Once the hotel manager was able to simply flick the power switch and turn our electricity back on, Emma and I did rent a movie as we waited for our son to arrive. At first, the situation was uncomfortable between us, both unsure how close, or how intimate we should be with one another. We have spent eight years avoiding physical contact between us, so to breaking through those barriers is rather difficult to navigate through.
After the movie began, she slowly started to scoot a little bit closer, helping to ease the tension between us. When the movie was halfway through, we were both sinking deep into the cushions with my legs draped across hers and her head leaning against my shoulder. Luckily, we were able to hear the door and break apart immediately before our son caught us.
"Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!" Henry chants as he comes stumbling through the door. "Everybody!" He bellows as Emma and I scramble to our feet toward him. He chuckles, releasing the door and allowing it to slam shut behind him. "Man, great song. We really miss out in Storiesbooks!"
"Oh god," Emma laughs while I just groan at our son's drunken state, again.
"Oh look, it's the moms," he winks dramatically while attempting to kick off his shoes.
I quickly swoop in beside him, curling one arm around his waist and leaning his weight against mine. Emma bends down before us and takes the lead on pulling off his sneakers.
"How much did you drink, kid?" Emma grumbles, wrestling with one of his shoes.
"I lost count after the fourth chant," he tosses one arm recklessly into the air, throwing Emma and I both off balance. "Shots! Shots! Shots!"
"Henry," I scold in my most demanding tone that always snaps him to attention. "You have to be quiet, we don't need a noise complaint right now."
Henry's glossy eyes squint in my direction, causing me to swallow thickly under his scrutiny. He taps my nose and smiles like a mad man.
"You seem happier."
"I just yelled at you," I scoff at his oblivious state.
"Ma," he shouts, slinging his other arm around Emma and pulling us suffocatingly close to his chest. "You make her happier!" He giggles, squeezing us both so closed that my nose is practically kissing Emma's.
"Okay kid, we need to get you into bed," Emma concludes, struggling to untangle herself from our son's long limbs.
"Hey ma, you're from this world, do you know this song?" He clears his throat before shouting his chant again. "Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Everybody!"
"Yeah, it was all the rage when you were learning your ABC's," she deadpans, guiding him to stand more on his own.
"It's not that old."
"It's old."
"Wait! Where's my phone, I gotta play it for my mom," he insists, digging deep in his pocket in search of his phone.
"Honey, as cryptic as the song sounds, I can wait until the morning for you to play it," I retort, guiding him toward his bedroom.
"Maybe we should make him eat," Emma whispers, tossing his one arm over her shoulder so she can help me move him.
"Oh man, tell me you got pizza," Henry practically salivates all over the floor below.
"He needs food to absorb the alcohol," Emma murmurs, trying to ignore our son.
"Time is the only thing that clears a drunken state," I rebuttal, escorting Henry toward his room, but then Emma maneuvers in the opposite direction.
"No, the food will help and he needs water."
"He's just going to throw it up anyways," I deadpan.
Suddenly Henry is squeezing us flush against his chest again. "Look at my moms, arguing again, just like old times. Did we fall through a portal in the past? Am I ten again?" He snorts while Emma and I just glare back at him.
"Okay, you're getting some water and then bed," Emma firmly states, disentangling herself from under his tight wing.
She scurries toward the kitchen to retrieve the water, unscrewing it on the way back for our son to greedily guzzle down. Henry leans into my side as I escort him toward his temporary room. Emma fumbles to open the door for us and quickly flicks the switch, brightening up his room.
"Honey, sit down on your bed," I instruct before I gently lean him closer to the edge.
He plops down with a heavy thud, instantly loosing his balance and falling completely on his back. He rolls to one side, giggling to himself while Emma dashes to the other side to make sure he doesn't roll right off.
"Let him have a drink, Regina," I mock in my most condescending voice that's suppose to sound like Emma. "He's responsible, he's a good kid," I scoff, catching his swinging foot and bringing it back down onto the bed.
"This is nothing," she states, resting her hand upon his shoulder to keep him still, "everybody goes through this, he's going to be fine. Look, he is responsible, he made it home in one piece and as far as I can tell, no tattoos," she smiles, but I just roll my eyes instead.
"Is that how you acquired that lopsided sketch upon your wrist?" I sarcastically comment, nodding my head toward the faded marking, while I attempt to pull Henry back into the seated position.
"No," she swallows thickly, the small word drowning in her sea of emotions wobbling in her throat. "I wasn't drunk, although I was at a some sketchy party in a basement where everyone was hammered and some guy was giving tattoos for free."
"So, you chose a strange man to mark you for life with some disgusting needle than drinking?" I interrogate, narrowing my eyes at the woman over our son, who is most certainly passed out at this point.
"At least I didn't get plastered like this kid," she nods in his direction, but he's out cold.
I roll my eyes and decide not to press the issue any further because our son needs our assistance. I peer down at my son, whose mouth is slightly parted with little soft snores tumbling out. I shake my head at him in disappointment, yet I still have a stupid grin across my face for the love I have for him.
"I'm going pull him toward me, you try and yank the covers down beneath him," I delegate, which she agrees right away.
I place my hand upon his shoulder and pull him closer toward my side of the bed. His instincts take control and he scoots closer to me while Emma tugs the comforter beneath his long limbs.
Henry groans, shoving his gaping mouth into the pillow and snores even louder. Emma and I work together to maneuver the comforter over his body and tuck him in. I run my fingers through his hair and smile down on him like he's still my baby. There's a sinking feeling in my gut and I know in my heart this will be the last time I ever tuck my son in. So, I bend down and place a delicate kiss that lingers against his temple and memorize this moment, knowing it's my last with my baby.
When I pull away, I notice a set of glistening eyes staring right back at me. Emma bends down to kiss the top of his head before we exit the room together. Emma flicks off the lights while I close the door behind us.
It's quiet for a moment, neither of us really knowing what to say to one another. So, I try to make this as least complicated as possible and head toward our bedroom to turn in for the night.
"Hey," Emma's soft voice stills my feet from every taking another step forward. "Don't you want to finish the movie?" She innocently asks, with this full pout on her lips that I don't even think she realizes she's making and it's the most adorable thing I have ever seen this woman do.
"Of course," I offer her a small smile and find my way back toward the couch we were cuddling on not too long ago.
Emma shyly smiles back at me as she moseys back toward the couch. She plops down beside me, almost as hazardous as our drunken son moments ago, and cuddles back into my side. She reaches for the remote and begins the movie all while my mind spins with the notion of her just being so at ease right now with our close proximity.
"I never really tucked Henry in before," she suddenly confesses breaking through the silence. "He was too old when we were in New York," she whispers as her cheek rests against my shoulder and I just stare blankly at the top of her head.
I never even considered how strange or how important that small action that took place in Henry's room no more than five minutes ago, effected her. It's something that just came natural to me, seeing him lying in the bed, but to her it was some so foreign and maybe exciting as well.
"I suppose I didn't realize that you never had the opportunity."
"It was nice," she softly admits, her fingers slithering between mine and squeezing some reassurance into them. "I enjoyed tucking him into together...no matter how old," she chuckles to herself while I smile like a fool in return.
My lips move to their own accord, under some sort of enchanted spell as they press a delicate kiss to the top of Emma's head, because now that I've had her, I can't seem to get enough of touching this woman. I know I'm screwed, because I can already feel the addiction crawling through my veins and itching to touch her once more.
I glance down where our fingers are fastened tightly together and notice that flower tattoo again. With my free hand I lightly trace the old stretch, admiring how silky her skin is on her wrist.
"So, how come your rebellious, teenage self chose this flower tattoo," I teasingly question, still caressing the mark.
"Honestly Regina, I can't tell you what possessed me to allow some stranger to scar me for life, but when I saw that flower in his book, I just...I had to have it right then. It was like a calling, like it spoke to me."
My thumb lightly travels along one curve of a pedal to another and continue as I memorize the drawing, my heart swelling with so much adoration. "I'm not sure if you ever paid attention to the drawings in Henry's book..."
Emma quickly sits up from against my body and frowns as she stares deep into my eyes. "I mean, sometimes I have. I guess it kinda depends on the situation we are in. Why?" She suspiciously questions, her eyebrows automatically pinching together in concern.
"Well Emma," I reach for her wrist again, resting her hand in my lap as I skim her flesh with my thumb and I choose not to comment on the goosebumps spreading like wildfire. "This flower was on your father's coat of arms, it's like their family crescent," I explain while she just gapes at me in awe.
"Seriously? How have I never noticed before?"
"I'm not sure, I'm surprised you haven't had this conversation with your mother before."
"Maybe she never noticed it? Or just didn't know how to bring it up?" She mindlessly mutters as she lifts her arm up so she can inspect the tattoo as though she's seeing it for the first time ever. "Well, I guess they were always with me," she says to herself, lost in thought as she rubs the worn out tattoo, but I hear her admission and I know how important this is to her.
The thought of her parents creeps into my brain like some infectious disease and all too quickly my stomach is doubling over from guilt.
"Oh god, your mother," I mutter, tossing my head back against the couch. "She's going to have a massive heart attack if she doesn't murder me first."
"I'm sure it will be a tough conversation at first, but I'm sure they will be fine," she dismissively replies with a wave of her hand before she sinks back into my side.
"You give them way too much credit, dear."
"Come on, you're being melodramatic," she scoffs as she rests her head against my shoulder. "The only thing my parents have ever cared about is my happiness. That's not going to change."
"Why are you so calm about all of this?"
"Because it's nothing to stress over. I think you're forgetting how close you and Snow are now, she wants to see you happy as much as she wants to see me happy."
"Yes, but surely not together."
Emma quickly tears her head from my shoulder to meet my worried gaze. "Will you stop," she softly whispers, her lips just ghosting over mine, "I promise, they will be happy for us," she vows, sealing it with a warm gentle kiss, that drowns out my anxiety. "Okay?" She murmurs into the kiss, but all my mind knows what to do is nod in response. "Okay, now let's finish the movie."
XXXXXXXXX
Well after the movie has finished and the credits rolled through to the end, Emma and I found ourselves lying face to face. Our legs were so tightly intertwined, even I couldn't tell where mine started and hers ended. The room is pitch black, the moon hardly granting us any light, but I almost prefer how dark it actually is, because this is still all too new and overwhelming and it's easier to open up when all my insecurities aren't on full display.
"I want to know about this," Emma's slender finger reaches in the small space between us and immediately my instincts take control, forcing me to dodge her unwanted touch. She frowns, her eyes shifting frantically for some answer upon my face. "Is it still sensitive to touch?" She whispers.
"No," I swallow back my apprehension toward the subject and set my protective mask in place. "I just don't feel comfortable with people touching it or discussing it."
"Okay, but if I'm being honest here, it's one of my favorite things about you. I love when you aren't wearing makeup and it's more prominent," she confesses, creating an expression of disgust to form upon my face because I cannot imagine anyone finding this hideous thing attractive.
"Well, clearly you have a kink for flaws," I flatly reply.
"Another dig at Killian? Can we just leave him out of our bubble?"
"Of course, I apologize," and I do feel a pang of guilt for bringing him into our intimate moment.
"I mean it though, this makes you...well you," she whispers, reaching up again as her finger itches to touch the scar and this time I don't shy away. She smiles, her delicate finger grazing the ugly mark with some much compassion I swear my heart is going to explode. "Will you tell me what happened?"
Those green are fixated on my scar and for the first time ever, I don't feel that disgusting self-conscious sensation creeping around the corner. So, my mouth pops open and the words tumble out without another thought.
"I was fourteen, and I wanted to take Rocinante out for a ride, but my mother had plans for me to meet some prince coming from far away as a possible suitor." Emma tenses immediately, her eyes flicking to meet mine, abandoning the scar, but I continue. "So, I disobeyed my mother because the last thing I wanted was to be some wife to a stranger I had never met before."
"I don't blame you," she mutters so quietly I would have missed it if I weren't staring so hard at her face.
"So, I went for that ride and really pushed Rocinante because I was furious with the life I was to lead. I pushed and pushed him to run faster and faster and somewhere down a beaten path, an animal crossed our trail and spooked my horse. I was thrown in a mess of sticks, leaves and dirt, I couldn't even tell you what scraped my lip, because I was so scared of the punishment to come from my mother. I was a mess and the prince was to come and I knew I was going to embarrass her and I would be in a world of trouble."
"So, she didn't cause it?"
"No, she didn't."
"But she had magic, she couldn't heal it?"
"Oh yes," my voice cracks from the awful memory embedded painfully into my head. "She could have, but she refused. When I arrived at home, dirty and bloody, her lip curled in such disgust she might as well have beaten me an inch from my death. I had never in my life felt such shame and embarrassment. She-well she told me that is what I deserved for disobeying her and that she would never heal it, just so every time I am rejected by a prince it would be a reminder of the hideous scar on my face that I deserve for being such a disappointment in her life."
"No wonder why you are so self conscious about it," Emma breathes like she can almost feel my pain. "God, Cora was such a piece of work, I am so sorry you had to grow up like that." Her warm palm rests against my cheek as her fingers lightly massage through my hair while her thumb sweeps lovingly across my cheek. "That scar, proves that you will never allow anyone to dictate your life, that you are a strong, independent woman that will never settle." She stretches forward the slightest bit, resting her lips against mine. "Not to mention, it's sexy as hell," she confesses before she sweeps me right off my feet and kisses me deeply.
My fingers curl securely around her wrist, holding her in place because I never want to let go of this feeling of her loving me for all my flaws and she must if she loves the Evil Queen so deeply. We both sigh into the kiss, before I break our lips apart.
"What about you?" I breathlessly moan against her delicious lips.
"What about me?" She smirks, that cocky little smirk that I find unbearably attractive.
"I know you have a scar here," I announce, grazing my thumb across the indent near her eyebrow. "And one here," I whisper, my thumb trailing down the side of her face, skating across her jawline and skimming playfully down her chest until I found the rough patch above her breast.
She purses her lips, struggling to keep her goofy grin at bay. "Well, I was four when I earned the one above my eye and truthfully I don't really remember too much. I think I jumped or fell off a playground and hit the edge of the equipment. It's all really fuzzy, the only thing I remember clearly from that day was the nurse offering me a popsicle to distract me from the stitches."
"You could have lost your eye or vision," I reply, appalled by the horrific story. "Did your foster family receive any repercussions for child endangerment?" I seriously question, but she just chuckles and pulls me in even closer.
"You're adorable when you're mad, but no, I was four and I was on a public park, things happen," she shrugs, not at all concerned with the distant memory. "Now, for this one," her consistent frown deepens as she peers down at her own chest. "There was a lump," my heart free falls until it clunks against my stomach and I am wracked with nausea. "I had it checked and it was just a cyst so they removed it. The doctor was a quack though because the scar shouldn't be this big," she informs me as her index finger brushes along the length.
"Emma, it wasn't-"
Big green eyes flick to my worried gaze. "Oh god no Regina, it's fine. I'm fine. I promise. It was just a cyst and they removed it very easily, nothing more."
"Good," I breathe out in relief and peck her lips for some sort of comfort.
Our intimate bubble falls silent as we both search each other's faces for some answers, unsure of our future, unsure what even tomorrow will bring.
"Do you think Henry will be okay with all of this?" Emma questions cracking through the silence.
"I think we have a remarkable young man, who we raised well enough to only have our best interest at heart," I softly reply while Emma nods along.
"He's a good kid, and I think he will be happy as long as we are happy."
Emma leans forward, her lips lazily connecting with mine as her eyes flutter closed and I know she's growing tired as am I. I watch with great interest as her lips slowly peel from mine, but her head never falls away. She stays snuggling in close against my face as she gently drifts off to sleep. I take the peaceful moment to study every line, every wrinkle, every bit of her face until I can no longer fight the sleep weighing down on my heavy eyelids.