary Margaret and David as her parents-in-law and they, in turn, had been more than welcoming of her presence in their life. She had not seen them in person for over three years. It almost hurt to think of the changes her estranged family would be undergoing and, each time Henry relayed his holiday to her in an excitable tirade, she had to battle tears.
Now, the thought of her son's return provoked the question of how to tell him that it would just be the two of them, again. They had had the talk a number of times, each less painful than the first, but it never got easier. She tried to satiate his burning desire to understand why they couldn't settle down, why they couldn't be a 'proper' family, and yet found that she was falling into the performance like a trained actor delivering lines.
She'd never had a tougher audience.
# # # #
Regina almost thought her legs might groan with the stretch as she stepped from the train, glad to finally be back on unmoving ground. The air was cold and, tucking her handbag into her side, she headed through the station until she was on the sidewalk. Once there, she made to move toward the waiting taxis, sitting, engines off, as a gaggle of travellers hurried from the station and into the warmth of their back seats, and then suddenly remembered that she wasn't overly sure of her destination.
The hotel seemed like the best first stop and, with a suitcase in hand, wheels grinding against the asphalt concrete, she rooted through her purse in the hopes of finding the notepad she had dotted all travel arrangements on.
The taxi driver, for his part, knew exactly where her hotel was located and, an over-priced bill later, she was adding a room key to her luggage and hefting her suitcase up the first set of stairs.
The room was small, with walls that might once have been white-washed, but now told tales of disobeying guests ignoring the 'non-smoking' rule. The window was large and opened to a view of the back of the hotel, a small section of concreted land, the only entrance into which was from the back doors of the four buildings enclosing the tight space. Drains ran down each wall, the running water already heard through the slightly agape glass, and the noise had Regina checking her room for an en suite.
The only plumbing inside the room, however, was a small basin in one corner, beside which was a rounded table which presented a working kettle and a mug filled with packets of instant coffee, teabags and cocoa powder. No sugar. One spoon.
Turning back to the window, Regina pulled it closed and frowned at the blind that, having come unsecure at some point and never having been fixed, sat on the windowsill, as useless as a hole-riddled umbrella. She was thankful that the window only made a small section of the room visible to the outside eye. Shuffling away, she moved toward the bed, where pink bed sheets rumpled beneath her heavy case. She unzipped it in no hurry and looked in to the neatly packed contents, barely filling the space available. She had always been one to pack light.
The clothes threatened by wrinkles were hung in the small closet, but the majority of her belongings remained in the open case, kicked to the side of one wall where she was in easy access of everything, without the case posing the threat of an obstacle just waiting to trip her over should she get too close.
With no desire to remain inside the hotel, Regina gladly retreated to the outdoor streets. She walked for ten minutes in silence, save for the easy clapping of her heels, until she found the town centre. The Maine weather was proving predictable, even in the Summer month, and, as the light drizzle began, Regina thought it time to venture amongst society once again.
It was while walking – aimlessly, to anyone watching – that she spotted a young woman and her daughter, both dressed for the weather in near-matching raincoats. Holding her bottom lip between her teeth, she pushed aside all inner objections and made her way toward them.
"Excuse me?"
The woman looked up, eyebrows high, and a small smile instantly pinched her lips as she saw Regina approaching. Her daughter, standing behind her and quite happy in her raincoat, bounced a large, smiley-faced ball against the sidewalk as her mother greeted the approaching stranger.
"I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of The Ugly Duckling," Regina began, sparing a glance down at the young girl who continued to bounce her ball, relentless, behind her mother's legs. The name of the club reverberated around her skull, but the voice that spoke it was not her own.
For her part, the woman attempted to hide her shock as she gave Regina an obvious once-over, her expression clouded with dubious curiosity. It made her stomach twitch and all doubts she had about the club were confirmed, but her growing anxiety was not caused by the woman's unspoken thoughts of 'what's a woman like you going to a place like that for?'. The bouncing ball, erratic in rhythm and seeming to grow louder with each smack, was beginning to provoke a headache. Regina attempted to ignore it as the dull pain claimed her eyes.
"Yes," The woman startled, hoping to recover from her previous stupor, "you just turn left…"
Regina attempted to focus on the words, storing the directions away as the woman began to indicate with her hands, down streets, turning corners, crossing roads, but the thumping ball continued, and she felt each bounce against her head as though the little red-headed girl was repeatedly throwing it into her face. She tried to hide her discomfort, almost thankful the woman was so into her in-depth directions to notice, and held her tongue for fear of screaming at the girl to shut up. Just shut up!
"Henry, please," Regina sighed, her anger only growing with the breeze that attempted to dishevel the garden table. Why had she thought it a good idea to sit outside with her paperwork?
The sun was belting down an impressive heat, but it only provoked a sweat beneath her heavy blouse and, with the constant kicking of a ball against one wall of the house behind her, her irritation was overwhelming her ability to cope.
"Henry!" She snapped, turning to look at her sullen-faced seven year old. He allowed the ball to roll back to him, bouncing away from the wall, and raised his hands out to her as though asking what he was doing wrong.
"Go and play on the front," She told him, frown remaining as Henry merely rolled his ball beneath one foot and turned his back to her.
She let out an irritated sigh and slammed a hand down just in time to catch the sheets of paper that the air itself was hoping to steal from her. Glaring, now, she moved her coffee mug to sit on top of the papers, holding them in place, and let out a clipped curse as brown liquid began to seep an ugly circle over the black and white document on top. Growling, she lifted the coffee mug instantly and assessed the damage, but soon saw that the sheet – and, most likely, the one directly beneath it – was beyond salvage.
Just as she was about to scrunch the paper in her fist, tear it apart, stomp it into the ground and spit on it, a loud bang caused her back to instantly straighten with a jump, legs lifting her an inch out of her seat in surprise. The noise was, unavoidably, the sound of Henry's ball being kicked against the glass doors that led into the kitchen.
"Henry!" She yelled, gathering papers in her hands to take back inside, where she could retreat to her office, "That's enough!"
She whirled around, only to see that it wasn't Henry who was standing with the ball at his feet, but Emma. And the look on her face was nothing short of a furious challenge.
The directions had mostly fallen on deaf ears, and so by the time Regina managed to locate The Ugly Duckling the sky was bordering on a shade of black reserved only for the deepest levels of lonesomeness. She pushed her way through the club's doors, escaping the drizzle that was beginning to turn to light rain, and was greeted by a thumping beat that did nothing for her headache.
The shadows inside the club embraced her presence as she seeped into the crowds, making for the bar. By the time she resurfaced, she was feeling partially ready for the awaiting confrontation. A bartender was quick to greet her as soon as her backside slid into an empty stool and, upon being asked what she was having, a glass of wine was ordered.
The cool glass was cradled in one hand, fingers playing the spine, as she watched the mass of blonde hair that laughed effervescently at the customer half-leaning over the bar. While her back was turned, Regina had only the feminine body to reacquaint herself with and reassured herself that the woman standing not ten meters from her was indeed Emma Swan. The black wife beater that clung to her torso had the club's name printed on the back in bold, hot pink letters, but the jeans, at least, looked familiar. She hadn't changed much, then. Of course, whenever Henry would visit, he'd tell her the same, but it was nice to confirm his words with her own eyes.
She waited, sipping pleasantly on her wine, as Emma moved around the bar, stirring up cocktails and pleasing the punters. Regina almost thought that she was going to be completely ignored unless she called Emma's attention to her, and as she made to finish her wine and holler at Emma to get her another, an all too familiar green gaze met hers. The double take was almost comical, but she managed only a small smile before Emma was marching over to her, panic disturbing her features.
When she spoke, leaning over the bar so as to make her words reach, Regina had to strain to hear over the raucous music dominating the air. "Come round the back. We can talk there."
"What are you doing here?" Emma asked, though even as she said it, her face broke into a grin. She was standing on her windowsill, head, shoulders and arms hanging out the top of the open glass, looking down on Regina. "Are you drunk?"
"No!" Regina feigned offence, but her own smile stole all pretences. "Come down?"
Emma sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and glanced behind her, her voice purposefully quiet as she next stated, "Mom and dad are sleeping."
Regina rolled her eyes, almost surprised that the girl hanging out of her window and worrying about getting caught sneaking out was the same girl who had been threatened with suspension three times that school term alone. "Chicken shit," she snickered, seeing the childish scowl draw Emma's features in close from above.
"Fine," she finally whisper-shouted, "come round the back."
It was easy to jump the little wooden gate and, by the time Emma arrived at the backdoor in her pyjamas, Regina was already sitting atop her garden table, legs crossed at the knee, hands splayed out over the damp wood behind her.
"What's wrong?" Emma asked, joining her on the table top and crossing her legs. Regina shrugged and pulled from her pocket a packet of cigarettes.
"Nothing, just wanted to see you," she answered, pulling from the packet a slender roll and going in search of her lighter. Emma watched, silently, as she lit up and took a drag. When the cigarette was offered to her, she attempted to hold in her cough as the smoke filled her lungs and consumed the oxygen running through her bloodstream.
"How did you get out?" She asked, handing the cigarette back. Regina took a thankful puff before answering.
"I haven't been home all day. Doubt they've noticed."
The silence absorbed their conversation, giving way to smoky breaths and the odd cricket-song coming from the distant hedgerows that lined one fence of the Swans' backyard. Once the shared cigarette was finished, Regina hopped from the table and, as they had all previous times, stumped the dusty embers against a stone pillar holding the garden fences in place. The cigarette squashed to a butt, and sunk down between the fence and the paving, out of sight. When she turned back to Emma, all sombreness was lost from her features.
Emma smiled as Regina pushed herself back into a sitting position over the table. Only, this time, she turned until she was facing her friend and, after a hesitant pause, slowly moved her face until pink lips were hovering an inch away from Emma's mouth. The kiss was short, sweet, and when Regina pulled back, both girls were sporting matching, shy smiles.
"What was that for?" Emma asked quietly, a blush already colouring her cheeks.
Regina grinned, then, too aware of the sleeping couple in the house to let out the jovial burst of laughter that bubbled deep within her chest. She shrugged once, settled back on the table, and pulled out a second cigarette from the packet.
"Just 'cause."
"What's wrong? Is it Henry?" Emma asked, worry seeping into her voice.
She had pulled Regina into a room that resembled a makeshift living area – sofa and television dominating the small space – and the door had been closed tightly behind them, sealing out the outside world. "Regina!"
"No," she shook her head, silently chastising herself, because of course Emma's first thoughts would go to Henry. "He's fine, he called yesterday from Montana."
Emma deflated with a relieved sigh, but her brow only further creased. The question did not need voicing. Regina sighed, stalling, and turned her back as she walked further into the room. Her eyes trailed the photo frames – containing smiling faces she didn't recognise – and misplaced trinkets that decorated the shelves and walls.
She heard a sigh from behind her and, after thoroughly inspecting her surroundings – stalling – she turned back around to face Emma.
"Why did you come here?"
"I had to see you."
# # # #
The door handle insisted on eluding Regina's grasp as she struggled to close it, one arm bent behind her back in searching while the other was wrapped around Emma's neck, fingers splurged in thick, blonde curls. Through their joined lips, a moaned frustration rumbled, eased only by the sure sound of the door finally fitting its frame, the lock catching.
Dropping the set of keys, Regina wound her other arm around Emma's back and steadily pushed her backwards, walking with her until she felt the tremor of the other woman's knees hitting the bed. They parted, then, panting and heaving, struggling to pull up a wife beater and unbutton a shirt, all the while teetering dangerously close to falling onto the bed. When Emma finally went down, it was with Regina's body anchoring her. They fell into the mattress, the garish pink bed sheets masked by the darkness of night, and shuffled as far up as they could with their lips and bodies still joined.
Skin finally found skin, the feeling both new and familiar, and hissed sighs of content left both women's lips as they seeped back into one another. Emma's physical touch burned all mocking memories from her mind and Regina found herself crying when an insistent mouth descended down her body. She could not even spare a thought of the blind-less window, refusing to acknowledge anything other than the heat from below and the palms spread over her stomach, feeling it tighten and relent beneath twitching, contracting muscles.
And this, a voice told her from somewhere deep within, this is what had been missing.
# # # #
Regina watched as Emma pulled her boots on, neither commenting nor stopping her. From her seat against the headboard, a bed sheet tucked beneath her arms, she felt suddenly embarrassed at her maintaining the modesty that was freely given the night before. She ran a tired hand through her hair, hoping it hadn't curled throughout the night, and sunk into the pillow behind her back.
The bed rocked ever so slightly with Emma, perched at the end, preparing to make her leave, and Regina could not refrain herself from asking, "Are you going back there?"
Emma stretched the wife beater down to her hips before turning and giving a small shrug. "That's where I live." Her hair was mussed, face pale, and she stood from the bed without another word, making for the sink and the mirror that hung above it.
With a sigh, Regina crossed one leg over the other and watched as Emma splashed some cold water over her face, using her towel to then dab it away, along with last night's shame, no doubt. Swallowing, she averted her eyes as she commented, "You had a home with us, once."
Emma's back straightened and her tone was a clear warning as she quietly ground, "Regina…"
"Henry misses you."
Blinking at her reflection in the mirror, Emma stated, "I'll see him soon. I always head up to my mom and dad's when he's there."
She thought Regina would push her further, knowing that her words had offered only a temporary relief, and turned on her quickly before she had a chance to speak. "This is my life now." The unspoken 'because of you' needn't be voiced.
"Yes," Regina agreed, ignoring the guilt, "but you're not happy."
Anger ruptured inside her stomach like she'd eaten something off the night before and, heaving up her throat, she could not keep the venom from her words. "You don't know that."
Regina's eyes met hers, then, and Emma was astonished at the lack of a fight in them. But quiet determination kept her guard up. She knew just how Regina played this game and she had no intentions of losing.
"You should go home," Emma was saying, "back to…" Her words trailed off at the flash of hurt and guilt that suddenly overwhelmed her ex's face.
"We've split up," was all Regina offered, the words coming as no surprise.
Emma found herself feeling only a little relieved that she had not played the other woman. Not that it would be the first time.
Investing in her argument, willing the conversation back to where she wanted it to go, Regina continued as though she had not just made the confession. "You're not happy like this, sleeping around-"
"Don't you dare take the moral high ground here," Emma snarled, and Regina sighed in response, unsure if she wanted to take back her words or not. They were true, she reassured herself, and decided not to back-pedal.
They were both angry and exhausted, but there was finally energy in the air.
Minutes later, Emma was still unsure as to why she was still inside the hotel room. Regina had dressed and made them both a coffee, having found a spare mug in the bedside table, and they sat now in silence, Regina on the bed, Emma in the only chair in the room, wooden and bland.
She watched her from over her mug, Emma noticed, though tried to avoid eye contact. She was still unsure as to how she felt about the night before, or at this very moment with her ex sitting in front of her, sipping coffee like all hell hadn't broken loose only three years prior. The shit storm had been the messiest thing Emma had ever allowed herself to get involved with. Now, she made extra precautions to make sure it wouldn't happen again.
Eventually, the mugs emptied and the kettle, Regina thought, wished to be left well alone. She stood as she led Emma to the door, feeling as though she should see her out despite her not owning the residence, but before Emma stepped over the threshold, she reeled around with a look of determination and aggravation over what she was going to say next.
"I'd…really like it if we could spend Thanksgiving together," Emma tried, barely able to maintain eye contact. Regina remained silent and so she thought to elaborate her suggestion. "I always go up to my parent's for Thanksgiving and…they'd love to have you and Henry there, too." Regina did not doubt her words.
A short pause later, having considered the request, Regina decided that, if she did believe in destiny or fate, this would be the reason that she had come to Maine in the first place, this is what she had been seeking to achieve. Nodding, she offered what she hoped was a pleased smile and told Emma, "Henry would love that."
# # # #
That Thanksgiving, flanked by his grandparents and a number of oversized portions of food, Henry watched his mothers with a peculiar expression on his face. He caught the way their cheeks blushed and their lips twitched with matching, shy smiles – as though it was all new to them – when their fingers brushed against one another's in the passing of the bowl of new potatoes, and how they were taking a sudden interest in each other's eyes, as though unable to look away.
He observed his grandparents and, seeing indiscernible expressions on both their faces, wondered if they noticed, too. There was definitely something new, Henry concluded, turning back to his mothers with a brilliant hope lighting his eyes.
They seemed…different. They seemed happy.