Part II: Hopeless

Night has become their time, but even then she is hopeless.

Nearly by habit now, Emma is restless. Despite Regina's comforting warmth beside her, she could not bring herself to sleep peacefully. She moved, raising herself into a sitting position, and the sheets rustled, the mattress groaning beneath her. She froze for fear of waking her bed mate, but her efforts are useless. Regina's body did not tense and her breathing remained slow and steady, but it was an illusion, for Regina was no more asleep than her.

Emma gave no indication she saw through the deception, and instead, she sighed softly, continuing to climb to her feet and cross the bedroom. Her steps were silent, soundless against the carpet, a side effect of the years she spent on the streets. Beside the window has become one of her favorite places to think, and she stepped into the light reflected through the glass, blinking absently in the sudden illumination.

The pale, swollen face of the lunar moon shone brightly in velvet skies, and in her luminescence Emma stood, crossing her arms against the pane of the window she was leaning against. In the light, she could make out the faint scars on her skin, badges of her tattered past. Her hands clenched into fists, flexing the muscles in her forearms, and she was reminded of how hard she had been working to reforge her body into her greatest weapon.

Emma had no room for weaknesses. Nothing but perfection would do. She could no longer afford to be only mortal. She had to be indestructible, equally destructive, and I cannot afford the slightest flaws in my condition. She was a warrior now, a protector. She needed to be strong as steel and unmovable as stone.

Her mission, her destiny, the mantle of Savior, has become her life's blood. They chose her for this, to fight for them, and now it is no longer just her calling…it is her entire world. And the moment she touched Darkness, dirtied her hands to protect them, tarnished that shining armor, they turned their backs on her. The only one who still faced her, meeting her unflinchingly, had been Regina. Even Henry hesitated. Only Regina had not faltered.

When the nightmares come, when she remembered the burning power surging through her, adrenaline and sweet, seductive power, thrumming beneath her skin, living through her, it was Regina she went to. It was Regina she craved, Regina she surrendered to, and the Queen never turned her away.

Regina has since learned to expect her. Some nights, she waits up, anticipating the Savior's appearance, and others, she is asleep but wakes immediately to silently greet Emma upon her arrival. It is always the same after the darkness falls, darkness Emma could not help but feel is still part of her.

Her control splintered and she strips away her clothing, useless pieces of material falling unheeded to the floor. And it was desperation that fueled her to cross the few steps separating them, to pull back the blankets and fall into the comfort of Regina's embrace. Yes, she was desperate, seeking nothing but the touch of naked skin, Regina's body pressed to hers, to be inside and let her inside in the one way that would drown out the darkness in her mind.

Any intention for gentleness quickly disappeared, but Regina always responded beautifully regardless- nails clawing at Emma's shoulders, legs wrapped tightly around her waist, teeth digging into her neck. Regina is strong, stronger than any other she could have chosen, stronger than Emma herself in so many ways. If there was anyone that could handle the mess that Emma had become, it was the powerful woman that writhed beneath her in the night.

She was rough, demanding, that she knew, and it was an addicting feeling, riding out the edges of their very sanity, seeking some kind of relief to the storm that raged inside them both. There is something about Regina that saw inside her, saw the chaos beneath the exterior, the vulnerable woman beneath the Savior, and she cherished that about Regina, even if she could promise the Queen nothing but this.

She never slept the night through. Despite that she can feel Regina's warmth, her soothing scent teasing her senses, dark tresses tickling against her nose as the brunette spooned against her. Even then, she could not sleep.

She paces, she stalks, predatory and dangerous, broken and bleeding as she found herself split open for the world to see. She could feel the weight of Regina's eyes at her back, observant, measuring. She wondered what Regina was thinking, what she was remembering.

She was a killer now. No matter how she tried, she constantly sees the blood staining her hands. She hears Hook's cries of denial, Rumpel's shouts of outrage, and then the screams of pain. They haunt her. Savior they call her, choosing to forget, to move on and sweep the unpleasant deeds under the rug. Savior, hero...murderer, monster.

She hated it most when the tears came, potent and burning where she did not want them. They were emotion, pure, unadulterated emotion, and she did not want their weakness.

Morning will come, and their lives will go on as usual, the masks replaced, as if nothing from the night before has changed her, changed Regina. Emma would feel her lover's gaze, under the guise of the eyes of Madame Mayor, and remember the arch of Regina's back as she climaxed, the softness of her hands as they caressed her, but Emma would still not look her way. She would feel the brunette's marks of possession on her back, her hips, her neck, but she would not say a word.

Emma knew she was hopeless, restless, and efforts to be otherwise are fruitless. She would fall back under the mask, taking up the part of Savior once more.