A/N: Thank you for all the kind reviews.

Chapter Two

Regina landed on her feet in the middle of her foyer. She blinked a few times before finally breathing out a shaky breath.

It took every single ounce of her will not to attack the Saviour. She certainly lives up to her name, Regina thought bitterly.

She began to make her way inside her house, finally settling in the kitchen. She couldn't believe that it was happening again – all over again. Damn Emma. Damn Snow and Charming. Damn that pirate Hook. Damn Tinkerbell. And damn him; for letting her think this – that this was going to be different.

She scoffed at herself – she really couldn't blame him. She knows, she knows it wasn't his fault. None of it was. He was innocent of it all – and she was guilty.

Guilty, again. Nothing has changed.

She grabbed herself a bottle wine and poured herself a glass. She was guilty of it all. She was guilty for their presence here…for the very existence of Storybrooke. Guilty for Emma being an orphan. Guilty for the Curse. Guilty for so much death – all in the pursuit of one. Guilty for his guilt – the one he had carried thinking the fault was his. Guilty for her death. Guilty of her own fear. Guilty for loving – as her love, it would seem, is disastrous; deadly.

Deadly, indeed. Her thought drifts to Daniel at this point. And she can't shake her wandering mind to a 'what if'? What if it had been him that Emma had brought back? In that, Regina imagined what Robin had just gone through. Like him, she has no doubt that she would've jumped in Daniel's arms, too overjoyed at his presence to notice anything else. Instantly, at least. But she also knew she would eventually be at war with herself. While her love for Daniel remained, it didn't erase her time with Robin – it didn't erase the feelings of…the feelings that were felt.

That pull that he seems to have on her that she couldn't understand. Regina could only assume that Robin must be at war with himself right now – he must, even if he is an honourable man; after all, she knows, he felt the pull, too.

Regina shook her head at her thoughts – empathy, she didn't know she was capable of that.

She looked down at her empty glass, pouring herself another. She supposes she can empathize with Miss Swan, as well: in her need to save everyone, to do right. Regina had ruined so many lives in her past, she herself didn't think of consequences either: never thinking she would go on to ruin her own life. She was at fault.

But she had risen anew, she was a hero – Henry said so. And if the truest believer believed in her, then she must to. She would focus on him, her little prince.

She swirled the wine left in her glass – owing the next thoughts in her mind to be the effect of the alcohol. Because now, she realizes that she had been inadvertently saved by the Saviour, too. She was no longer responsible for her – Marian's – death.

A tear escaped her eye as she thinks maybe they could've made it work, lived in ignorant bliss of her actions: get a second chance. But, knowing her, the truth would've come out – at a much later time, a time when she would've fallen so far it would be impossible to climb back up. She supposes she owes Miss Swan (and her pirate) a big ol'thanks; she wonders briefly if Hallmark has taking to making 'Thank you for stopping me be a murderer' cards.

She grins to herself, definitely the alcohol. But it seems even that can't take away the pain – the pain she can feel emanating from the very organ she had said felt stronger, just mere hours ago.

With a heavy breath, she reached into her chest and retrieved her beating heart.

Old habits die hard.

She lets it sit in her palm, looking at the beating organ – its red colour swirled with some black. A sob escapes her lips, without her meaning to; she's surprised she even has this much emotion, considering her hollow chest. Maybe Snow was right, she feels with her soul. Despite herself, she allows her mind to recall the moment he had held this very organ in his hand – she being choked by her wicked sister. She felt, more than saw, when he had finally swiped it – and what came after was a magic that defied all belief.

Regina covered her face with her hands, now thinking to their moment in front of her fireplace. She never should've told him – never relayed the tale of 'Tinkerbell and the Tattoo'. What would he think of it now? What did it even mean anymore?

She carefully picked up her heart; she couldn't keep it in her chest – at least, not tonight. Wrapping it in a dish cloth, she placed it in a cupboard – shaking her head in slight amusement at her hiding place as she closed the door. Grabbing her glass, she made her way to the sink to rinse it out – wow, she'd finished that bottle in record time.

But if Robin would be anything but the man she knew he was, she knows he could be at war with himself. He's probably even thinking of that damned story; perhaps considering it. She scoffs at her own hopeful thought; but a part of her won't stop wishing, that maybe – just maybe, there is still a choice. That he will make a choice; because in that case, at the very least, she would be considered – an option, at the very least.

Or perhaps he is just angry at her – furious, because by now, his wife would've already told her of what was to be her fate and by whose hands: and she doesn't even know how she feels if this is the case. Because even the most resilient heart, she now knows, is easily broken.

But deep insider her, she knows; she knows the latter has to come true – because it is the way it should be. And should Robin choose otherwise, Regina knows: she knows she couldn't let him; he has to let her go. She will make him let her go.

Her resolve is strong – she must stay strong. Perhaps, she could make this a second chance for them both: his second chance at his family and love, and hers in her redemption for costing him (and Roland) his first chance in the first place. Yes, she nods to herself, making a choice (a decision): she will make sure his family is complete, always.

Her mind is telling her she shouldn't just decide by herself, that they need to talk – should talk. But Regina knows she isn't ready for that – and that, especially she, can probably figure out how this whole thing would end anyhow.

And as she watched the swirly bubbly water slowly drain down her sink, she tries to ignore the nagging thought that pesters her mind, telling her that she's a fool for thinking he'd be anything but angry at her, that he would even consider her as a choice – a damned fool, that her mind would even dare to entertain the idea that it would be her telling him to let go.

Regina breathed out, trying to drown her demons. She frowned as she saw her breath form a little puff in front of her. She then just notices the coldness of the room around her – there was a chill in the air: odd. She looked around the room, her gaze settling on her window; thinking that her eyes were deceiving her. But no, she realizes as she moves closer and reached out her hand.

Cold to the touch. The glass on her window was frosted with ice.

What?