By the time dawn rolls around, Emma has worn out every mattress spring with sleepless tossing and turning. Henry sends a text just before seven that confirms both he and Regina have all their limbs intact, but it isn't enough.
Emma pulls on her running gear and ignores the fact that she's barely broken into a jog for at least a month. The soft material of her tank top is pleasant against her skin, and the cropped pants fit like a glove as ever, and somehow being dressed only in black feels appropriate as she pulls her sneakers on. Pushing the earbuds in with some PJ Harvey ready to blast, she makes it out of the apartment with her water bottle. Her parents are still asleep, or pretending to be.
The town is slowly stumbling into life, storefronts half-opened and the low rumble of the early risers' cars on the street is audible for a moment as Emma skips tracks. She picks up her pace as she approaches the park outside City Hall, roughly the halfway point between her apartment and Regina's house, and it's kind of pointless to pretend she's heading anywhere else, even if she makes a few sprinted laps around the fountain to get her calf muscles burning.
Regina's garden is as immaculate as ever, and Emma yanks her earbuds out as she jogs up to the porch, hanging them from the neck of her tank top before knocking on the door. Maybe it's too paranoid to be jumpy, but she wants all her senses available before Regina makes an entrance; assuming, of course, that she actually answers the door.
Emma knocks again. And again.
"Here's the thing-" Emma begins as the door swings open, but it's Henry standing there, blinking and disgruntled in his pajamas.
"Mom says if you knock on the door one more time she's going to replace it with a fiery portal," Henry informs her. "I don't think you should be here, Emma."
"Is she okay?" Emma asks, because it's important to know if an emotionally damaged sorceress is about to raze the town to the ground any time soon. "I know what Mary Margaret did might sound wrong-"
"No," Henry corrects. "It was just wrong. I know Grams wanted to protect everyone from Cora-even my mom, really-but it was sneaky, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, kid," Emma sighs. "I guess it was. We can't give you a hard time about being good if we don't apply the same rules to ourselves."
"How noble," Regina says, appearing behind Henry. "I hope you're not planning on inviting yourself to breakfast, Miss Swan."
"Not if you invite me in first," Emma tries, clutching her water bottle a little too tight. "I mean, that's why you came all the way to the door, right?"
"I came to tell Henry his breakfast is ready," Regina corrects her, ushering Henry back inside with a gentle touch on his shoulder. He responds instinctively, a lifetime of responding to this woman making it so much more natural than anything he does around Emma. "And to tell you to get off my porch."
"That's pretty harsh," Emma whines, and she can't believe she's actually a little upset to be excluded.
"Harsh?" Regina challenges, stepping over the threshold and jabbing a finger against Emma's shoulder. "Killing someone's mother is harsh."
"I didn't kill anyone," Emma reminds Regina. "And I don't think you can blame me for being born, just because you did such a crappy job all the times you tried to kill my mom. If you want to get into matricide, your Majesty."
"My, what a big word for you," Regina says with a sneer. "I said go," she snaps a moment later. "Don't push me."
"Like this?" Emma mocks, and it's the second dumbest thing she's done in her life, raising a hand to gently shove Regina. With anyone else it would be a clumsy attempt at reducing the tension, a way of showing that nothing has really changed, but Regina likes sudden moves almost as much as she likes fairies-or Charmings-and Emma should really know better by now.
That's what she's thinking as she sails through the air and lands coccyx-first on a very solid, very red-brick garden path, just a few feet from the gate.
"Mom!" Henry yelps, running out from behind her to help Emma up.
"I'm fine," Emma insists, even though her butt is going to be as bruised as her pride. She scrambles to her feet and strides back towards Regina. "You pull that crap again and I will kick your ass, Regina. I don't care how sad or angry you are, you don't treat people that way."
"You promised, Mom," Henry is frowning as he looks at them both. "How are you supposed to help me if you can't keep one promise? You said you wouldn't use magic to hurt anyone, especially Emma."
"She provoked me," Regina says, bottom lip all pouty like this is some dispute over whose turn it is to go on the swingset.
"Like hell I did," Emma grumbles. "You know what? I'm doing being the nice guy. I'm done understanding, not when nobody gives a damn about me or what I want. Henry, do you want to stay here or stay with me?"
"Don't you dare-" Regina tries to interrupt, but Henry is already in motion.
"I don't want to stay here," he sighs. "Mom's never going to change."
"No!" Regina yelps. "Henry, please, I won't do anything like that again. Just stay and have breakfast."
"But you will do it again," Henry points out, and if Emma weren't so damn angry at Regina, she might try to stop Henry from hurting her any further. "I want to believe you, Mom, but I'm so scared that I'm gonna turn out evil."
"I won't let that happen," Emma promises, but Henry looks at her with that scrunch of disapproval. He shakes his head, and it breaks her heart.
"I don't think either of you can help me right now," Henry sighs. "I'm going to ask Gram and Gramps if I can stay with them. I mean, they're so good they made a true love baby, right? I know they shouldn't have done what they did to your mom, but I still think they can help me."
"No," Regina spits. "No, I can't let them take you, Henry. They've already cost me everything."
"It doesn't have to be forever," Henry says, shuffling his feet. "But it's safest for now, right? And the Blue Fairy can teach me magic until everything calms down."
"No!" Regina gasps, but Henry closes his eyes and a moment later he's gone, just purple smoke where he stood.
"Great," Emma groans. "Now I have to explain this to my parents. One day we're actually gonna have a normal conversation. About the weather, or if I'm getting enough iron in my diet or something."
"You did this," Regina snarls, rounding on Emma and as she lunges to choke her this time, it's all about doing it with her bare hands, magic forgotten in the pure rage of the moment. Emma blocks her, and then steps aside.
"What did I tell you about attacking me?" Emma challenges. "Because I'm really in the mood for beating the crap out of someone, and it seems a lot like you're volunteering."
"Go to hell," Regina growls.
"I'm done with this," Emma announces, holding up her hands in defeat. "I've made excuses, and I've believed you when I had no reason to, and I've done everything short of grounding Henry for being rude to you, and that's still not enough. Poor Regina, always the goddamned victim."
"Sounds like your Savior complex in action again," Regina argues. "Because all you've done is turn my son against me and then take him from me, over and over again. You and your precious family."
"Hey, it's not my fault you deal with difficult parents by bumping them off," Emma fires back, knowing she's so far over the line that she might never see the line again. "Daddy didn't stick up for me? Take his heart. Mommy might interfere with my twisted-ass curse? Send a pirate to pluck her heart out. Don't you dare talk to me about family, Regina."
"I forgot you're an expert on the subject," Regina drawls, and fuck her, because now that their words are practically drawing blood, she looks like she's enjoying herself again. "Tell me, if your parents decide that you leaving permanently with Henry is for the greater good, how long will they hesitate before giving you up again? An hour? A day? They might even give it the whole weekend, before pushing you over the line themselves."
"Fuck you," Emma snaps, and she's channeling her magic so it crackles all along her arms, and all her thoughts are jumping fragments of slapping Regina, of blasting her back through that door, of redness and rage and revenge.
When the gray cloud clears, Emma's standing in her own kitchen.
"Oh, come on," she groans, because just once she wanted to really wipe the smugness off Regina's face. She kicks a cabinet in pure frustration, and that brings Mary Margaret scurrying in.
"Henry appeared here in a cloud of smoke," Mary Margaret begins, sounding every bit the schoolteacher. "And now you. Tell me, Emma... which part of this exactly is stopping Henry from using magic?"
"It's complicated," Emma offers, shrugging in what is hopefully her most adorable way, even though adorable is the last thing she feels. "I need a shower. And yeah, we might need to change things with Regina a little bit, but it's a process."
"Henry's in the bathroom," David says as he joins them, and sure enough Emma realizes the water is running. "And he told us what happened with Regina. Are you okay?"
"It was a moment's overreaction," Emma lies, and wonders just why in the hell she's covering for Regina. Again. Maybe it's because Emma knows when she calms down, later, she'll regret giving more ammunition to people who would see Henry's mom executed, given half a chance.
"Henry wants to come to the new house, with us," Mary Margaret explains. "We're going now. But we don't want to do that if it's going to upset you, Emma. You're his mother."
Emma almost snorts at the cheek of it. Now, suddenly, they're getting picky about custody and who asks whom about what? Thank God Regina is in an entirely different building, because this would make her vaporize them all in a split-second.
"I guess... it's fine. But I still want to see him, obviously. And Regina will too," Emma says, keeping her tone nice and steady, hoping that will be enough to discourage any arguing. "Obviously after she calms down, and I'll deal with the hand-off, if necessary."
"You might enjoy the peace," David says, his easy smile almost comforting when he turns it on Emma. "It's been a pretty crazy few weeks."
"It has," Emma admits. "And at some point we're going to need to talk about hearts, and Cora, and why exactly we run around pronouncing ourselves the good guys all the time. In the meantime, let's just keep Henry safe, and as normal as possible."
"He mentioned getting Blue to-"
"No way," Emma interrupts, because on this one thing her spidey sense absolutely agrees with Regina. "Any magic problems: you call me, you call Regina. Okay?"
"Okay," Mary Margaret agrees. "And you know we're just happy to help, right? Henry will be right back with you as soon as he feels ready."
"I trust you," Emma says, and at least in this particular way, she still does. "Now, someone get that kid out of the bathroom while there's still a chance of some hot water left?"
Maybe she's going to hell, but after the initial guilt, Emma does find herself enjoying the peace.
Having an apartment to herself again is a welcome return to a life she finds familiar, and a way of existing that she actually understands. While David and Mary Margaret host an informal family dinner every night, Emma skips it every other time, claiming she has work to catch up on and then crashing out in front of mind-numbing TV with a beer.
And if she doesn't see Regina beyond a mutual glare from opposite ends of her garden path when Emma drops off Henry for his less frequent visits, well, maybe that's for the best too. If Emma's not cut out to mother Henry, she's sure as hell not qualified to deal with the thorny mess of Regina. Even Archie, with the confidence from his cereal-box degree, doesn't dare approach her at the moment, but Henry seems happy to spend limited time with her, and that's enough for everyone right now.
"Henry," David says over dinner two weeks into their new arrangement. Emma looks up from where she's pushing peas around her plate. "Why don't you tell Emma how you're doing at school?"
"I haven't done any magic in ten days now," Henry says. "That's what you really want to know, right?"
"That's great, kid," Emma says with a nod. "But I don't mind hearing about school, too."
"It is getting easier to control my magic, though," Henry admits. "Even when Nicholas was being rude about my mom, I felt like it but I managed to stop in plenty of time."
"That's really great," Emma replies, and she means it. "What's making it easier?"
"Gramps has been teaching me all the cool sword stuff," Henry explains. "So I save up when I feel tired or angry or like I want to smack someone, and I let it all out with the sword."
"That's... not a bad idea," Emma says, smiling at her father, who blushes before taking a hearty mouthful of potatoes. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it sooner."
"It's okay," Henry says quite seriously. "You are pretty new at all this, Emma. Even if you are the Savior."
She laughs, not least because it's true, and there's a tiny shift somewhere inside her that might be some hope returning.
Emma meets Henry after school most days, her hours flexible when Storybrooke behaves as it should. The weather is finally improving, and she leaves the Bug at home, and uses the cruiser to patrol only during the late spring showers that wreck her hair in three drops or less.
He's scowling as he comes trailing out of the gate, and Emma wishes that wasn't enough to make her stomach sink.
"Hey," she greets him, squeezing his shoulder for a moment. He's growing, she realizes. In her apartment in Boston he barely came up to her waist, but there's a leanness to him as his body has started to stretch, and Emma can tell she isn't looking quite as far down as she used to.
It's impossible to remember the kid she imagined before Henry ever showed up, that hazy idea of a miniature Neal running around behind a white picket fence, an image that comforted and tortured her in roughly equal measure. Unsurprisingly, Neal is what Henry wants to talk about; they've been skirting around the subject for days.
"I tried to call my dad," Henry says, scuffing his feet against the sidewalk as they make their way home. Emma bites her tongue about how quickly they'll wear out, even if Regina has provided him with the best of everything. He's not ever going to have to make one pair of sneakers last all year, until they fall apart beyond what duct tape and stolen glue can repair. Even if Emma ends up being the only one buying him stuff from now on; he still deserves better than she ever had, and he will have it.
"When did you get a phone?" Emma asks, because she damn sure hasn't given him anything but a walkie-talkie.
"Mom gave me one a while ago," Henry confesses. "She said in case I ever needed her but you wouldn't let me see her. It was before... you know."
Emma grinds her teeth but manages to hold back a comment, focusing on Henry's conversation instead.
"So what did Neal say?" She asks.
"He answered but then said he had to go," Henry said. "Like, I'm pretty sure it's just because it was me. Does he hate me, Emma?"
"Of course not," Emma corrects in a hurry, as they approach the apartment. She has some snacks in the fridge for once, and it saves a trip to Granny's. "He was probably just busy, Henry. And New York can be pretty loud, so maybe it wasn't a good place to stop and chat, you know?"
"He doesn't hate me?" Henry asks again. Emma shakes her head and ushers him into the quiet apartment. Henry pushes past her, heading straight for the fridge. This, at least, they have in common, and Emma follows right behind. "Then I want to go see him," Henry continues. "This weekend, in fact."
"Okay, less of the demanding first of all," Emma answers. "And don't forget the magic word, when you ask someone a favor."
"It's not a favor," Henry says, pulling out two cans of soda and passing one to Emma. He frowns at his for a second, no doubt some Pavlovian reaction to what Regina would think of Emma's shopping choices, but the kid already demolished the juice and milk stock brought home two days ago, without actually living in the apartment. "I want to go. And besides, across the border I won't be able to do this."
He clicks his fingers, a small and wavering flame appearing on his thumb.
"What the hell?" Emma demands, putting her own soda down on the counter with a thud. "Is that... are you threatening me?"
"Do I need to?" Henry asks, and right before Emma blinks she could swear she sees that shimmer crossing his face again. "Don't you want to see my dad, Emma?"
"I don't, honestly," Emma admits, knowing a lie at this point will be like throwing gasoline right at the actual naked flame. "Listen, kid, you can't push him. I know you want to but-"
"I don't want to push," Henry tells her. "I want to be normal, and not have you and my mom looking at me like I'm made of dynamite or something. And I don't want my dad to feel sick when he looks at me. And I don't want people to be dead just because of me!"
"Oh, Henry," Emma breathes, and she leans over to blow out the flame before scooping him up in the most sincere hug of her entire life. "You didn't ask for any of this, did ya?"
"No," he mumbles against her shoulder. "I just want everyone to treat me the way they used to. I don't like keeping secrets, either. Keeping secrets is what evil people do, like my mom. It makes me feel crazy, just like when she told me the curse was all in my head."
"She panicked," Emma explains, wincing as she takes yet another blow on Regina's behalf. "I think you know already how hard it is to keep all this in your head. She wasn't very well, for a long time."
"Am I sick?" Henry asks, pulling away and moving around the counter. "Is that what people are gonna say if they find out?"
"No," Emma insists. "There's nothing wrong with you, Henry. It's just magic."
"How the hell would you know?" Henry demands, and the hard set of his jaw returns, making him every bit Regina's son.
"Language!" Emma blurts, caught off guard.
"You say it all the time," Henry says. "But really, Emma. What do you know about any of this? I feel weird things, all the time. When I'm sleeping I have these dreams, and not like the fiery room from before, but about places I've never been. I can do all this stuff..."
"Hurting people?" Emma whispers, trying not to look horrified as she stares at her son.
"I... yeah, I don't want to talk about it," Henry replies, changing his mind in an instant. "I know I was gonna hang with you today, but I'm going to go back to Gram and Gramps. It's hotdogs for dinner tonight."
"You can stay," Emma offers, but they both hear the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She's relieved when Henry walks towards the door instead of disappearing in smoke again.
"I meant it about my dad," Henry throws back over his shoulder. "I want to see him soon."
Emma watches him go, and for a moment the strongest impulse is to go to Regina, see if she knows about what dreams Henry's been having, if she has any better idea for how to stop this creeping dread that's wrapped around Emma's spine almost constantly now, like the squeeze of tiny, cold fingers that might just paralyze her.
Instead she trades her soda for a beer, and turns on some music loud enough to drown out her thoughts.
She's on her feet and reaching for the bat in the corner before even opening her eyes. Emma takes a halting step, trying desperately to remember which boards creak, before easing out towards the open staircase, using the noise from downstairs to mask her movement.
It's probably Henry, sneaking back in after lights out at his grandparents' new place. No matter how much he tries to tough it out, Emma knows he's still having bad dreams and temper tantrums, and that's already meant two midnight calls to come and bring him back to his 'room' in the apartment. Henry's usually better at sneaking around than this, though.
Emma sees that only the kitchen light is burning, the soft yellow light almost comforting as she eases her way down the first few steps, bat resting on her shoulder for maximum swing. She didn't think twice about dashing downstairs in a ratty Trail Blazers tank top and bright red underpants. She's had to start bothering with pajamas because of the kid, so on the nights he's not around she enjoys the little freedoms. And the last time she came across another person dressed like this was-
Regina.
Who is standing at the kitchen counter, beating something in a bowl like it's not four in the morning. Dressed in a black trenchcoat, hair a little mussed like she's been pulling at it, Regina beats some kind of mixture with a whisk and stares off into space like she's the only person there.
Emma lowers the bat, pressing it against her leg as a reminder not to completely lose her temper, and clears her throat.
Regina looks up, startled.
"Oh," she says, after a long minute. "I thought Henry might like some pudding. It's his favorite."
Emma descends the rest of the way, dropping the bat on the sofa and approaching Regina like she might a cornered wild animal.
"Chocolate pudding?" She asks, looking at the ingredients on the counter.
"Yes," Regina snaps. "It's his favorite," she repeats, as if it's some kind of actual explanation for what she's doing right now.
"Huh," Emma replies, not thinking. "He never orders it at the diner."
"It is his favorite," Regina says, the words little more than a growl. "But he knows he's only allowed it as a special treat."
"...and he likes the way you make it?" Emma asks.
"He used to," Regina sighs, dropping the bowl and whisk on the counter. For the first time she seems aware of where she is and what she's doing, and her panic builds as she takes in the apartment in a flurry of darting glances. "Oh, what was I thinking? I couldn't sleep," she says, voice almost pleading. "I haven't been sleeping well without him in the house. I start thinking about all the things that he could be doing and... well."
"Figures," Emma replies with a snort. "Although you know he's staying with my parents, Regina. Apart from when he has bad dreams or little magic accidents."
"He's been having those and you didn't think to send him back to me?" Regina demands, rounding on Emma in full-on scary mode.
"Last time I saw you properly you dumped me on my ass in your yard," Emma reminds her. "And uh, Henry didn't suggest it, so..."
"Of course," Regina responds. "I forgot we're all living at the whim of an eleven year-old. The boy prince, after all."
"You were royalty," Emma counters. "You should understand acting entitled."
"Which is why it's the last thing I wanted for my son," Regina snarls. "I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that."
"What are you doing in my kitchen, Regina?" Emma asks, and it sounds a hell of a lot more tender than she meant it to.
"I don't know," Regina admits, gripping the counter and closing her eyes. "I just wanted to be close to Henry, make him some pudding as a treat. And then it turns out he's not even here."
"Sorry," Emma blurts. "I think he's still upset about us fighting in front of him. And he wants to see Neal, and I don't know how to let him down gently..."
Regina starts to answer, but she bursts into tears instead. Emma watches, horrified and fighting back her own tears. There should be a warning about people having breakdowns in front of you when it's the middle of the night and you're not wearing any pants. There should be warnings that people like Regina even exist, and about how damn good they are at getting under your skin.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Regina says, gathering herself pretty quickly. "I didn't mean to hurt Henry by letting him see it, either."
"You weren't the only one who did," Emma reminds her. "This is on both of us, but most of all it's a really crappy situation."
"I feel like all I do is cry lately," Regina confesses.
"I'm not so much with the crying," Emma replies. "But I'm gonna seriously mess up my hands if I keep punching walls so often."
"Brute force," Regina sighs. "Of course." She stirs the bowl of pudding again, and honestly Emma doesn't even recognize the ceramic dish. Off her stare, Regina rolls her eyes and wipes away the tears with the back of her hand.
"I brought the bowl. And the ingredients. I see you haven't mastered grocery shopping yet."
"Been a little busy," Emma lies. She approaches Regina cautiously, but decides that a bold gesture is what this impromptu summit needs. Risking life and limb, she dips her finger in the bowl and scoops out some goop, popping it straight in her mouth. Only when the mixture meets Emma's tongue, it crackles like a mini electric shock, making her squeal.
"You use magic protection on your desserts?" Emma accuses a moment later. "Christ, Regina. Just how anal are you?"
"I don't do any such thing," Regina huffs. "You have magic too, you idiot. I shouldn't be surprised that you haven't managed to control it yet."
"I do practice the things you taught me," Emma counters. "I try, with Henry, but it feels like he's already on some advanced level most of the time. Wouldn't be the first time I fell behind in class, you know?"
"We've done some new things, the few times I've seen him," Regina admits, putting the bowl down on the counter. "Anyway, I should go."
"I like pudding too," Emma says, in a pathetically small voice. "And if you promise not to throw me on the floor," she continues, sounding a little more confident. "Maybe we could catch up on Henry."
"Don't you have to sleep?" Regina asks. "I assume even your take on being Sheriff requires some kind of alertness."
"I'm awake now," Emma says. "Sun'll be up soon, so why not stick that on the stove, hmm?"
"I'm impressed you knew that it goes on the stove," Regina mocks, but she starts to unbutton her coat. "A pot to cook it in would help."
"Well, why stop raiding my kitchen now, just because I'm here?" Emma challenges. "I should probably go grab some pants, actually."
"I don't mind," Regina says, and Emma could swear she sees the other woman blush as she turns away to pull a pot from the cupboard by the stove. Shrugging, Emma pulls herself up on the counter, unembarrassed now by her bare legs.
"You don't make much mess," Emma points out once the burner is lit. "As burglars go, you're not the worst."
"It's not my first time," Regina reminds her. "Although the place was tidier when... your mother... still lived here."
"Well, try not to frame anyone for murder this time, maybe?" Emma sighs. "Can I ask you something and get a straight-up answer?"
"You can try," Regina says, stirring the pot with the rest of the ingredients added and looking pretty relaxed in her black leggings and creamy sweater that drops off one shoulder. Sometimes, Emma thinks she still sees the hints of Storybrooke frozen in time creeping in, or maybe the 80s just got fashionable again, she's never really kept up on fashion stuff beyond what fits and what doesn't need much in the way of ironing, ever.
"Is it... shit, there's no good way to say this," Emma grumbles. "Okay, the other day Henry was talking about wanting to see Neal, and he kind of, well, threatened me. Just with this little flame, but his face... should we be scared of our own kid? I guess that's what I'm asking."
Regina stirs for a moment, before dropping her head and letting out a slow, steady sigh.
"I'm trying to..."
She trails off, but Emma knows better by now, and doesn't push.
"You trusted me to teach him," Regina tries again. "Because you know I was taught by Rumplestiltskin. You assumed, I suppose, that I know which methods work, and which are obviously evil?"
"Something like that," Emma admits. "Henry said you had actual lessons, anyway. And you've known Gold a long time."
"I'm trying, I really am, to do everything I can for Henry," Regina continues. Her stirring apparently done with, she turns the heat off and starts pouring the cooked pudding into a clean, glass bowl that Emma recognizes as one left behind by Mary Margaret; so far Emma's used it for popcorn and nothing else. "But I don't really remember, not clearly, how I was actually taught."
"I thought you didn't forget anything," Emma presses as gently as she knows how, swinging her legs out and letting her heels hit the cabinet doors with dull thuds. If this conversation has a beat, it's provided by that, like the slow drums of war.
"It's a blur," Regina admits. "All I wanted, all I cared about was finding a way to revive the dead. Everything else was a distraction, and when my attempts with Frankenstein failed, I stopped questioning what Rumple was teaching me; I took hearts and... everything else. Until I found a way to put my plans in action."
"So you're saying I should be scared?" Emma confirms, pushing them back to the original topic. Even knowing it's real and having seen the zombie-movie-set of the Enchanted Forest, Emma still feels uncomfortable dwelling on the Evil Queen stuff.
"I don't know," Regina says, her voice cracking. "If I had to... if it came to protecting myself, with magic, I think I could. I'm just clinging desperately to the hope I'll never have to."
"There's always-"
"No," Regina whispers. "Not that."
"I think we have to get ourselves prepared," Emma tells her. "To get into a headspace, and it might take some time, but we need to be able to do something if Henry is putting himself or anyone else in danger. I'm not going to wait for the bodies to pile up."
"Like I would?" Regina replies. "I don't want him to end up feeling this way, no. I don't want any more blood on his hands. I know you all think none of this affects me, but he is just a child and it's very, very hard to bear sometimes."
"I get that," Emma says softly, waiting for the attempt at empathy to be slapped down. "And I can accuse you of many things, Regina, but not feeling things is not on the list. You feel things maybe too much, or too deeply, I think? But then, what would I know, right?"
"Is Henry... does he talk to you?" Regina asks, and there's something pleading in it. "I know how much worse it is when everything has to be a secret, you see, and-"
"He's been having some dreams," Emma says. "It sounds like they're showing him things he's capable of. Of ways to hurt people."
"It could be memories from the Dark One," Regina muses, worry dancing across her facial muscles as her mouth forms a tight pout. "I tried to break it once, like a curse."
"Can I True Love's Kiss him out of it?" Emma seizes on the chance like a frat boy running towards a fresh keg, but Regina shakes her head.
"It's not really a curse," Regina informs her. "And the thing about the Dark One's power is that it's almost a living thing. It doesn't give up its host too easily."
"Shit," Emma groans, before leveraging herself back down onto the floor. Ducking past Regina, Emma swipes some warm pudding from the bowl, smirking as Regina tries to slap her hand away, only to miss.
With a moment's consideration while some freaking delicious chocolate teases her tastebuds, Emma makes her decision.
"I figure my parents will ask me sooner or later," Emma starts to explain, turning to the mini-safe in the cupboard next to Regina. "But I don't plan on telling them the combination. You, on the other hand-"
"You trust me?" Regina asks, just about covering her open-mouthed shock in time.
"When it comes to Henry? Yeah," Emma explains, her hand hovering over the keypad. "I think you're the one person we can be sure will only use it as a last resort. For real."
"I don't like it," Regina whispers, sounding panicked. Emma reaches out instinctively, pulling Regina close enough to see the keys. For some reason, she thinks saying the numbers aloud might prove to be a bad idea. The safe pops open when the six meaningless digits are entered, and in front of Emma's limited cash reserves and her spare gun sits the dagger, its gleam somehow still bright despite the shadows over it.
Henry, it says as clearly as before, and from the ragged exhale next to her, Emma discovers Regina was harboring the same irrational hope that it would somehow all be a terrible mistake.
"Will you remember the number?" Emma says, closing the safe again and entering it slowly.
"Yes," Regina snaps. "At some point we'll have to test what the dagger actually does, and how," she adds. "Just not so soon, please."
"We can put that off," Emma agrees. "We might have to deal with letting Henry see Neal at some point sooner, though. I don't like giving in to him, but pointless fights aren't a great idea with all this magic swirling around."
"Tantrums are sort of worrying," Regina says, turning back to the bowl. Before she can cover it, Emma sees her chance to grab another mouthful, and without thinking she reaches around Regina to claim it. Somewhere in the invasion of personal space, Regina jerks backwards and Emma smears pudding over her shoulder before almost losing her balance completely.
"Oh for God's sake," Regina snaps. "What is it about you that makes you so clumsy around me?"
"I don't know," Emma answers, biting her bottom lip as Regina turns away, looking for something to wipe the chocolate off with. Emma grabs a dishcloth from the oven handle and follows after Regina, stepping up with the cloth in hand to offer her services. "I didn't mean it," Emma says as she wipes the chocolate away gently, not looking Regina in the eye.
"You're a klutz," Regina grumbles, but instead of pulling away, she waits there with Emma's hand pressing the no-longer-necessary cloth against the bare skin of Regina's shoulder.
"Sorry," Emma breathes, and she makes her next mistake by looking up. Meeting Regina's eye is daunting at the best of times, but this undercurrent Emma's been so desperately trying to ignore is suddenly as loud and as potent as her magic has ever been. She parts her lips to say something inane, to make excuses and get the hell back to bed where there are no surprise visitors and no desserts, but Regina is watching Emma's mouth so intently that she forgets to say anything at all.
This time Regina is the one who makes the move, head darting forward with a suddenness that makes Emma jump. Their noses bump at the first attempt, Regina misjudging the angle and blushing furiously at the mistake.
"S'okay," Emma mumbles, leaning the rest of the way to make sure the kiss does still happen. Regina's lips are bare and slightly chapped against her own, and it's so different without her omnipresent lipstick that Emma's brain is confused for a second or two. Until Regina kisses back, one hand slipping behind Emma's neck and drawing her closer still.
It's surprisingly tentative this time, little more than shifting pressure of mouth against mouth, soft and repeated and quietly greedy in taking kiss after kiss, each one making Emma's breath hitch in her throat until she draws Regina into a deeper contact, parting her lips with Emma's own tongue and pressing against Regina's in tender movements.
Then Regina moans, barely even a noise at all, and soft and tender and anything even close to that is off the table. Emma backs Regina against the counter where the abandoned pudding still stands, exploring warm skin with her mouth, kissing and nipping her way along Regina's proud jawline before flicking her earlobe with a playful touch of Emma's tongue.
"It would be a shame," Emma murmurs against Regina's neck, still half-expecting to be shoved away for daring to stop. "If that lovely pudding went to waste."
She dips her finger into the bowl and draws it across the part of Regina's collarbone bared by her sweater. Emma doesn't pause before lowering her mouth to trace the stripe of chocolate, placing an open-mouthed kiss and then taking it off in a series of slow, teasing licks.
"Should we...?" Regina starts to ask, but Emma bites down just then, not quite hard enough to mark, but it stops Regina's question in its tracks.
"If you don't want to, say the word," Emma mutters, but Regina simply tightens her grip on the back of Emma's neck. "Then let's find out what else you can do in the kitchen, huh?"
I swear, every time I lose faith in this story or my writing, someone says something thoughtful or generous and I want to get going all over again. Should be a shorter wait for 8 & 9, thank you for sticking with it, everyone!