Regina thinks they have been here about ten days now. She's not sure, but she's counting the amount of times Emma has been dragged back in and dumped unceremoniously. The blonde is usually unconscious but sometimes there's a grunt of pain as she hits the ground and Regina always waits until their captors have left them alone, their boots echoing down the tunnel. They've left a torch this time, burning in a primitive sconce across from the bars. It's casting a treacherously warm glow across their prison.
Today (tonight?) is no different. She can't tell the passage of time from any form of light and she imagines her skin to be sallow and pasty. Not that she's that concerned about what she looks like. Or smells like. Emma has been thrown in, landing face down. A quiet groan of pain comes from the blonde before she rolls onto her side to contemplate Regina. Her face is bloody, teeth stained menacingly with red as she licks her lips.
"Water?" she croaks, the energy seeping visibly from her and Regina fetches her some from the bucket of water left just outside the bars. She has to cup her hands together tightly to transport some back, cursing as droplets inevitably escape as she rushes back. Emma is working her jaw with one hand and trying to hold herself up with the other as Regina lowers herself and brings her hands to Emma's mouth. They are quiet as Emma cradles her hands to try and drink but a lot of the water escapes, dripping down her arms and Regina is frustrated. If only they had a damn cup because this happened every time either one of them wanted a drink. She hates inefficiency.
She stares at the blonde when she quips that Regina should just drink some water and pass it to her by mouth, she's laughing about an episode of Xena.
Regina can't believe the tenacity of the blonde joking at a time like this. But it brings a smile to her face anyway and they sit together, Emma gingerly cataloguing her aches and pains and Regina watching like a hawk. The guilt she is steeping in is strong, but any attempt to change Emma's mind has been met with the same steely determination she has displayed all along.
"I had to fight three of them today. It's like they are getting bored," she notes as though they are discussing the weather.
Regina frowns. Both at the possibility of their captors actually getting bored, and at the resigned familiarity with which Emma speaks. Regina frets.
She has no idea how they are going to get out of this mess. No clue.
They don't talk, they don't always have light and it amuses Regina in the back of her mind that they need the anonymity of the dark to be comfortable. She takes a punt anyway.
"Anything broken?" She ventures, eyes flitting from legs to arms to face and she finds green pained eyes as Emma shakes her head slowly.
"I'm just damn sore." Emma clenches her jaw, reinforcing this.
"Come here," Regina pats the ground as she lies down and Emma regards her a moment before shuffling over, her face going white with the effort and she hesitates before Regina reaches up and guides her down anyway. Emma is normally unconscious when Regina gets them into this position but it is cold right now and Regina just can't be bothered with pretences. She wants to be warm and she wants to make sure Emma is benefitting from that. Regina tucks her elbow under Emma's head and sweeps her dirty curls up and away from between them, resting her own head on her wrist.
She pulled Emma tight against her, approving when the blonde adjusted her legs to let Regina tuck hers into the crook of her knee.
It was slightly alarming how well they fit together.
"Sleep," she shushes Emma, her breathing slowing already and she can't help herself as she leans forward a little to press a gentle kiss behind the other woman's ear.
What was that?
Regina is unsure of her feelings here. She's never had someone do something like this before and she won't put this down to pure and simple hero worship because that is ridiculous. She's just grateful she argues with herself.
"I felt that," the blonde mumbles sleepily, "don't be getting all sentimental on me now."
She's blushing, she knows she is. But then Regina supposes it doesn't matter. This situation has forcibly removed their usual boundaries and roles.
"Tell me a story, Regina," is whispered into the dark and the brunette's heart cries for the child in Emma, seeking comfort. They haven't talked much so far, their time being spent with Emma elsewhere, Regina having too much time to think – short interludes where they have been awake, patching up the bruised and battered blonde – and sleeping. Regina isn't really used to talking to the blonde, not in conversation anyway – they have proven to be an effective team, talking straight strategy, planning, always regarding Henry – Always.
This isn't a Henry situation, not anymore, and Regina is a little lost. This is the lost child she condemned to an upbringing harsher than her own seeking comfort in a land of thorns. Regina can't help but admire Emma, she's dragged herself through an unforgiving life, dealt with the horror and the turmoil of hard decisions and villains – and she's not faltered. It's not like they have actually had this conversation, but Regina read her files, read the reports, and read through the lines of "troubled child."
Emma has fought every step of the way, and she's still fighting – For the sake of one of the reasons of her start at life. Regina doesn't feel guilty. Everything that has occurred has brought her Henry, and he is everything… she imagines on some level, Emma feels the same. Rumpelstiltskin's scheming created his monster, and she had a hand in creating this tenacious fighter lying against her, and in turn - Emma created the light of Regina's life. There's no two ways about it, she cares for Emma. She has since she turned up on her doorstep, and angry hurting Henry hurling accusatory words. She has since Emma first sheepishly looked her in the eye with a "hi," and that garish red armour.
Regina feels a ridiculous pang of craving for the pleather monstrosity.
It's been the forced introspection, the large quantities of time that Regina has been spending just waiting that's made her come to some realisations about her relationship with the blonde.
She cares about her.
And she's not sure what to do about it. She's not sure what extent this affection runs to…
The pig headed willingness of the blonde to take the force of the blow for Regina is confusing her and she thinks it's messing with whatever feelings exist for Emma.
The blonde came swinging into her life with defensive then threatening words and they've fought. Oh god did they fight. The level of tension and sass making Regina almost giddy to do verbal battle with the other woman. Regina smiles at the memory of sparring with Emma, the sheriff. Remembers her days feeling a bit brighter, a bit sharper in focus because of their mutual antagonism.
"Regina?" Her name being mumbled jars Regina out of her sudden reverie about her relationship with this idiot. She's glad, god, she's so glad it's Emma who is here with her. She's glad it's Emma who's promising her she'll see Henry again.
She can't help but believe her.
"I was once out in the fields with my daddy and my horse, Rocinante, and we heard a young girl screaming for help…"
Regina doesn't know what possesses her to start telling this particular story, but maybe it's time Emma learns something about the woman she's enduring pain and punishment for.
"What kind of name is Rocinante?" snorts the woman in her arms, before Regina lightly slaps Emma's waist where her own hand hangs.
The light from the torch starts to sputter as it begins to burn out, they will be plunged back into darkness soon. Regina suppresses a shiver, instead tightening her arm around Emma, seeking that little bit more warmth.
"Do you want a story or not?"
Emma responds by nodding and pressing back against Regina that little bit more, whispering a small "please," that makes Regina's momentary irritation disappear. She knows that please.
"Your idiot mother had lost control of her horse…"
"Are you going to find a way to call her an idiot every time you mention her in this story?"
"Watch me."
The torch dies out and they are back in the dark again. Emma sighs loud and long and Regina instantly misses the sight of the blonde mess in her face, as tangled and dirty as it is.
Regina continues the story, throat burning through the part that makes her want to scream and cry and rip Snow White limb from limb and Emma has her hand on Regina's arm. Five points of pressure pressing in firmly as her voice wavers but Emma doesn't say anything, simply touches and lets Regina talk. She doesn't comment on Snow White telling that truth to the worst possible person. Doesn't defend her mother to the woman whose life she unwittingly destroyed. Emma squeezes Regina's forearm when she talks about The King and she can't help but keep the utter loathing out of her voice. Of course not. She stops after his proposal and her mother's acceptance, too much of her painful history making her feel raw and exposed and she switches onto stories about her father, seeking comfort in her memories about him and isn't sure when Emma's breathing changed to even and deep but she's now snoring gently, unhurried and for a second Regina imagines what it would be like to wake up to that in her own bed. To wake up to someone sharing her space every morning.
She's so tired from her story and the constant vigil of fear that it doesn't even occur to her to question that last thought, she just lets herself slip off into blissful unconsciousness, protecting Emma the only way she can right now, keeping her warm, and giving her some degree of comfort.
David watches his daughter pick at her food for the umpteenth time before he clears his throat meaningfully and looks at her place.
"Not hungry," she mutters before pushing it away, pretences over.
David sighs and looks out the window. It's been a slow day. It's raining and the sky is as grey as everyone's mood seems to be.
It's been a couple of weeks and Emma's not eating as far as he can see. He can hear her shouting out at night and he's had heated debates about waking her with Snow, his wife stressed and confused.
Emma has been crying out every night before becoming silent and he just knows she's awake, but every time they've approached her room, she's not responded to their quiet calls. David had poked his head in through the door once, and Emma had been curled up under the window, her arms tight around herself. Or she's just not come home at all.
He doesn't understand it. Neither of them do.
He's watched her grow shorter and sharper with everyone. She'd almost lost her temper with Leroy on one of his usual benders the day before, her jaw and fists clenching and that just was not Emma.
It's concerning because David just doesn't know what to do. Any question of "are you alright," is met with an exhausted smile and a shrug. Emma can't even be bothered keeping up a façade she's so on edge and tired.
Snow is getting a little more frantic every day, but only to David. To Emma she is warm and offering comfort at every turn, and only David can read the slight tightening of her eyes, the small hurts as Emma dismisses every offer claiming she's alright.
Which isn't true.
Emma appears every morning, inhales some coffee before flying out the door before David or Snow can really take stock. He sees her at the station, and sometimes they spend a bit of time together, her shoulders tense and his eyes trying not to settle permanently on her. It's a massive strain on David, he wants to shake her, wants to force out a conversation and a solution but he won't.
He's got no idea how to help someone who doesn't need a beast slaying or a comforting hand. There's nothing physical he can do here, not that he can think of anyway.
"It's the miners fair soon," he comments, trying to tempt Emma into meaningful conversation.
She grunts, looking at something out the window.
"Should be good fun," he ventures, trailing off into a flat quiet.
Emma looks back at him and blinks as though seeing where she is for the first time and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm a million miles away."
David smiles warmly, "I can see that."
"I'm… I am sorry. I'm not very good company right now. I just…" Emma trails off into that hesitant quiet she often goes into where she breaks eye contact and wrings her hands together. David sits forward and reaches across to her.
"It's ok, Emma, you don't have to explain yourself to me." She smiles with relief, shooting him a grateful look.
He's glad she's smiling and actually engaging with him, but he also wonders if he's coddling her. But then the fear of whether pushing her in this will push her away rises like the tide and David sits back, arm along the back of the booth, and smiles at his precious daughter.