A/N This is not a continuation, not exactly. But I've always found very interesting how Emma and Regina work around each other and how they seem to always be on the verge of saying something to the other (and not only that they love the other woman) So after seeing that apparently we were going to have a look on Emma's mind a series of conversations started to appear on my mind. The first one was of Regina to Emma and a peek on what the blonde thought about her role as the savior. This one is my take on Emma who has always been, between the two, the hardest one to write about. At least for me!

I hope you like it and comments are always appreciated!

There is not enough darkness in the sky

The first time Emma had heard the term "savior" directed at her she had wanted to laugh and scream how she, a dropout, an orphan, a lone wolf, could never be one of these knights in shining armor she still could remember from the scarce times in her childhood in where she had had the chance to read such kind of stories. The mere idea of her being selfless was stupid. Not because she would never help another person but because she would never hold the weight of another human being up on her shoulders.

She had grown up surrounded by people that had tried to break her in different and inventive ways. She herself had done things that had destroyed her even more, making her distrust every person she encountered, making her wary and tired. Making her, her. She wasn't happy back in that life, not like the films that seemed to be made non-stop about women achieving their goals through some random dude. She had never been that kind of woman either way. But she had created a place for her and that had been enough.

But now, when she heard the term savior she didn't laugh anymore. She just trembled and prepared her body for another blow, another curse, another loss.

It had been difficult the realization that she wasn't only a princess but the designated savior of a myriad of different creatures that hadn't even been her favorites back when she was growing up. She had never wanted to be a princess; she had never wanted that kind of happy ending. Happy endings didn't exist she had reasoned back when she had been five and yet another family had picked up someone else instead of her. What existed where paths, paths you could be forced into or fight your way in.

Forced. That was she had felt back when August had insisted on what a ten-year-old boy had been saying non-stop; she was the savior. She needed to be it. A savior, a mother, a daughter.

A princess. Perfect.

But she wasn't perfect, a voice inside of herself had screamed as the first of many more thoughts and betrayals had started to ebb their way in inside of her. She wasn't perfect, she was just her. An orphan, a woman who had fought back, a woman who had stared down back at the ones who hadn't thought she would be able to keep walking down her path.

She wasn't perfect, and yet.

She had forgotten about that, somewhere, in someplace she even couldn't even pinpoint, in a realm she didn't even know what to name it. She had forgotten about it. About how she didn't need to be perfect, about how she didn't need to rely on being chosen. Not anymore.

And then she had faced herself and she had realized that her, the woman who wouldn't take the weight of anyone else was now carrying the weight of everyone who would whisper "Savior" every time she thought she was free of the title, of what come with it.

And then, then she had lost herself.

The lapels of the new jacket felt wrong and as she tried to smooth them as best as she could Emma eyed her reflection on the mirror of the room. Green eyes nervously following the movements of pale fingers, in sharp contrast against the black color of the garment. Restless, she shook her head from one side to the other, the ponytail in where she had contained her hair moving alongside with her, grazing her back as she let her hands down, her right hand landing atop of the jacket's zip.

She tugged it, rising it just an inch while she bit her bottom lip, mind still elsewhere as she tried to take the image the mirror gave back to her; lost and nervous.

Grunting, she inhaled as slowly as possible while trying to keep her emotions and magic under control; energy crackling between her fingers, almost seeming ready to break her skin. Closing her eyes as tightly as she could, she tried to wish the pent-up energy away. With no avail.

"Emma! I thought you were with Archie"

The voice echoing at her back was what made her magic recede and the energy to transform back into the small ball she had come accustomed to deal with. Turning with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes Emma looked towards the brunette woman that stood in front of her, same tired eyes looking back at her from dark brown irises that seemed to scan her before focusing on the woman's hands.

"I… I was" Emma stammered as Regina closed the door of her office and approached her, a frown already ghostling over her face. "I poofed myself after the session"

The sentence was mumbled more than stated and when Emma focused her gaze back on Regina the brunette was now eyeing her in concern, the blonde's hands quickly returning back to their tugging of the zipper, the small metallic sound seeming to ricochet inside of Emma's already full to the brim brain.

"Emma…" The whisper, not barely strong enough to be heard above the sound of the zipper, made the blonde stop and sigh, a similar movement quickly being followed by the brunette shoulders.

When Emma had talked about the possibility of seeing Archie, back a few days ago in one mumbled mess surrounded by empty glass shots and enough sorrow on her green eyes, Regina had just nodded slowly, knowing even in that tired moment that the younger woman wasn't searching for a yes but a lack of questioning. Ever since, the former Queen had been the first one to know about the sessions between the red-head and the blonde. Sessions that more often than not left Emma completely drained.

But this, the use of magic after a session was definetely something new. And Regina knew all too well the haunted look that seemed to follow those green eyes wherever they looked at.

Or, she thought remembering a New York night for the hundredth time that day, she had known it well.

"He asked me if I think about being the Dark One" The blonde finally spoke, her stance defeated, shoulders hunched, back and legs seeming to be about to fall apart, hair falling limply at her back. "If I have any memory of…"

Silence, Regina made herself keep silent. Silence was the best, silence didn't judge. And she knew that Emma had come to her desk, to her office, trying, searching, for a woman that still could be felt seated at her chair, looking from the ghost-like memories of what they had been. Emma had come trying to see a woman that wasn't there anymore and the brunette bite down the scream she too heard grumbling inside the blonde's chest. It wasn't the time for her own memories she decided, and so she stood as tall as she could, not moving an inch towards the blonde but not moving away either, dark eyes following Emma's fingers as they left the zipper of the dark jacket and rose ever so slowly as they turned themselves into fists.

"He asked me if I think … about Lily. If I'm still…"

Angry.

Anger had always been a source of confidence for both of them. In Regina's case it had been the source of her power, literally. In Emma's case anger had fueled her will of keeping moving forward and not look back. She had become the woman she was by transforming her anger into productivity. And until Henry had showed up in front of her door anger had been the better way for her to keep moving forward. Anger at her parents for leaving her, anger at a system that didn't support her, anger at the world that didn't helped her. Anger at herself for trusting people who couldn't be trusted. Anger hadn't consumed her like it had done with Regina. But she hadn't need to.

And then, when the curse, when Storybrooke happened, she had been forced to not acknowledge nor anger nor confusion. A leader couldn't show such treats, such pesky little things that saviors didn't have. And with the tittle came responsibilities, expectations, stories she had never think twice about them and that suddenly were there, asking to being heard and considered in a place that had only been Emma's to live in.

As months passed she had forgotten about what it was to feel pain or anger. She had forgotten how it felt to live without the sensation of being already a failure. As weeks transformed themselves into years the recognition disappeared altogether until she found herself looking at Cruella with the sudden knowledge that she had been cut out even to the possibility of having dark, "less than good" thoughts. The daughter of a hero couldn't be less than pure after all.

She had felt her lungs being ripped off her body when the sound of Cruella's back breaking against the rocky forest floor had reached her ears.

And tainted, she had felt tainted. Tainted and guilty in the same manner she had felt herself when she had finally looked at Lily's pupils and had seen what she had refused to see back when she had been a child. With her though, came other things.

Anger, disappointment. And the need, the ever present need of being perfect.

Finding her family hadn't ease old fears, it had only created new ones.

"I couldn't tell him" She finally admitted to Regina, the older woman taking a step towards her as she shook her head and tried to talk while her throat seemed seconds away of seizing up and closing in front of the words she had felt escalating inside of her ever since Archie had looked at her from the other side of his desk and had asked her about her anger. Which made her feel weak in the same level she felt stupid.

Stupid because, as she looked at Regina, she saw comprehension and the ever present shadow of loss looking back at her. Stupid because she felt her arms empty and her body about to collapse. Stupid because she knew that she wasn't going to be the one who took that first step.

Stupid because she needed to rest, to leave behind the title of sheriff and savior, the tittle of daughter and princess. She wondered what kind of title she would get from Regina.

Miss Swan perhaps. Which would hurt. But not for the same reasons.

And both Regina and herself knew it.

Regina, the woman who knew all too well about her nightmares. Not because she had ever told her about them but because she always knew when to listen. And as tired as she was, as disappointed as she had been back in New York, she knew that Regina, this version or the one she had known years ago, were still the only one who would be able to look at her and know.

Know about the silence and the tiredness and the feeling of never being enough, of always needing to be better, needing to fit the role. A role she didn't want anymore. A role that had been forced into her.

She wanted to be free and, at the same time, she wondered what she would be if she ever managed to leave her titles behind.

Perhaps, she reasoned as Regina took a second step towards her and caressed the dark sleeve of the jacket, a jacket bought by David and wrapped up by Snow, a jacket she had been unable to say "no" to even if it felt weird and far too heavy for her shoulder to wear, perhaps that's why she had felt betrayed. Betrayed and alone when she had seen Regina and the Evil Queen. For her they had been one, they had always been one.

As she had desperately wanted for her and the Dark version of herself. The version that had tried to destroy her and had been the only one who had set her free. Before everything, before Hades, before…

"Therapy is always slow, Emma"

The words were said in a dark timber, one she knew all too well and found herself wishing for it not be a strange detail now instead of the rare signature mark of the Regina she now looked at.

"But you" The brunette continued, pained, carefully "You aren't alone. And you won't be"

Emma wanted to scream that the problem was precisely that, that she was never alone, that she always needed to be the Hero, the Savior. She knew though that Regina saw the struggle on her nod and swallow and so she sighed before looking dejectedly at the other woman's hand, thinking on the small warmth she could feel seeping from it towards her arm across the jacket.

Jacket that didn't feel hers, didn't feel…

She needed something else. And she knew it.

She knew it in the same way she had known that there had been other names on the brunette's list back in the apartment, she knew it in the same way she had wanted to hug the woman close and had felt her resolve dwindling when it had been Regina the one closing their distance. She had known… far too much, for too many years.

Except now.

Now that dreams still haunted her and the thought of walking and never coming back to Storybrooke remained a firm one among them. Dreams about magic had turned to be from exciting to tiring, reality always seeming to be far too strong.

Her magic crackled.

"Henry is waiting" The brunette said with a soft smile, sad, far too sad, far too tired. Emma didn't comment on it. They knew they shouldn't. "Want to come?"

And Emma found herself nodding one, then twice.

Strength, she resumed as she felt the lasting feeling of warmth traveling across her arm, was something than just a title. Regina, as different as she was… as she had once been, still knew that.

Perhaps one day she would be able to tell her that. About strength, about her warmth.

And as she followed the former queen she titled her head and admired the light that seemed to be trapped on the older woman's hair. Tired expression aside she was still the same woman she had once known.

Not today she concluded. Not today.