"You okay?" Regina asks, holding her unbuttoned pyjama top closed across her chest, her bare feet stinging with the cold as she approaches Emma who leans against the porch railing.
Emma doesn't answer, choosing instead to stare out at the view before them that's shrouded in the grey darkness of the night. Regina doesn't know what to do— not now at least, not after their time spent together that had started out rough and quick, carnal in all the ways that made Regina re-think her sexual appetites, only for it to turn into something familiar once again. Soft, slow, loving. Like an artist Regina had allowed herself to worship Emma's skin, whispering compliments, and teasing with light giggles that had turned into pleasure filled gasps instead.
They had made love, and then Emma had left.
She tries again, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt as she does them up haphazardly. "Talk to me," Regina pleads, one hand sliding over Emma's shoulder to show her silent support.
Regina counts the seconds in her head, standing out in the cold as she waits for Emma to acknowledge her. There's a shadow dancing across Emma's face from a nearby tree, the hard edges of her features a direct contrast to the softness Regina had only just seen in bed a few minutes ago. She waits, and waits, and then Emma finally speaks. "I don't know what to feel." The words are said through clenched teeth, pure pain in them as the weight of what they've just done settles harshly on Regina's shoulders.
They might've remained quiet about it, but their actions are loud, screaming their feelings out into the open with no way to deny them; but this is no time to dwell on things unsaid however, no matter if their silence has spoken for them.
"Breathe," Regina instructs, gently placing her palms on Emma's cheeks. There's more to them now, to this relationship that they've stuck and ripped off labels from— and yet somehow it feels like there's a little less, like whatever Regina is so fond of twisting into knots has become cruelly simple. Licking her lips, a panicked exhale the only outward show of unrest, Regina asks, "do you want me to leave?" thumbing away warm tears that begin to fall from Emma's eyes.
With a shake of her head, Emma unwittingly makes Regina's heart soar. This isn't running away, where Emma leaves after every one-night stand and never looks back— this is something more than that, something that Regina breathes out a relieved smile at.
"Come inside," she whispers, as if speaking any louder might break this tentative trust they've built, the one that they've stripped away with their clothes, and the lack of which leaves them naked to each other in more ways than one. Smoothing her hands down Emma's rumpled blazer, the action affectionate and yearning, she adds, "I'll make us a fire and we can just sit together, okay?"
A troubled frown remains etched between Emma's eyes even as she nods her agreement, the crease deepening when Regina sets her on the couch and moves back. Crouching in front of the fireplace to do as she had promised, Regina worries that something else might be going on, but she focuses on the fire until it is high enough to be left on its own, the flames casting shadows along the walls as they flicker and dance. The night isn't cold enough to warrant it, but Regina drags a blanket from the bedroom nonetheless, draping it across Emma's lap to provide her with something to hide under should she need it.
"Stay," Emma whispers, cold fingers wrapping around Regina's wrist to tug her down onto the couch, pulling her close enough that they're pressed against each other, too warm as Emma unfolds the blanket to encase them both.
It's Regina who wants to run now, to breathe in deep breaths and figure out why she feels uncomfortable in Emma's presence despite having been naked and writhing in pleasure together not so long ago. Perhaps it's the shame from being so rough in the beginning, or too hasty regarding such intimacy that has this sense of dread creep up into her spine and refuse to budge. "I'm sorry," she blurts out, unable to deal with this awkwardness any longer. "I was rough and demanded things from you that I… it's not like me. If I hurt you in any way—"
"You didn't," Emma interrupts, shifting closer, "you knew what you wanted and asked for it. I respect that." Regina still wants to argue her point, to properly decide whether she was the cause for Emma's tears, but she doesn't have time to think when Emma's lips press against hers again, kissing her with a know-how that can only come from the knowledge gained in their earlier escapades. The kiss becomes urgent, led by Emma who tugs her along until Regina finds herself straddling Emma's lap, those kisses moving from lips to jaw to neck quicker than Regina can breathe.
This is fast, too fast for Regina to comprehend. One moment Emma is crying, and the next they're making out on the couch? No. "Stop," Regina breathes, pushing at Emma's chest, "Emma, you need to stop." She tries again, this time putting a little more force into the push until Emma bounces back against the couch. The shocked expression on Emma's face doesn't deter Regina from her position on this matter, nor does it stop her from climbing off from Emma's lap to stand with her hands crossed over her chest instead. "If you don't tell me what's going on, I won't know, and I can't help you."
Frustrated, perhaps in more ways than one, Regina waits for Emma to gather the courage she needs to answer her questions. The fire spits behind her, hisses and licks the wood that begins to smoke when Emma takes too long. Eventually, as if she's speaking around a lump in her throat, Emma answers with a shine to her eyes that can't be blamed on the little smoke that disappears through the open kitchenette window. "I don't know what comes next. After we—I mean… I usually leave. I don't know what to do afterwards." Her voice a mere rasp that makes Regina's frown deepen, Emma looks up with so much loss in her expression, that Regina can't help but drop her hands to her sides, her body language open and welcoming once again.
Of course Emma doesn't know what comes next, of course her experiences with such things are different— and Regina feels shame wash over her at narrowing this to something she herself might've done, rather than something bigger than the both of them. Wiping her hands down her face, Regina kneels in front of Emma, taking both her hands into a delicate hold. If Emma doesn't want to leave, if she doesn't know what comes next, then her actions earlier that might've instigated another round of intimacy makes sense. Regina can't be angry, she can't do more than feel grateful that someone she loves might very well love her back. "We do whatever we want," she answers. "If you want to get dressed and go on that hiking trail again, I'm here. If you want to swim or tell me bad jokes, or— or sit silently… I am going to be here if you want me to."
Her fingers are squeezed back, held so tightly that Regina fears they might break off, but she doesn't complain, doesn't do anything more than wait for Emma. "I want to be with you," she hears in response; soft, quiet, unsure. It's more than enough for Regina, ample permission for her to lean up and press a chaste kiss to Emma's lips as a seal of her promise.
"I have marshmallows that we didn't eat in our hiking bag. Do you want to roast them on the fire?"
Starting off small, like a child being offered a toy that they aren't sure they should take, Emma's smile grows until it's recognisable enough, that dimple deepening as the shadows move from her face, the fire dulling into something calm.
The half empty bag of marshmallows sits unattended by the fire, two forks haphazardly set atop the plastic as Regina cradles Emma in her arms. She doesn't quite know how Emma had gone from laughing about their burnt marshmallows, to giving out sticky kisses when they were roasted just right, to resting her head on Regina's shoulder in contentment. The blanket that Regina brought from the bedroom is draped around their shoulders, cocooning them in warmth even as the fire threatens to melt Regina's face off with the intensity of its simmering heat, but she doesn't budge, too afraid to jostle Emma who sighs blissfully.
"Thank you," Emma says, sounding muffled when she speaks against Regina's shoulder.
Her fingers threading through Emma's curls still at that comment. "For?" Regina finds herself asking, resuming her ministrations that seem to calm Emma down, the arms around her waist tightening as Emma shifts even closer.
She expects something along the lines of thank you for this weekend or thank you for not being a serial killer, but Emma's, "—for being my friend," renders her breathless instead. Looking down, Emma's face now turned up to meet her eyes, Regina's heart quickens its pace, beating as the fear of everything chokes her from inside out. Emma looks at her with raw intensity, stripping away everything to leave her bare; and Regina fears for what she might find, for what might be lacking, and what might be swimming too close to the surface.
Fixed securely on her lips, Regina holds a smile up in place, her palm pressing against Emma's cheek in acknowledgement, whilst her throat constricts around the words that might reveal her true feelings. "And I'm sorry," Emma continues in a whisper, heedless of Regina's internal struggle, "for the way I reacted earlier… I was—"
"It's fine," Regina interrupts, unwilling to hear an explanation that might make her frantic heart more obvious than it already is. "You're allowed to feel whatever you need to. Sex doesn't automatically fix everything."
A curious look is sent her way, Emma shifting her position to sit upright instead, their gazes levelling. Regina's hand remains in Emma's hair, connecting them as Emma leans forward on her palms to lessen the gap between them. "But it was a good attempt, wasn't it?" she asks, so confident, that all too familiar smirk on her face.
The answer sits on her tip of her tongue, a teasing yes that could lend a hand into this flirtation, but Regina remains quiet, gaze dropping down onto the floor instead. It's such an errant thought, but it chews down into her stomach until she sighs, swallowing thickly to rid herself of the guilt that sits in her throat. She tries, her mouth opening to provide some sort of answer, but nothing comes out, and Emma's playful expression quickly turns into a frown.
"I was supposed to woo you," Regina splutters, "I was supposed to be the hopeless romantic seducing you with flowers and gifts, and candlelit dinners—but you were the one doing everything." She shouldn't be so angry about it, feeling as if she hadn't earned Emma's touch, but Regina can't help it. "It isn't fair."
It's uncalled for, this rumbustious laughter that makes Emma throw her head back, neck stretching as she pulls herself forward again to rest her forehead on Regina's shoulder. Emma chokes on her laugh, coughing through her tears as she continues to giggle at Regina's confession. "And—" she breathes out, wheezing as she bangs her fist against her chest to splutter out the last of her cough, "and what do you call this then? Us, a fire, marshmallows, me in your arms?"
She's pouting, her lips pursed, and eyebrows pulled into a frown, but Regina can't seem to stop her face from looking like a toddler whose toys were confiscated. Her ideas of romance used to be grander, laced with loving words and declarations of undying love, but this isn't it. Breathing in, the scent of Emma intoxicating, Regina pushes away her expectations of romance, and casts aside the idea of nothing being good enough. The feeling sinks in, melting away cages of appropriateness and breaking down walls of compromise.
"I lied," Regina whispers, "I'm not a romantic that will ravish you senseless and then drive you to the middle of nowhere to watch the sunrise. That's… that's a romantic from the movies, and I'm not—" Biting her bottom lip, a humourless smile on her face as she turns her gaze to the fire, Regina mindlessly chews on the flesh until Emma's fingers pull her lip out from her teeth.
"Don't do that," Emma says, thumb gliding across her glistening lip, her words teasing as she scolds Regina who has somehow managed to pick up that bad habit from Emma. "Then tell me, what type of a romantic are you?"
She's challenged, dared to find out what she wants and how she wants it, forcing her to be selfish in the now instead dancing to the tunes of others to please them in whatever way she can. Sitting before Emma in her underwear and a pyjama top she buttoned up wrong, everything that has been pushed aside comes rushing back, logic and reason floating away with the dissipating smoke from the fire, replaced instead with raw emotion.
Breathing hard, her hand falls from Emma's face to sit in her lap instead. Overwhelmed with an overload of feelings, Regina delicately tries to sort through them all, her eyes tracing Emma's features with a softness she had thought herself incapable of. "The type that marvels at how your hair glows in the sun," she finds herself saying, her voice rough and gravely, like it hasn't been used for years. "It looks like it's on fire, just…" The lump in her throat prevents her from saying more, but Emma's hand reaches out for her, squeezing her fingers as she swallows past it.
"I'm the type of romantic that notices that you bite your lip when you're nervous, that you lick them when you're going to say something important. You have a dimple on your left cheek that that's faint, but when you're smug it somehow deepens—and I've hated that dimple because it usually means you're right, but when you won an argument your chest puffs out, and your shoulders straighten, and you look… you look powerful. You are powerful." Regina can feel herself speaking too fast, her upper body leaning forward into Emma as her voice grows in strength, the tone low and strumming with something that's been set free.
She doesn't want to stop, doesn't want the look of complete shock to disappear from Emma's face, so Regina continues. "You won't blink an eyelid at the mention of sex, but you blush when someone calls you pretty, and Gods, you are gorgeous. You are beautiful when you're angry, when you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest, and your voice sounds like it can cut through everything—and when you laugh?" she breathes, exhales as if the thought of Emma throwing her head back with her eyes closed in such a state leaves her breathless, "I want do obscene things to hear you laugh, even if it's at my expense. I want—I want to read books out loud to you and hear your opinions on them even if they're different from mine, to taste every flavour of tea with you and find our favourite, to—to dance with you, and listen to you, and cook with you, and—and—"
And she can't say anymore, can't find the words to express how utterly gone she is on Emma. Truthfully, Regina wants to sob, because this isn't what she had wanted to say, nor is it anything resembling acts of romance, but Emma looks at her open mouthed, eyes blown wide, and Regina thinks she must've broken something.
"Those are," Emma starts, clearing her throat to continue, "those are everyday things." Everyday things, she says, and from anyone else it might've sounded insulting, but Emma says it with such reverence that Regina can't help but gape. Struggling, lips moving but no sound coming out, Regina watches as Emma tries to say more. What else is there to say, honestly? Short of I love you, perhaps Regina had said it all, and Emma doesn't look entirely ready to hear that last bit so soon.
Lips pursed together to stop herself from saying more than she needs to, Regina takes in a deep breath through her nose. "This is… too much, I know. I shouldn't ha—"
Emma cuts her off with a sharp look, her eyes rimmed red. "Don't," she grits out, "don't take this away from me." She sounds mature, aged beyond Regina when she longs for such simple romance. Unable to help herself, to stop her hands from reaching out, Regina cups both of Emma's cheeks in her palms, watching how Emma melts at her touch.
She rasps out an, "I'm sorry," her hands slipping from Emma's face as Regina allows herself to fall backwards onto the carpet, gaze lifting to the ceiling as she apologises for too much. She's sorry for not allowing herself the novelty of a new attraction, she's sorry for this weekend that has been more about an ex-wife and divorce she should have let go of a long time ago, and Regina is mostly sorry for not showing Emma how much she means to her in the limited time they have together.
Perhaps, if they had continued without this arrangement, and Regina's feeble excuses to call Emma just to speak to her had grown organically from there, things might've been different; cleaner, slower, and laced with the time and opportunity to turn her living room into a garden for their first proper date— amongst other gestures of grandeur. Maybe Regina is just sorry for rushing things when they hadn't been entirely ready for this.
Following her, one hand on either side of her head as Emma braces herself to hover above Regina, she says, "you don't have to be," in a reassuring whisper.
Maybe, there's more to that statement than Regina can delve into now, too many layers being put back on as Emma stubbornly braces herself on her arms, warmth from her body a tease that Regina doesn't get to touch. Delicately, with the tips of her fingers, like this action is forbidden and should be kept secret, Regina traces Emma's face. She maps Emma's nose, her cheeks, her jaw, and all the places that she hasn't had the time to properly appreciate. For some reason, her exploring hands are allowed to go wherever they wish, given permission to slowly push the blazer off Emma's shoulders and stroke her palms down over the dip in Emma's back until the blazer snags on pointed elbow joints.
"Do you want me to…?" Emma asks, her eyes dropping down between their bodies. Regina doesn't want that however, and subtly shakes her head as she continues her gentle strokes across Emma's skin.
"Sleep with me," she requests instead, dragging Emma down by her shoulders, arms encircling her into an embrace as Regina adjusts herself on the floor. They've been sharing the same bed for so long, attempts upon attempts to solve Regina's insomnia, that it comes easy now for her to tangle her fingers in Emma's hair, sighing when she feels soft breaths against the crook of her neck. The stroking continues with reverence, their fingers intertwining when Regina brings Emma's hand up to her lips to kiss her knuckles— and perhaps this is the sort of quiet romance that Regina had always wanted.
Time passes without Regina's knowledge, ticking away as her actions become more lethargic. Emma hasn't said a word since they settled down on the floor together, seemingly content to rest her ear on Regina's beating heart—although, when Regina looks down, Emma's eyes are closed, her breathing deep and even as she sleeps like nothing bothers her. It would be a sin to wake her up, to watch the serenity from Emma's face disappear behind a mask of hardness, but Regina knows that the clothes Emma had hastily pulled on must be uncomfortable to sleep in, and the least she can do is move them to the bed where they can rest together in their pyjamas like a functional couple.
Regina shakes Emma's shoulder gently, trying to rouse her with the soft call of, "Emma." It does nothing more than make Emma burrow further into her chest, sighing happily as Regina shifts. Trying again, this time with a firmer tone that doesn't sound like a lullaby, Regina pushes at Emma's arms to get her to loosen her grip. "Emma you have to get up and change. We can't sleep on the floor—"
The arm around her waist tightens, pulling her further into an embrace as Emma sighs. "hm," she groggily hums into Regina's neck, kissing the skin there softly, "love you."
Whatever plans Regina might've had to be practical are thrown out the window, her heart beating twice its speed as she pauses her breathing to keep as still as possible. She doesn't know why she does it, why she has to widen her eyes, listen intently, and feel with her whole body the words she's sure she must've heard wrong— she must have, yes? But everything Emma has done for her so far seems to hold weight to her sleepy confession.
Closing her eyes to imprint the words into her mind, the memory committed to heart, Regina internally squeals. The hope for this relationship lasting longer than its allocated time is discarded however, not unless Emma specifically mentions it, but for now, Regina allows this joy to linger. It sits in her chest, beating away with new life as it lulls her into a state between awake and asleep; the same mindset she had wanted to achieve when she first met Emma, where her intentions then had been to turn over in bed and be fooled into believing it was Mal—but now Regina tries to fight off her sleep, unwilling to give up this image of Emma nestled within her arms.
Sleeping on the floor with uncomfortable clothing be damned, Regina holds Emma closer to her as the embers of the fire gives off its unwavering heat. The blissful pull of sleep doesn't seem daunting now, nor it does it make her jitter with the vulnerability such a state might leave her in. And perhaps she had been trying too hard to push herself into being ready to move on, but when Regina allows sleep to win this time, she does so with a smile.
Regina barely manages to tie the bow on her silk blouse, the fabric a light blush colour that matches nicely with her pointed heels that are partially hidden by her white dress pants. There had been no time to dress up in anything else, not with her hair in ruffled curls that had thankfully fixed itself under the steam of the shower this morning, and—well, practically everything in the bedroom had been destroyed because of their escapades before they fell asleep in front of the fire yesterday, and whatever she had found first had to do the job.
Clasping her earring into place, Regina snatches her purse from the kitchenette nook and jogs down to where Victor waits with the golf cart. Emma stands beside him, chatting about something mundane, and Regina is almost embarrassed at the butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the sight of Emma in a white summer dress, pink earrings glinting in the morning sun as Emma turns to stare right back at her. Suddenly shy, her gaze dropping to the floor only to find Emma's again, Regina lifts herself up onto a seat and pretends to be unaffected by that smirk tugging on Emma's lips.
"You look absolutely stunning," Emma whispers in her ear, and Regina knows Emma long enough not to smile like a teenager with a crush, not to turn her head just to catch a glimpse of Emma only to blush and look away when she's caught— but she does it anyway, and Regina doesn't care what people might think.
It feels as if she's been given permission to feel this way again for someone who isn't Mal; to find herself unable to stop staring, to yearn for a simple touch, to feel her nerves spark with anticipation at the mere scent of her lover. Regina has never felt so free, and finds herself looking unapologetically at Emma again, tracing her outline and cataloguing the way her eyes sparkle when she finds herself being watched. "I can't explain how beautiful you look… words won't do you justice."
Laughing at this, Emma finally reaches out to hold Regina's hand who sighs happily at the contact. She doesn't say anything in response, but a smile remains on her face even as she presses her lips to Regina's softly, the kiss sweet and lingering. It shouldn't be fair as to how Regina wants more, how one kiss can make her feel as if she's floating, electricity sparking across her skin as everything within her awakens.
Much too soon, the golf cart comes to a stop, and Regina is jerked forward when Emma tugs playfully on her hand, a knowing smile on Emma's face when she grumbles at having to move. Led down a few stairs to enter the hidden estuary, Regina's eyes widen at the arrangements made for the final breakfast before the guests leave. "This place is amazing," Emma breathes, looking up and around at the low hanging branches of the trees, down to the mouth of a river that flows effortlessly through all the greenery. Spellbound— no longer at their surroundings, but rather at Emma's reactions to it, Regina helplessly follows as Emma's fingers flex within her hold, dragging her here and there with an excitable expression on her face.
Things blur, and people become nameless, faceless beings after that, her eyes only for Emma who is eventually pulled away by a few friends she's made this weekend. She feels jealousy burning in the pit of her stomach as she watches them chat to Emma, not because she feels threatened, but because they get to speak to her lover, to hear her laugh and smile, and watch how her hair shifts in the breeze.
Marian, who arrived in a bubble of newlywedded bliss, now stands beside Regina with a glass of orange juice in her hand, talking a mile a minute about Robin and things Regina doesn't quite catch. Too busy searching for Emma in the crowd of people, she almost misses Marian's exasperated sigh. "What?" Regina asks innocently, struggling to keep her gaze locked on Marian when it keeps straying.
Pointing toward a cluster of people, Regina following the finger as if it's a lifeline, Marian huffs out, "there she is," and throws her hands up in the air when Regina's smile splits her face in two. Emma looks up at her, smiling back as they simply gaze upon each other lovingly. Regina could do this for an eternity, and almost manages to achieve it, but Marian bumps her shoulder to draw her attention back, breaking her shameless ogling. "Disgusting," she says, sipping on her orange juice, "absolutely…"
"Disgusting?" Regina laughs, poking her friend in the shoulder as Marian blushes and giggles when Robin winks at her from afar. "I can see that."
"Oh, hush you." Swatting at Regina's shoulder, Marian finishes off her orange juice and sets the glass down on a nearby table. "We're newlyweds, we're allowed to be disgusting. Besides, he's been teasing me this entire time— can you believe he won't touch me until we go on our honeymoon?"
Regina can't help it, laughter spilling out of her in waves as she clutches onto Marian's arm to steady herself. "I can't," she wheezes, wiping beneath her eyes. She can laugh now, tease and poke Marian about her marriage without the weight of a broken one on her shoulders; this weekend panning out to be much better than a field of landmines she had expected from it. For everything she's gone through, Regina certainly received a few gifts from her pain, even if it might only turn out to be memories in the end.
Turning on instinct toward Emma at the thought, she catches a smile on pink lips that might suggest Emma had been watching her too. It makes her feel giddy, pulling her up on a high that makes her do foolish things. Lips puckered, Regina kisses the air in the direction of Emma, not caring if she looks ridiculous— but Regina is delighted beyond reason when Emma catches the kiss within her fist, laughing as she holds it close to her chest.
"Disgusting," Marian mutters under her breath, chuckling when Regina shoves her playfully.
It's the early afternoon by the time they walk back to the cabin, their shoes held in their hands and their fingers intertwined. Marian had been given a teary send off, glasses raised in toast and teasing comments made by family members to which they had all laughed. It felt nostalgic to see her best friend married and happy, to watch as the weekend came to a close, and the guests slowly making their way back to pack up all their things.
Emma must be feeling the same, because instead of getting on the golf cart, she had tugged on Regina's hands and silently asked to walk. That's how Regina now finds herself sweating under the unforgiving sun, her legs burning as she walks up the small hill that seems to go on forever. "We should have taken the golf cart," she breathes, stopping for a moment to catch her breath.
"I just wanted to spend more time with you," Emma confesses softly, dropping her shoes down onto the ground to plonk herself beside it. Regina nearly has an aneurism at the sight of Emma's white dress against the grass, thinking of the stain it might leave, but when she's faced with a pout and sparkling eyes, Regina is helpless but to sit next to Emma on the ground.
No matter what she wants to say, to reassure Emma that they have enough time, it isn't going to make a difference if Emma decides that this weekend is still more than enough for them. One arm circling Emma's waist, a kiss pressed to a rosy cheek with a slow inhale of defeat, Regina resigns herself to this moment, committing it to memory as Emma leans against her with the view of the estuary below them.
She had never imagined packing to be such an exhausting task. They check, re-check, triple check to see if anything has been left behind, and yet Regina still manages to leave her phone in the cabin— "found it! It was in my bag for some reason." So maybe just a scare then.
"How did we end up with more things than we brought over?" Regina asks, pulling out one of her coats to allow the damn suitcase to zip up. Helping Victor heave up the luggage onto the trolley, Regina huffs as Emma stands behind her with all those muscles doing nothing. Snapping around to bark orders at Emma, Regina's eyebrows shoot up when she catches Emma's gaze lingering inappropriately too far down. "If you're done ogling my ass, can you give me a hand?"
Power thrums through her veins when Emma jumps into action, her cheeks red as she tries to hide her embarrassment behind another suitcase. All Regina can do is smirk victoriously, rewarding herself by doing what she had just reprimanded Emma for.
Aghast, Emma asks, "who's ogling now?!"
Rolling her eyes, Regina drapes the coat over her arm, ginning smugly at Emma. "Please dear, I've done my work, now I reap the rewards. You want to ogle? Get your chores out of the way first."
If she walks ahead with a little more sway to her hips, then the muttered, "you're an evil, evil woman," from Emma is worth every awkward step.
Before them looms the car, the boot being packed, and a few snacks placed in the backseat for their journey. Other guests hover around the driveway waiting for their vehicles to be brought forward, most of them hugging each other as they say their goodbyes. Regina doesn't want to leave yet, not entirely satisfied with how she had spent her time this weekend. She had made progress with Emma, the two of them leaving as far more to each other than when they arrived, but it had taken too long to get there in Regina's opinion, and whatever she was given seems wasted now. Perhaps if she asked Emma for more time…
Turning, Emma's name on her lips, Regina collides with someone who isn't her lover, someone she doesn't want to see ever again. "I don't want to talk," she snaps, stepping back.
Mal looks at her with her hands raised in surrender, a sad smile on her face. "Just an accident," she says sincerely, reaching down to pull her suitcase out of the way. "But—" she starts, and Regina wants to groan in frustration because her time at the resort cannot end with being angry at Mal. "I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you yesterday. I was… out of line on a lot of things." Mal does not fidget, she does not show any weakness. It's one of the reasons why Mother loved her so much, and to see her ex-wife with her shoulders slouching and her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her suitcase handle… Regina doesn't know what to do with this information. "I only want you to be happy, and if it means never seeing each other again… then I'll oblige."
Suspicious, and rightfully so, Regina seeks Emma out who stands just behind Mal, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. "I forgive you," she finds herself saying, the words coming out of nowhere as a smile breaks out on her face at Emma's surprised expression. "I mean," Regina clarifies, turning to look at Mal again, "I forgive myself for ever thinking I was less than, for thinking that whatever happened between us was because of something I did, and for… believing that being a romantic was the same as being selfish." She wants to laugh, the same lightness bubbling up inside her from when she went swimming in that waterfall, but Regina holds up her finger instead, digging through the coat over her arm with that laughter sitting just within reach.
Emptying the pockets, she hands Emma the half eaten lollipop that's surprisingly not melted through the wrapper, the list of her possible reasons of insomnia, a coin she hadn't made a wish on, and lastly— "I don't have to forgive you to move on," she says, holding out her engagement ring and wedding band to place into the palm of Mal's hand. "Thank you for the memories of a happy marriage, and I release you from this bond." She sounds like a priest, but whatever weight she had been carrying lifts entirely, that laugh finally escaping her as she grabs Emma's hand to lead them to their car.
"Fuck, do I love you," Regina hears Emma say under her breath, the sentiment too quiet to acknowledge without making the situation awkward.
The drive is quiet, a slow cruise that Regina allows herself the pleasure of as the events of the weekend settle around them. She's officially ended everything with Mal, earned Emma's love, successfully navigated through Marian's wedding, and all but cured her insomnia. So many changes, and yet Regina feels the same.
"Want to talk about it?" Emma asks, sitting with her elbow resting against the door, picking at the skin on her thumb. That's new. Shaking her head in the negative at the question, Regina speeds up when another car approaches too quickly from behind. An hour goes by like this, with Emma silently contemplating something, her thumb between her teeth as she thinks, and Regina staring straight ahead at the road as the sun glares at her as it sets.
She understands now how time could have been wasted, how she could have neglected romancing Emma when so many other things were happening at the same time. Even now, when everything is resolved, the residual hurt still lingers, and Regina wonders how long it will take to fully submerge herself into another relationship again.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Regina whispers, clutching the steering tightly.
Emma perks up at the sound of her voice, thumb out of her mouth and posture straightening as she sits to attention. "It's okay. You did what you had to do, right?" Whatever goes on inside Emma's head, Regina doesn't know, but she can guess from the worried frown on Emma's face that it can't be anything good.
"I— I just don't know what to feel." Overwhelmed perhaps, too many emotions all strumming together as Emma's quiet confession of love solidifies. Last night she had said it in a state of sleep that could be explained away, but now? It makes Regina want to say it back, to plan for their future and create a checklist that had been destroyed in her last marriage. She can't go back to that, to being dependent on someone else for her happiness, and it is that thought that makes her uneasy.
Fingers wrap around her forearm, holding onto her before she can fall apart. "I'm here," Emma says seriously.
There are a thousand ways to say thank you, but Regina reaches down to press the button for Emma's window, rolling it all the way down to watch as her hair flies with the wind, a laugh peeling from her lips. What Regina wants to say is I love you, but not yet—not like this.
The half-way stop provides them both with room to stretch, for the comfortable silence that had descended upon them to break for air as they both park in a petrol bay. Emma's hand still remains on her arm, a warm offer of reassurance that Regina gently removes when the petrol attendant taps on her window to get her attention.
"I'll meet you inside?" Emma asks once Regina has finished her exchange.
She says, "sure," with a nod, masking this need to be by Emma's side all the time. Regina has always considered herself a selfish lover, but surely this need to be close is bred from something else other than that. Watching Emma go, a small smile on her face as Emma jogs to the café, Regina fumbles around until she produces her phone, the screen lighting up when she switches it on.
It's been an entire weekend of no contact with the outside world, a place where she had been given the opportunity to get to know Emma properly within their bubble of intimacy, and yet Regina had managed to almost screw things up with her fixation on a marriage that had no chance being saved. The phone in her hand rings, vibrating as several notifications of missed calls and messages comes through. She had promised to send Zelena regular updates, but the last time she spoke to her sister had been just as they arrived at the resort, and Regina hadn't bothered to make contact otherwise.
Groaning out her frustration, the messages read and scrolled past, she holds her breath as the one person she doesn't want to speak to is dialled. "Hello, Mother," she breathes, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Oh, so you do own a phone," her mother greets her with, sounding far too hurt over such a simple matter. Regina can't help but sigh, the sound travelling with her as she gets out of the car to stretch her legs. "Why do you even give out your number if you never answer it, then?"
This is it, Regina thinks, rubbing her palm along her forehead as she exhales a humourless smile. "There was no reception at the resort—"
"And they didn't have a phone anywhere in that large estate that you could have called us with? Do you know how many times I've had to listen to Zelena's inane theories on what might've happened to you? And what is this I hear about a woman you are sleeping with?" The questions come fast, too quickly for Regina to do more than laugh breathily at. She's backed into a corner, unwilling to disrespect her mother by challenging her opinions, and still filled with too much pride to be answerable to a woman who she's been independent from for years.
Her card is handed over when the petrol attendant is done, the process quick and painless as she tries to formulate an appropriate response to her mother's questions. "I was focused on the wedding, Mother, I didn't have the time to make calls." Technically that's true, Regina justifies, getting back into her car to turn the phone on speaker, the engine roaring to life as she drives it toward the parking bay instead. "And I sent Zelena a message saying I reached safely— and I'm a grown woman, I can handle myself for a weekend without her babysitting me."
Switched off, her arms too tired to hold the phone to her ear, Cora's voice booms over the Bluetooth system once the car is properly parked. "You were with a stranger," she hisses, "someone we know nothing about in your bed. Zelena was telling me you have feelings for this girl? If you wanted someone to help you sleep, darling, why didn't you use the card I gave you?"
Sometimes Regina marvels at how easy it is for Mother to switch from concerned parent to condescending bitch within a sentence. She hates to associate such words with the woman who gave birth to her, but Regina can't help but make the connection. Where was her mother's loving support and encouragement when she was wasting away after the divorce? Where was her mother when she didn't need a professional cuddler, but maybe a shoulder to cry on? It all makes no difference now, but Regina still takes this opportunity to get even. "Mother, please," she scoffs, "this isn't like you and Daddy. Emma is not a replacement for Mal, and I do not laugh her off as a professional cuddler—"
"I do not use Marco as a replacement for your father!" Cora splutters, sounding offended and hurt. Regina knows it's true, knows the trouble her mother had sleeping when her father had died, and how it had been managed with the introduction of Marco with whom her mother cannot live without. Regina doesn't have much of an opinion on the man, only having met him twice within the year that her mother has employed his services, but there isn't any coincidence as to his age, nor the bald spot in about the same place her father had his.
Sighing, the action tired and drained, Regina rubs at her temples when this conversation shifts into uncharted waters. "Whatever your reasons are, Mother," she breathes out, head banging back against the leather of the seat as she closes her eyes, "they are not mine. I… I love Emma, I want—"
A sharp intake of breath cuts her short, the passenger door wide open as Emma stands there hunched over with her head inside the car. She had been too slow to react, lost within a daydream of the future as the present rudely barged in. Her lungs burn when she doesn't take in a breath, the sound of her mother speaking nonsensical things in the background as Regina focuses her attention on Emma who doesn't move. Maybe Emma didn't quite hear her properly, maybe this can be salvaged.
"—Love?!" her mother shrills, Emma's gaze turning toward the phone even as her body remains eerily still. "How many times have I heard this before, Regina? Be practical, can you really afford to get your heart bro—"
If she had to attempt to cut the call under any other circumstance, the Bluetooth would not be refusing to follow her frantic button smashes. "Mother—Mother, I've got to go, b-bye."
"Are you cutting me—"
Off. The line finally goes dead when Regina manages to switch her phone off completely, sweaty and hot behind the ears as she swallows down a chunk of humiliation. "My mother," she says in a way of explanation, breathing out a stuttered laugh that makes her look like a geeky student lusting after their attractive professor—which is ironic considering she herself had been on the receiving end of those crushes one too many times.
Emma doesn't offer her an out, her eyes dark and scrutinising as she nods toward the café. "I ordered coffee for us. I didn't know what you wanted to eat so…"
So Emma may have just heard her confession of love and an embarrassing conversation with her mother. "Right," Regina responds, picking a smile up on her face only for it to fall again, her hands patting the steering awkwardly as she tries to remember what to do next.
"You gonna come in or…?" Trailing off, the shine of amusement chasing away the hardness of her expression, Emma presses her lips together to hold of what Regina assumes must be a laugh at her expense.
Eyes narrowed, eyebrows raised and a haughty look upon her features, Regina taps her fingers on the steering wheel as if sitting here had been her plan the entire time. "Of course, Miss Swan," she mocks, "I doubt the waiter will come all the way to the car to give me my food. Besides, I don't trust your ordering skills."
One eyebrow raised, a smirk on Emma's lips, and Regina knows that she's effectively managed to avoid making this situation heavy and awkward. "Oh yeah?" Emma challenges, "well you didn't exactly allow me the chance to show off my supposed skills."
Regina laughs as she jumps out of the car, one arm on the roof of her Mercedes as she speaks to Emma who straightens up on the other side. "Maybe if you enjoyed being bossed around a little less, dear, you would have found an opportunity to…" her eyes drop down to Emma's figure as she steps away from the car, lust clear in the way her gaze lingers over the clothed form of her lover that had been gloriously naked the night before.
Emma's arm winds around her waist, tugging her closer as the confessions of love are swept under the proverbial carpet. "To…?" Emma urges her on, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
This is easy to get lost in, to pretend like she isn't scared about their future when everything hinges on a delicate balance she can't upset, so Regina plays along, her fingers coming up to pinch Emma's cheeks as she presses a sweet kiss to her lips. "To prove that you can order food that won't kill me," she teases, barking out a laugh when Emma tickles her sides.
This is easy, so easy, and Regina swats at Emma's hands as they make their way toward the café, too many pairs of eyes watching them behave in a way that would make any couple envious.
