TW: While nothing explicitly bad actually happens in this chapter, the case is obviously still going on and discussions of it throughout the chapter will include mentions of murder, captivity, etc.
The pediatric wing becomes a zoo a little after six in the morning, full of beeping monitors and nurses rushing up and down the halls and screaming children. Regina blinks, disoriented, glancing frantically around the room to gain her bearings. She deduces quickly that she's in a hospital bed, which causes a momentary panic, but then she calms at the realization that Elsa is on top of her, just beginning to stir, and Emma is still sound asleep wedged against her right side, and she feels safe and warm and contained.
And, strangely enough, damp.
Searching for the source of the sensation, her gaze travels down to her stomach, where Elsa is staring timidly up at her with reddening cheeks.
"W'gina," she whispers, "I...I think I..."
"Oh."
This is certainly a novel way to wake up, she thinks exasperatedly, but poor Elsa looks so upset about it that Regina can't bring herself to be angry.
"That's alright, dear," she says with a reassuring smile. "We'll just find both of us some new clothes, I suppose, and get cleaned up."
"Sorry," Elsa mumbles sheepishly, though her slight lisp makes it sound more like "sowwy," and Regina finds herself smiling in spite of having her clothes soaked with a child's urine.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." She kisses Elsa's forehead and says in a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm sure the nurses keep plenty of extra gowns around for just this purpose."
It takes little time or effort to find a nurse to bring over some dry clothes, but it takes considerably more (and a whole lot of screaming that eventually wakes Emma) to convince Elsa to allow anyone besides Regina to help her clean or even be present in the room while it happens. Finally, Regina dismisses the flustered woman and gives Elsa – who immediately calms as soon as the nurse leaves – a sponge bath and puts her in a fresh hospital gown without incident.
"Cute," Emma teases from the bed, "I should add this one to the scrapbook: 'W'gina's' first adventures in parenting."
Regina sighs in acknowledgment as she tugs off her own wet clothes. "First?" she wonders aloud. That makes it sound like there'll be others.
Emma shrugs and demands, "What happened, kid?"
"I had an accident," Elsa replies, blushing furiously.
"Aw, man. Well, you win some, you lose some. Happens to everyone."
Elsa shakes her head and stares at the floor, mumbling, "Big girls don't have accidents."
"Sometimes they do," Emma argues. "Big boys, too. Last year, my son Henry peed his pants on a rollercoaster because he was so scared. He was nine."
Elsa giggles. "That's silly."
"He didn't think so at the time. He was so mad. And we didn't have any clean clothes for him, either, so I made him put a trash bag on the seat when we drove home."
"Poor Henry," Regina murmurs. "He probably wouldn't be happy to know you're telling this story."
"Nope!" Emma laughs, looking extremely pleased with herself, and Regina shakes her head in confusion. She doesn't realize what the other woman had been attempting to do until Elsa suddenly turns back around right before she can slip on the scrubs she'd been handed.
She tries to keep herself from groaning as the little girl's wide eyes fixate on the one place she'd prefer they didn't.
"W'gina, what's that on your belly?" Elsa asks interestedly, reaching up a tentative finger to poke at the scar tissue through the thin cotton. Regina's first impulse is to bat the hand away, but the stops herself just in time.
"I...I...it's..." She fumbles for words, looking to Emma for guidance, but the younger woman only flashes her a thumbs up and mouths "You got this," which isn't particularly helpful.
Emma mimes taking deep breaths, and Regina reluctantly imitates her.
"It's called a scar," she finally explains. "Sometimes when people get a really big cut, it gets better but not all the way, and it looks a little bit like this."
"Oh," Elsa replies. She considers the answer for a moment and seems to accept it, and Emma mouths "Nailed it." Elsa comments, "That's a really big scar," before sticking her thumb back in her mouth and clambering back onto the bed.
"Some help would have been nice," Regina hisses.
"Why? I would have jumped in if you'd needed it, but you handled that perfectly. You're really good with kids, actually." Regina accepts the compliment with a stiff nod and tries desperately to direct her thoughts elsewhere, and Emma continues, "Have you ever thought about it?"
"Thought about what? Having kids? I think the aforementioned scar should be all the answer you need."
She hopes with every fiber of her being that Emma will just drop it, but she just keeps talking, seemingly oblivious. "No, I mean, like...I don't know. Trying again? Like, adoption or foster care or something like that. I just think you'd be a great parent, you know? And Henry, who's much smarter than me, also thinks that, so..." she trails off as she notices Regina's tight lips and downcast eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry. That's – I shouldn't have –"
"It's fine," Regina mutters, though it's clearly not and Emma knows it. "I...yes, I've thought about it. But, for the most part, single women who work long hours at dangerous jobs aren't considered ideal candidates. And when people see you're in treatment for PTSD, well...you can imagine how quickly the application gets rejected."
"Shit," Emma says again. "Yeah, I guess I didn't think about that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up."
Regina waves her hand dismissively and lies, "It's fine. But can you please stop using bad words in front of three-year-olds? No wonder your son speaks the way he does."
Elsa, sensing the topic of conversation has turned to her, immediately perks up. "I know 'shit,'" she informs the two women. "My daddy says it in the car, but it's not nice." But then her face falls and she whispers, "Emma, W'gina, did my mommy and daddy die?"
Emma nods sadly, and Regina sits down next to Elsa on the bed and pulls the little girl into her arms. "They did, sweetheart," she replies. "I'm so sorry."
Though clearly saddened by the knowledge, Elsa seems unsurprised. "The bad man did it," she says before burying her face in Regina's hair.
"The bad man?" Emma asks. "Can you tell us more about him? Like what he looks like?"
But Elsa sticks her thumb back in her mouth and doesn't say anything else, and Regina shakes her head at Emma, darkened eyes warning her not to push. So, Emma doesn't push. She sits silently on the bed for a few moments while Regina rubs Elsa's back and quietly sings. Then she informs them that she's going to the station and that Locksley and Dr. Hopper are supposed to come by in about an hour to talk to Elsa, and she kisses Regina's lips and Elsa's forehead before exiting the room and saying she'll text about dinner.
And Regina stares after her, wondering at the strange domesticity of all of it. It's a routine they fall into so easily, and she's not sure why, but she's becoming increasingly sure that she likes it. Someday, she could see –
No. She can't allow herself that thought, not now. Perhaps in the heat of victory, she'd forgotten for a moment that there are still long and vicious battles to be fought. How can she dream of a future when the present is still so uncertain?
As if in agreement, Elsa lets out the smallest of whimpers, and Regina quickly returns her focus to soothing the distraught toddler, relegating any and all thoughts about "someday" with Emma to the deepest recesses of her heart.
As promised, Locksley shows up around seven-thirty with Dr. Hopper in tow. "I just got her to sleep," Regina complains, stroking the soft hair of the slumbering child on her lap. Elsa's thumb is in her mouth and her face is streaked with tears, but now that her eyes are shut and she's huddled against Regina's chest again, she looks so peaceful that it seems almost cruel to wake her.
Locksley nods. "Good," he says quietly, "then I can ask you a few questions first, just to get the incident report sorted out. I got most of the details from Nolan already – he'll be fine, by the way; the bullet just grazed him, so a few days with his leg elevated and he'll be good to go – and he says you two entered the warehouse, found Malinda Black tied up on the ground, and then the guns started firing. Does that sound right to you?"
Regina tries to hide the way that she practically sags with relief at the news that Nolan's alright: no one needs to know that she's allowed another one of those idiots to worm his way into her heart. Schooling her features into what she hopes is an inscrutable expression, she swallows the lump in her throat and confirms, "Yes. We found Malinda Black, but we didn't – we weren't able to start CPR because, as you said, the guns started firing – only one gun, though, that I know of. And then Nolan was shot, obviously." And, of course, she'd forgotten all about their other victim.
As if sensing her worry, Locksley pats Regina's shoulder and says, "Malinda Black's alive. Comatose, but alive. She'll be...well, anyway, the doctors are hopeful."
"Good," mutters Regina. No, not good – comatose witnesses can't talk – but still, better alive than dead.
"Then what happened? In your words?"
"I took off after the shooter. It was dark, so I couldn't see him very well –"
"You're sure it's a him?"
Regina shrugs helplessly. "I suppose it doesn't have to be," she concedes, "but Elsa said 'the bad man' killed her parents, so I just assumed..."
He's kind enough to put a stop to her faltering. "Right. Okay, so you're chasing the shooter. Then what?"
"The shooter tossed the gun at some point," Regina recalls. "I was gaining on...them. And then I heard –"
She gestures to Elsa and the lieutenant nods knowingly. "Nolan said she was in a freezer," he remarks, brow tightened in concerned rage. Regina pats him on the shoulder – darken her features a bit and change her gender, and Elsa isn't too different from Roland, and she can tell he's thinking the same.
"She was. The freezer wasn't on," she quickly reassures him, "but yes, she was inside. I heard her crying and I...I let the shooter go. I'm sorry."
"No one's faulting you, Regina," Hopper cuts in immediately.
"No," Locksley sighs, "it appears that everyone shares the blame for letting the shooter go free, but nothing's worth the loss of a child." He cocks his head toward Elsa and Regina nods.
"So, what happens next?" she asks, one arm tightening protectively around the little girl.
"Next, we ask Elsa some questions, whenever she wakes up.
"And then she does to the foster home with Anna?" Regina looks questioningly at the shrink, echoing what Emma had told her last night.
"That's the plan."
"What if –" she starts to ask, but then quickly stops herself. No use voicing the concern if there's nothing they can do about it.
"What if what?" Robin demands.
She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Forget it."
Locksley hums quietly and settles down on the edge of the bed. "You alright?" he demands, as though he's only just noticed her attire. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"I decided to retire early and take up nursing," she says sarcastically.
"No, really – are you injured, too?"
"Only my dignity." He still looks slightly confused. "Come on, Robin. You're a father, there's a toddler sleeping on top of me, the nurses have been pumping fluids into her all night...do the math."
It takes a few seconds – he must not have slept much – but then he's cracking up. "Sorry!" he wheezes in between peals of laughter. "It's just...oh god. Toddler pee on your clothes!"
Even Archie is cackling with uncharacteristic evil, and Regina glares at both of them. "You're going to wake her," she scolds.
"Sorry." Robin pushes his fist against his mouth and apologetically pats Regina's shoulder. "I was just nervous you'd gotten hurt in the chase, and then..."
"As I said, only my dignity."
The three adults settle into a comfortable silence, watching Elsa sleep. Finally, Locksley breaks it, as though he's just remembered something, "You mentioned that she said the 'bad man' killed her parents?"
"Yes."
"So, she witnessed it?"
It's horribly early in the morning for all of these questions. "Maybe? She – she asked me if her parents were dead, I confirmed that they were, and then she said, 'The bad man did it.' At the very least, she saw someone do something."
"She say anything else about this guy?"
"No. Emma tried to ask her about him, but she –"
"Emma? Detective Swan was here?"
"Yes. Is that not alright?"
He jerks his head from side to side in a non-answer. "How bad is it?" he asks.
"How bad is what?"
"Her...you know..."
"Trauma?" Regina guesses, rolling her eyes. "Robin, it's not a dirty word." Hopper offers her an encouraging smile.
"I know. I just...yeah, I know," he mutters embarrassedly. "I just didn't want to assume anything about what she went through when –"
"Well, I'm not an expert," she answers, putting him out of his backtracking misery, "but I think you can safely assume it's bad."
Hopper nods, tight-lipped. "Given what she went through – or what we think she went through," he amends, "I wouldn't expect healing to be an easy process."
"Do you think she'll be able to talk to us, though?" Robin asks. "I don't want to force it, but she's our only witness right now." At Regina's stricken glance, he quickly clarifies, "I won't force it."
"Good."
Elsa's starting to stir, staring around the room disoriented until her eyes land on Locksley and Hopper and she curls even tighter against Regina. "W'gina?" she mumbles. "Who are they?"
"Good morning, sweetheart," Regina says softly, kissing the bleary-eyed toddler on the forehead and ignoring her colleagues' raised eyebrows, "these are my friends Robin and Archie. They're here to talk to you."
"Hi," Elsa whispers, barely looking up as her arms snake around Regina's neck.
"They want to ask you some questions about your parents, so they can put the bad man in jail. Is that okay?"
Elsa burrows her face deeper into the detective's chest as if Regina is her oversized stuffed animal and mumbles something incoherent.
"Sorry, baby, I didn't hear that."
"Don't go," she says a little louder.
"Of course not. I'll be right here the whole time," Regina promises, rubbing Elsa's back and shooting a warning glare at Robin, who puts his hands up and shrugs as if to remind her that he does have four years experience of dealing with kids.
And she knows that – she does. Even before Roland came along, he treated kids on cases as if they were his own. He'll probably be better at this than she is.
But there's still something inside her that's ready to fight anyone in this damned hospital who so much as looks at her baby the wrong way.
She's not even yours.
"Elsa," Archie says gently, "what can you tell us about what happened to your parents?"
"The bad man killed them – and the lady," she tells Regina's chest.
"Was the lady, by any chance, one of these ladies?" Robin asks, pulling out an page with six photos. Elsa's body tenses, and it takes a few minutes of rocking and whispered reassurances for her to poke her head out for long enough to look at the array and tentatively point to Malinda Black.
"She hurt Mommy," she says solemnly.
"Did she do anything else?"
Elsa shakes her head. "The man did."
Robin nods and puts away the photos. "Well, we have to find this man, then. Did you get a good look at him?"
"Mmhmm." She hides her face again and tightens her hold on Regina's neck.
"Locksley –"
"What if we play a game," Robin suddenly suggests. "I'm going to ask you questions and you only have to say yes or no, or move your head if you don't want to talk. Does that sound better?"
After a brief pause, Elsa nods.
"Good. And if you want to talk more, then we'll stop and listen," Archie adds as Regina shifts Elsa upwards so the little girl's head is resting on her shoulder.
Twisting from side to side to crack her back, she whispers, "If you want them to leave, just tell me, and I'll make them disappear."
That gets Elsa's attention. "Like magic?" she asks.
"Yes, just like magic." Gently running her fingers through Elsa's soft but matted hair – maybe she should have given her a full bath earlier – Regina nods to Locksley and mouths, "Get on with it."
"Okay, Elsa, this man – did he have green skin?"
That gets a reaction – Elsa sits up and looks him directly in the eyes. "What? No."
"How about blue skin?"
"That's silly!" she protests, but she's starting to smile just a tiny bit.
"Pink skin?"
"W'gina," Elsa says in what's probably supposed to be a whisper, "your friend isn't very smart."
"I know," she whispers back. She decides not to teach Elsa the word "idiot" just yet – it might not go over well with whatever lily-white, religious – perhaps she needs to reevaluate her stereotypes of foster parents, she realizes upon further reflection, but that's a problem for another day – family might end up adopting her.
Although she does already know "shit."
"Well, if his skin wasn't one of those colors, then what did it look like?"
Elsa rolls her eyes. "The same as mine, but wrinkly."
"Wrinkly?" Robin murmurs, jotting down "white" and "old" on his notepad. "And how about his hair?"
There's silence again as Elsa chews at her lower lip and resumes clinging. "Not really a yes or no question," Regina comments, turning her head to nuzzle the little girl as she sinks deeper into her shoulder, wondering at small children's strange ability to turn their bodies into formless liquid while cuddling. "Let's start with: did he have hair?"
Elsa shrugs her shoulders in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Emma. "Did his hair look a little like Archie's?" Robin suggests. "Like, only a little hair?" She turns to study the moderately embarrassed shrink before nodding tentatively.
"Okay, good," says Robin, voice full of encouragement.
"Almost no hair," Elsa whispers.
"Wow, he must have been really old. The hair he did have – was it gray?"
"White."
"Hmm, practically a dinosaur," the lieutenant remarks, but no giggle is forthcoming. "He must have been pretty strong for an old guy, though." Elsa whimpers, and Regina's embrace tightens as she shakes her head warningly.
"Robin..."
He looks like he's about to say something in reply, but they're interrupted by another tiny cry. "W'gina, I don't want to talk anymore," Elsa mumbles, her voice small and inching towards tearful.
"Okay, baby, you don't have to," she coos. "You did a really, really good job."
"Yeah," Robin agrees, clearing his throat and motioning for Archie to stand up, "thanks so much for telling us what this bad guy looks like. It'll be much easier to catch him now."
"And then," Regina promises, "we're going to put him in jail so he can't hurt anyone else, ever again."
Regina adjusts her grip so she can give her departing colleagues a brief wave, which immediately spurs Elsa into a frenzy, screaming and sobbing as loudly as last night.
"W'gina, don't go!" she cries, tightening her hold on the detective's neck so much that Regina has the sensation she's being strangled. "W'gina, stay!"
"Okay, sweetheart, I'll stay," she rasps, tugging the little girl's arms just loose enough so she can draw a breath. "I'll stay, but you have to let me breathe."
"Don't go!" Elsa wails.
"I'm not going anywhere, baby. Look," she says, leaning back against the hospital's joke of a pillow as Robin flashes her a sad smile on his way out, "I'm going back to sleep. Here. With you."
The knowledge that Regina's not going anywhere finally sinks in and seems to have at least a slight calming effect, and Elsa sticks her thumb in her mouth, still crying but no longer screaming, and mumbles, "My W'gina."
"Yes – your Regina," the detective sighs. At least until Children's Services gets here.
But she can't deal with that thought right now, for either of their sakes, so she wipes Elsa's tears with her sleeve and starts singing a lullaby she vaguely remembers from her childhood until the girl, who's still exhausted on top of everything else, finally drifts back to sleep.
"Regina with you guys?" Emma asks as Locksley and a balding guy with glasses who must be Dr. Hopper enter the squad room. It's strange she's never met the department shrink before, given how much time everyone else seems to have spent with him. Maybe she should, she thinks wryly.
Locksley shakes his head, looking equally amused and perplexed. "She's, um...occupied with other matters. Which, to be honest," he adds with a small sigh, "may be a more healthy and productive use for her at this point."
They're alone in the room, with Nolan still hospitalized, Jones finally on break, and Booth and Humbert at the scene, so Emma feels safe nodding along. "Elsa wouldn't let her go, huh?"
"They seem to have formed an incredibly strong bond in a very short time," Hopper observes, "and I think having an adult she can trust will help Elsa in her healing process."
"Yeah, until they yank her out of Regina's arms and throw her in some crappy foster home," Emma mutters, shaking her head darkly. That, if anything, will probably make it all worse. She wishes – well, not much point in making wishes that are about ninety-nine percent unlikely to ever come true.
But there was something about the two of them together that just looked so right that she can't help the lump that's rising in her throat at the thought of such a beautiful bond being destroyed before it even has a chance to fully blossom.
Locksley sighs and nods, agreeing with her. "We do what we can," he says tiredly. "But we can rarely do all that we should." He gazes off into the distance for a moment, seemingly lost inside his own thoughts – sometimes Emma thinks her job and even her life would be a lot easier if she could get lost in there with him – before snapping himself out of it and asking, "Any updates on the case?" just as Hopper makes his exit.
"Glad you asked. We found shoeprints in the mud outside the exit the shooter used – men's size eleven work boots, which aren't particularly unique, but...well, it's something."
"And the gun?"
"The gun's a Glock 22 – pretty old one, and not police issue. Prints are still processing, and the serial number's partially filed off, but the partial and description actually match with a gun stolen from a cop about eighteen years ago. Filed off the number but not the owner's initials – idiots."
"From a cop?"
"Yeah, Detective Lance Levison from the drug unit," Emma reports as Locksley's face lights up in recognition. "His personal gun – it was stolen from the safe in his house, presumably while he was on assignment. You know him?"
"My wife worked drugs," he explains. "Leviathan's a legend – huge black guy. They call him Leviathan because he's, you know, giant."
"I figured size had something to do with it."
"Really nice guy," Locksley continues. "Marian really looked up to him – he was actually on the short list of candidates to be Roland's godfather."
Why is he telling her this? Locksley is too young to spend as much time as he does on trips down memory lane.
His eyes narrow as he finally gets to the point: "He'd certainly never be involved with harming a child."
"He's not – I mean, just his gun is. And that only harmed Nolan, not any kids," Emma tries to joke.
"Right. And if our three-year-old witness is to be believed, we're looking for an old, balding white guy."
"With size eleven feet," Emma adds, "which I'm guessing someone called 'Leviathan' doesn't have."
Locksley shakes his head, eyebrows practically at his hairline. "Nope – the guy's feet were about the length of my calves, if I remember correctly."
"Right. So, anyway, that's a dead end, since the thief was never caught or anything like that. But at least we can tell the guy we found his gun."
"I'm sure he's been waiting with bated breath."
The door swings open just then; Officer Fa enters breathlessly, manila folder in hand. "Got them to rush the prints, Emma, but it's another dead end," she pants before abruptly halting and standing at attention. "Lieutenant, hello."
"Good morning, Officer," he says with a friendly nod, eyes soft.
Odd, Emma thinks, before informing him, "I kind of roped her into doing some of my dirty work since I was here by myself. Hope that's acceptable."
He shrugs. "Whatever you need to do to solve the case – as long as it's alright with you," he clarifies, grinning sheepishly at Fa.
"It's for the Arendts," she explains.
"Well, there are some perks to doing homicide's grunt work," he says brightly. "I'll put in a good word for you when your name comes up for a promotion. What happened with the prints?"
"Malinda Black's."
He curses under his breath.
"Well, given her current state, she's obviously not the one who shot Nolan last night. Were there any other prints, even unidentified ones?"
Fa shakes her head. "Another dead end."
"Well, we'll talk to Leviathan," Emma sighs, struggling to remain positive. "Maybe he'll have some insight into his gun's disappearance – not that adding an eighteen-year-old cold case into the mix is going to help anything."
"Leviathan?" Mulan asks, surprised. "How's he involved in this?"
"You know him, too?"
"You don't? He's a legend."
"Well, legend or not, he's not involved – that we know of. His gun is, though: but it was stolen from him eighteen years ago, and the case went unsolved."
The officer rolls her eyes. "I can't even imagine how many times a stolen gun could change hands in eighteen years."
"Yeah, that's..." sighing deeply, Emma buries her face in her hands.
At least the kids are safe, she thinks. As much of a clusterfuck as this case is, it's at least gratifying to know that they no longer have to lose sleep over the fate of the Arendts' daughters.
Or maybe not.
The look on Regina's face when she finally straggles in around eleven isn't entirely promising. From the tears streaked down her cheeks and the way her arms are crossed tightly over her chest like she's trying to hold her heart together, Emma guesses that Elsa's reaction to being forcibly removed from "her W'gina's" arms was less than positive.
And W'gina's doesn't seem to be much better.
"Hey, you alright?" Emma murmurs, instantly standing and reaching out a hand in comfort that Regina unceremoniously shoves aside.
"I'm perfectly fine, Detective Swan," she hisses, storming to the bathroom with her head ducked down.
Tiredly rubbing her eyes, Emma gives the other woman a minute's head start and then follows.
"What part of 'I'm fine' did you not understand?" Regina practically spits at her as she enters, though her red-rimmed eyes aren't doing much to increase the menace of her glower.
"Hard to understand what you say when none of the words are true," Emma points out.
"I'm handling this," Regina growls. "I do not need you to coddle me or treat me like I'm made of glass."
Emma groans. Are they seriously back to this? What the hell happened in the span of three hours that has Regina suddenly shutting her out? "Yeah, just like I didn't need you to 'coddle' me the last time Henry went back to New York."
"The situations are hardly comparable."
"Like hell they're not. Regina, it's okay if you're upset. Look – I get it –"
...Which is probably not something that should ever be said again, Emma reflects as Regina just stares at her with horribly hurt, betrayed, and increasingly murderous eyes. No, Emma, you don't get it. You get, like, maybe ten percent maximum.
"Okay, I don't get it, but I can kind of begin to imagine –"
"I'm—fine." Regina takes a deep, rattling breath and says, "Elsa merely had a bit of separation anxiety, and like any decent human would, I empathized with her. Now, will you please stop making assumptions and treating me like I'm the orphaned child? I do not need you to take care of me."
But that's why I'm here, Emma thinks sadly. Aloud, however, she only says, "Okay, great, you had some secondhand separation anxiety. You need a hug?"
Regina shudders. "No."
And that, perhaps, stings the most of all.
Detective Levison looks confused as Emma leads him to a conference room. "The guy on the phone said they'd found my gun."
"Right – or, we're at least ninety percent sure it's yours. Look familiar?" she asks, showing him the picture. He takes a brief look and nods, still frowning.
"Why am I being interrogated by homicide?"
Emma sighs. "Here's the thing: you're not a suspect or anything, but we found your gun because it was used to shoot a cop in the process of a homicide and kidnapping investigation. We couldn't nab the shooter."
"Oh." His face, previously a warm brown, is suddenly much closer to green. "That's...oh god. Which cop?"
"Nolan – just his leg, though; he'll be okay," Emma reports, and he looks even greener. "And, as I said, we weren't able to get the shooter, and there are no prints, so we were hoping, maybe...I know it's a long shot, since it was eighteen years ago and everything, but if there's anything you remember..."
He shakes his head apologetically. "It should all be in the police report," he says, "but if it didn't help then, I doubt it would help now."
"Yeah. There's not a whole lot."
"At this point, I'm not sure if any of it would help, anyway. It was my first year in the drug unit, I was going U.C., working crazy hours, and one night I went to the safe to get it – was gonna go shooting up in New Hampshire for the weekend – and it was gone. Safe was broken, but we didn't find any prints. It could have been missing for weeks by the time I figured it out, so the trail was long gone."
Nodding along, Emma adds disappointedly, "And it's even more long gone now, if the thief would have even held onto it that long. Well, um...I guess they'll get it back to you when the investigation is over?"
Leviathan shoots a small huff out through his nose, smirking slightly. "Doubtful – and unnecessary. I've got a newer and better model now that I know for sure doesn't have bodies attached to it."
"Always a plus," Emma says drily. "Sorry for wasting your time."
She returns to the squad room disappointed, shaking her head when Mills, Fa, and Locksley all look up expectantly. "Nothing useful," she reports. "I mean, the gun was stolen so long ago, it's not like we could have expected much."
"No," Locksley agrees, "it's always nice to have hope, though."
"Did somebody say hope?" Humbert asks, striding triumphantly through the door. "I may have excellent news." He's wearing rubber gloves and holding a black leather jacket that looks...well, for lack of a better word, old. Not particularly well-kept, either. "Found it in the bushes outside the warehouse, near the shooter's escape route."
Mills rolls her eyes. "An abandoned jacket near an abandoned building? That's hardly excellent news. It could have been left there a month ago, and no one would have noticed."
"Not quite, Your Majesty," he says, looking so satisfied with himself, excited to be one-upping the Evil Queen. "Think back to what's been going on the past couple of nights."
"I've been a bit preoccupied the last couple of nights," Regina snaps, causing Emma to snort. She quickly hides it, though, since one of those nights was rather private and the other involved the whole Elsa situation – neither is particularly funny.
"It's been rainy."
"So, you know, if the jacket had been outside, you'd all be treated to the stench of wet leather right now," Booth adds unnecessarily.
"A jacket is a jacket," Locksley says, "and that's a fairly generic one, although I might call it vintage. What about fingerprints? DNA?"
Booth produces a clear evidence bag and smugly reports, "Got a hair caught in one of the inside pockets. Root bulb, too. So, hopefully, DNA."
"Yes, but we're looking for an old man with white hair," Emma points out as she takes a closer look. "And that one is pretty clearly brown."
"I'd say it's dark blond," Regina argues.
"Well, anyway, it's not white, and it's too short to be Malinda Black's."
"You two are really great at killing a mood," Booth complains.
"Take it down to evidence processing and tell them to put a rush on it," Locksley orders. "Perhaps there was a third accomplice that no one ever saw?"
Humbert nods and gives a mock salute before leaving with the evidence in tow, and Emma smugly informs Booth, "She's been giving me mood killing lessons," flashing Regina a toothy grin that she hopes is reciprocated.
"Never had a better student," the brunette remarks before glancing down to type something on her phone.
Thirty seconds later, Emma feels a buzz in her pocket.
Sorry about the bathroom.
And here's the traditional apology. Their routine is really starting to get all too predictable. With a small smile, she types back, S'okay.
No, it's not. I promise I'm trying. I love you.
I love you, too, Emma types. Regina's phone buzzes a few seconds later, and Locksley rolls his eyes at them. "Mills and Swan, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"No, of course not, Mr. Locksley," jokes Emma, adopting her best sweet and innocent demeanor (she was never sweet and innocent as a teenager) that makes Regina roll her eyes. "Please don't give us detention."
He heaves a long-suffering sigh and Emma mouths, "You good?" to Regina when his back is finally turned.
Regina reaches across the desks to squeeze her hand, nodding sadly. They're good.
But it doesn't feel like much else is.
"Neal?" Emma questions. She'd returned to the squad room to hear from an irritable Jones, who's not taking very well to working without his partner, that her phone had been buzzing for about the last ten minutes, and seeing his name on the screen instantly put her on edge, as if she hadn't been antsy already. "What the hell's going on?"
"Sorry, I know you're working, but –"
"Is Henry okay?" she nearly shouts. Why else would he be calling her at work? At the desk across from her, Regina glances up fearfully, her back ramrod straight. "Is he sick? Did he get hurt at camp? Oh, god, I knew we shouldn't have sent him to –"
"Relax! Henry's fine."
"Then why are you calling?"
"Okay, the thing is...Henry's fine," he repeats, "but there was an outbreak of head lice at his summer camp."
"Head lice?"
"Head lice."
"You mean those gross little bugs that live in your hair and lay eggs there? Those head lice?"
"Yeah. Apparently they get spread around pretty quick when kids are all living in the same cabins together."
Emma stares down at the sandwich Regina left on her desk and is suddenly grateful that she hasn't gotten around to eating lunch yet. "Does Henry have head lice?"
"No!" Neal exclaims quickly. "Or, at least I don't think so. I checked myself, because the camp sent all the kids home."
"Shit."
"Yeah, they have to scrub and disinfect everything and probably perform some kind of exorcism before they can let anyone back there. I'm gonna keep checking every day for the next week or so, but so far, so good."
"Cool." Emma exhales. "Thanks for the heads up."
"That wasn't the thing, though."
"There's another thing?"
"You free this weekend?"
Emma's pretty sure the grin spreading across her face could light up the entire city on its own – it's surprising that no one else in the squad room seems to notice. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"It depends. Do you think I'm asking you for your help with a large-scale jewelry heist? Because the answer is yes." There's a brief pause. "Sorry, sometimes I forget you're a cop. Yeah, I think the kid was hoping to pop up and see you, if that's cool."
"That's always cool," Emma says enthusiastically, "but just for future reference, I didn't not laugh at your joke because I'm a cop. It just wasn't funny."
"Noted. I'll try to brush up on my humor before I attempt to do stand-up at Paulie's open mic night."
"Is that what you do while Henry and I hang out?"
She can almost hear Neal blushing through the phone. "Maybe," he mutters before awkwardly clearing his throat and saying, "So, speaking of the things we do when Henry's with the other parent, I may have heard a rumor about you."
"What kind of rumor?" she asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion. It's not as if she speaks to most of their mutual friends anymore – how could a rumor about her have reached all the way to New York?
"From Henry," Neal quickly clarifies. "He seems to be under the impression that you might be in the process of wooing a lady."
"Wooing is an interesting choice of terminology, but I'm not denying it."
"I see. And it's going well?"
Emma grins across their joined desks at an increasingly confused-looking Regina and says, "It is." Sure, they've had their difficulties, but it doesn't feel like either of them is ready to throw in the towel just yet, and maybe that's enough.
"And if I were to guess this lucky lady's identity?"
"You know her, but I'm sure Henry's mentioned it already."
"That's awesome!" he exclaims, sounding genuinely happy for her. "Seriously, Regina is...wow. She's the kind of woman you'd feel lucky to breathe the same air with, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. And I'm totally going to tell her you said that."
He's blushing again. "I'm sure she'll be flattered," he says in a tone that's almost impressively smooth given the probable color of his face. "I'm totally not going to tell Henry so you can surprise him with the news."
"What news? I sent him a postcard about it."
"Hmm." There's a swish of fabric like he's shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe he didn't get it? Anyway, the suspense is killing him and it's hilarious."
"Well, aren't you father of the year?"
"Don't act like you wouldn't be pissed if I didn't let you tell him yourself."
"Okay, fine. So, I'll see you Friday night at South Station? Or were you planning to drive?"
"Honestly, it depends on whether I find any lice in the kid's hair or not."
Emma has to hold back a gag. "Okay, fine. Fair warning, though: if you find lice and he shows up at my apartment, I'm shaving his head."
"If I haven't done it already," Neal grumbles before hanging up the phone. Emma sighs and shakes her head.
"What was that about?" Regina demands, fingers twitching like she's been holding herself back from interrupting the conversation for quite some time.
"Henry's camp had a lice outbreak," Emma explains with a grimace. "He's clean, though, at least as far as we know."
Regina's face contorts in disgust. "Head lice?"
"Yeah – gross, but there is some good news in there: they sent all the kids home so they can fumigate the place, and Henry wants to come visit."
Regina breaks out in a huge grin that mirrors Emma's. "That's fantastic," she says eagerly before her face drops a bit and she adds, "I'm sure you'll be glad to see him."
"We'll be glad to see him," Emma corrects, staring at the other woman in confusion. "You are planning to hang out with us, right? I mean, I think that's probably his expectation. He's apparently jumping out of his skin with excitement to find out if we got together or not."
"Right," Regina says quickly and pastes a slightly faltering smile back onto her face. "I just didn't want to assume; you are his mother after all. I thought he may want to spend time with only you. Or, you with him," she adds quietly.
Emma shrugs her good shoulder and grunts noncommittally. Strangely, she never minds Regina's presence when she's spending time with Henry, and he, of course, loves it. "Maybe we'll get some one-on-one time," she allows, "but I'm sure he'll want to see you. I mean, I might be his mom, but you're his queen."
That brings the other woman's smile back.
"Besides, you're seriously mistaken if you think I'd ever want to spend a whole weekend without you."
The way her final comment makes Regina absolutely radiant with joy causes the weight that's been settled in Emma's chest since their encounter this morning to lessen slightly. Because Regina is trying, and more than that, she really does love her. It's not personal, she reminds herself, she's just upset about the whole Elsa situation.
Which is, truly, understandable, because the Elsa situation is shit.
It must suck for someone so overflowing with maternal instinct to be unable to be anyone's mother.
And if Emma can make it suck even a little less by sharing Henry, well, then that's what she's going to do.
"I looked into Leviathan's service record," Emma says on Thursday morning when Locksley returns from his meeting with the police commissioner, looking about as frazzled as she's ever seen him.
"You did what?" the lieutenant demands, aghast, and all of the other detectives are looking strangely at her, too. Emma's palms start to sweat even as she tilts her head to the side in confusion, knowing she did nothing wrong. "We're not investigating him, Swan. You can't just go poking through –"
"Look," Emma interrupts nervously, "I wasn't investigating him, but he'd mentioned that his gun was stolen while he was on an undercover assignment, and while there's no indication that the two were related, I just thought..." God, this is ridiculous. She hadn't realized how sensitive Locksley could get about even the slightest hint of a dig at another cop – or maybe this has to do with his wife. "I just thought, since other people's UC assignments have run into difficulties in the past, it was worth checking out who his targets –"
"Alright, point made. Did you find anything?" Locksley asks with a groan.
"About the targets? No. All in jail for petty drug deals at this point. No connection to Malinda Black or the Arendts. It's possible that one could have stolen and then sold or lost it, but that's not what I found that interested me. There's sort of a weird coincidence in there."
"A coincidence?"
"Lev's gun was stolen eighteen years ago," Emma explains, "during his first year in the drug unit, when he happened to be partnered with a guy named Albert Spencer."
Regina's head instantly snaps up from her paperwork. "What?" she demands.
Across the room, where he's sitting with his injured leg elevated and a laptop awkwardly balanced on his other knee, Nolan jokes, "Hey, Mills, looked like Lord Asshat shared your love of rookie partners."
"I thought you said he didn't have any nicknames," mutters Emma, unsure whether or not the rookie crack offended her.
"I just made it up," Nolan says with a grin, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "What do you think?"
"I think it's incredibly immature," Regina snaps, although the satisfied smirk on her face seems to say otherwise.
"Leviathan was partnered with Spencer?" asks Locksley. "Poor guy – but I guess at some point it was practically a right of passage."
"And he got his gun stolen," Jones muses, "adding insult to injury. Not sure how the two conditions are related, though."
"I just thought it was an interesting coincidence," Emma mumbles, staring uncomfortably at her desk. Now she wishes she hadn't. "Just...well, you mentioned that this Spencer guy was one of the few people who would have known about the Eva Blanchard thing, and now it turns out that he was partner with the gun's owner at the time it was stolen, and if he's as much of an 'asshat' as you claim..."
Nolan grunts. "I wouldn't be surprised if he'd tried to shoot me – or Regina, for that matter – but I'm not seeing, like...a motive. For any of the other shit."
"And after setting up multiple homicides just to get a shot at us, I doubt he'd miss," Regina adds with a forced laugh.
"Anyway, being partnered with someone is not evidence of gun theft," Locksley points out. "Maybe wait until we get the DNA evidence back?"
Suddenly pretending to be very interested in her pen, Emma says under her breath, "Whale's working on it." Thankfully, Locksley seems to take pity on her and starts grilling Booth about the tire-tread analysis from each crime scene. So far, nothing seems to be matching up, and it's frustrating as hell.
"I hate this case," she whispers, so quietly that not even Regina – who's admittedly a little out of it, since she went to visit the Arendt sisters at their foster home this morning and was apparently surprised that leaving was just as hard the second time – can hear her.
At least tomorrow's Friday, she reminds herself. Henry's coming. Henry is coming and everything is going to be all better, for both of them.
Kind of a lot of pressure to put on one little kid.
But she's not feeling too many other options at this point.
The way that Henry leaps into her arms at the train station is unanticipated but not entirely surprising: for all he pretends that ten-and-three-quarters is too old to be a major mama's boy, he's an affectionate kid and the distance is hard on both of them. What is surprising is that he gives Regina nearly identical treatment when he's dislodged his head from Emma's shoulder enough to see that she's standing beside them.
Though the way her eyes fill with tears before she returns the embrace is nothing if not predictable, Emma thinks wryly. She has to congratulate herself on finally finding a woman who loves her kid as much as she does.
"Your postcard wasn't very clear," he says accusingly, arms still wrapped tightly around Regina's waist. "But you're here together, so does that mean..."
Emma laughs. "Yes, we're together," she confirms.
Henry whoops loudly before guiltily covering his mouth as about half of the people in the immediate vicinity turn to stare.
"Thank god," he says a little more quietly. "I thought you two would never get your shit together."
Regina gives Emma a pointed look, and the younger woman pretends to smack her son across the forehead. "Um, excuse me, I'm the only one allowed to talk like that," she scolds, though she's ninety-percent joking and he obviously knows it, given the way he's grinning. "You should really learn to mind your manners in the presence of a queen."
"As should you, dear," teases Regina. "But what is this I'm hearing about a postcard?"
"She promised to send me a postcard if you two, you know...got together," Henry explains as he swiftly elbows Emma in the ribs. "And she did keep her promise for once, but there was only one word on it."
"The word was yes – and with three exclamation points; what more explanation did you need?" Emma demands irritably, rubbing her ribs where Henry's elbow had made contact. They must have done some kind of weight-lifting at that camp, or maybe karate. He's packing much more power than he has in the past.
"Anyway, I'm glad you finally got it done on your own," Henry's saying as Neal finally finds his way out of the train, "or I might've had to take drastic measures."
"Drastic measures?" asks Regina. "That sounds intense."
"You know what was intense? Living with you two while you danced around your feelings for each other like a bunch of babies. Intensely annoying."
"Um, okay," Neal chuckles nervously, "there's no need for hostility here."
"Wasn't being hostile," Henry grumbles.
"We're going to need to update our definitions now that you're starting to get hormonal," his dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, Em and Regina. Guess the cat's out of the bag?"
"Wasn't in a very tightly sealed bag to begin with," Emma mutters, causing both Neal and Regina to smirk. "What?"
"Nothing, dear." Regina gives Emma's hand a good-natured squeeze and then turns to Henry, asking, "How was camp? Did you get to do a lot of riding?"
"Camp was good," Henry replies, instantly smiling again. "I mean, until the gross head lice part. I went riding every day – I got a lot better, too. I mean, they might have just been telling me that to make me feel good, though. They were really into self-esteem."
"Well, I imagine it would be difficult to practice something every day and not improve at least a little," she reassures him.
"But none of the horses were as nice as Bear." Regina smiles, perhaps a bit sadly, but then he whispers in her ear, "None of them were as mean as Blue, though," and she bursts out laughing.
Emma feels her own lips start to perk up into a grin again, and she slings the arm that isn't connected to Regina's over Henry's shoulder and says, "You hungry, kid? I think you grew two inches in two weeks."
"Always hungry," he confirms.
"You feeling pizza?"
"Pizza's good. Other food is also good – wings, burgers..."
"Maybe something containing vegetables?" Regina suggests hopefully.
Neal chuckles and awkwardly pats her on the arm. "I like you, Regina," he says. "Feel free to spend as much time with the kid as you want. Hell, if you ever get sick of Em, there's space for you in our apartment in New York. No bed bugs, either."
Regina laughs again, leaning into Emma just the slightest bit when she replies, "Thank you for the offer, I always love spending time with Henry. However, I doubt I'll be tiring of Emma anytime soon."
Emma's fist unconsciously clenches and she stares at the floor. That was a joke, she reminds herself. Neal is always joking, and Regina's declaration was only meant to buoy her. Still, the words "doubt" and "anytime soon" don't do much to boost her confidence.
Regina's the kind of woman you'd feel lucky to breathe the same air with.
And Emma is Emma.
Henry is quite a talker – Regina has always known that, but it's never been as clear to her as it is tonight. Sure, he's a great listener, too, especially for a kid his age – much like his mom – but he can also talk like there's no tomorrow, and for that, she's never been more grateful.
Because Emma, strangely, isn't talking. She's nodding along with what Henry's saying, occasionally making some appropriate response, but she's not talking. It's not that she isn't engaging with him – she's practically hanging on his every word, so excited to actually have him in her presence again – but the lack of actual statements coming from her mouth is disconcerting.
As for Regina, she hasn't been feeling particularly talkative; this entire week has been such an emotional rollercoaster that she can barely begin to process her thoughts about it. Perhaps Emma feels the same way? The younger woman, she's beginning to realize, is not at all forthcoming about sharing her emotions when she isn't hungover or concussed. She likes to be the strong one, the protective one. It's almost enough to make Regina forget, sometimes, that Emma has her own issues to struggle with that this case is probably not helping.
And then she wants to hang her head in shame, because Emma has spent this entire week caring for her, trying to chase away Regina's demons, when surely this case must be affecting her, too. How could it not? Hurt, orphaned kids, not to mention she's been confined to her desk for most of it – and Regina's been too lost in her own head to notice.
She catches herself staring and quickly looks down at her plate, causing Emma's eyes to flicker over to her in concern. The blonde reaches over to squeeze her hand, but Regina pulls away, hoping her self-disgust isn't written quite as transparently across her face as she fears it is. Emma's eyes are wide for a second before she quickly turns back to Henry, fully attentive.
"I got a lot better at swimming," he's saying. "I got bumped up to Crocodile level just before they closed the camp, but all of the other kids in my cabin were in Shark."
"Well, better than Minnow, right?" Emma asks, laughing lightly.
"Yeah, Minnow's for kids that, like, have never even taken a bath before."
"Good lord," Emma shudders, "I hope you didn't have to share a cabin with them."
"Mom! I didn't mean it like that – come on! I just meant, like, they learned how to blow bubbles and stuff like that."
"I think I've figured out where the head lice came from," Regina jokes, offering Emma a small smile which is hesitantly returned.
"Not you, too," he groans. "I just meant – you know what? Fine. Make fun of me."
"We only tease you because we love you," Emma says sweetly. "And, you know, we also love teasing. Now you know how I felt when you and Regina were ganging up on me about that swan business."
"Oh, did you not like that?"
"Just something to consider for the future," she mumbles, face reddening as both Regina and Henry turn to her with concern.
"We only tease you because we love you," Henry echoes, patting her arm, "but we'll stop if it really bothers you."
"It doesn't," Emma says quickly. "I was just...hey, why don't you tell us more about those campfire stories. Any scary ones?"
Henry narrows his eyes at her – he's too intelligent to be fooled by abrupt topic changes, and Emma knows it. Still, he gives her the benefit of the doubt and starts telling both of them the tale of the girl with the green ribbon around her neck, and the mood quickly shifts back to normal.
Regina listens raptly, smiling at Henry's eagerness and his ability to draw them both into – if she's being perfectly honest – a fairly boring ghost story that she's known by heart since she was a little girl, but her eyes don't leave Emma's.
There's something going on – of that, she's certain, and she can't shake the feeling that it's somehow her fault.
Regina is still in the living room when Emma returns from tucking Henry in, standing uncomfortably by the door like she's debating whether or not she wants to leave.
"Hey, you want to stay over tonight?" Emma offers, nodding her head toward her bedroom and quirking up one eyebrow.
Regina's lips twitch upward into something resembling a smile, but she shakes her head. "Would that be appropriate? With Henry around?"
Confused, Emma tilts her head to one side and then the other, studying the brunette curiously. It's not like Regina to be reluctant to spend the night together. "Why wouldn't it be?" she asks. "You've slept here before when he was around."
"Well, yes, but we weren't dating at that time."
"You wanted to be, though," Emma teases.
"I did."
"I did, too, except I was way too foggy to sort out my feelings."
"Yes, but the fact remains: we weren't dating, and now we are."
"Yeah, but, like...it's not like we're going to have passionate sex tonight. I mean, unless you want to," she adds quickly. "Then we'll just keep our voices down and lock the door. But I just meant, like, sleeping. Actual sleeping."
Regina responds with a tiny, noncommittal grunt that has Emma thoroughly perplexed. "It's your home, your son, your decision."
"I mean, I won't be offended if you say no," Emma backtracks, suddenly wondering if she misread the situation. And she won't be; not too much, anyway. "It's just, you seemed like you didn't want to leave, and with everything going on, I didn't want you to get stuck having nightmares all on your own or something like that."
And that was the absolute wrong thing to say.
"Detective Swan," snaps Regina, "you are not my caregiver. I am perfectly capable of sleeping on my own without you pulling this knight in shining armor routine!"
"I know," Emma replies carefully. She reaches out for Regina's hand, but the other woman jerks away from her. Again. Shit. "But I like being your knight in shining armor."
Because if she's not a knight in shining armor, then who is she, really? Just a single mom rookie detective trying to keep her head above water in a relationship with someone pretty damn far out of her league.
Who is now, curiously, on the verge of tears, for reasons she can't quite articulate.
At least that makes Regina's hostility instantly vanish.
"Emma!" she gasps. "What – what did I...I'm so sorry!"
Emma waves her hand and attempts to compose herself. "It's fine," she mutters in between harsh sniffles. "Don't worry about it."
"Emma, I didn't mean to snap at you. I – oh, god." Now Regina's crying, too, and neither of them have any idea what's going on. "I'm sorry, Emma," she whimpers, wringing her hands together and trying to hide the fact that every one of her limbs is trembling. "Emma, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I did –"
"I said it's fine!" Emma barks, and then she slaps a hand over her mouth because this will definitely wake Henry if they're not careful, and she's not sure either of them is enough of an adult to deal with that right now. Sinking down onto the sofa, she buries her face in her hands and says, "I was just...clearly, you don't like being smothered. Lesson learned. And unlearned. And learned again."
"Oh, Emma," Regina whispers through her tears as she kneels down in front of the younger woman and tentatively places a hand on her upper arm. "I...I shouldn't have snapped at you. I never – please believe me that I never meant to hurt you, and you're not smothering me. You did nothing wrong."
Emma shakes her head dolefully. "I was smothering you. I shouldn't have brought up your nightmares," she admits. Regina's snapped at her before, for much less legitimate reasons, and it hasn't brought on this kind of reaction. "I...I know I'm not your caregiver. I just – I love you. I want to be the one who takes care of you."
"I know. And that's...that's very kind of you. But I don't – I shouldn't – need you to."
Emma chances a glance up from her now soaked palms, staring into Regina's soulful, glistening eyes with a desperate plea. "But if you don't need me to take care of you," she whispers, "then why do you need me?"
"Pardon?"
Exhaling and shaking her head, Emma says, "Regina, you're – I mean, minus the whole snapping-at-me thing, you're the most phenomenal person who's ever even looked at me, and I just...I want you to not need me, too, okay? I want you to feel safe and confident and be happy and healthy all on your own, because I know that's what you want and – and I love you." Regina nods, patting Emma's arm like she's waiting for more. She takes a shaky breath and continues, "But at the same time, I – god, I don't even know how to say this in a way that doesn't sound terrible. Like, I want you to need me, you know? I want to be the one who holds you when you're sad and makes you feel safe, and if you don't need me, then why would you stick around?"
"Emma," Regina breathes, tenderly brushing some stray curls aside so she can caress her partner's cheek. "I do need you."
"But you don't want to! And you're right – you shouldn't. And I want that for you, but you're the only person who's ever looked at me like that, Regina: like I mean something to you, and just...what will I be to you if I'm not your knight in shining armor?"
Regina looks flabbergasted, and after a moment of wordlessly moving her mouth as her eyes blink rapidly in confusion, she exclaims, "You'll be you, of course."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Emma, look at me," Regina orders. Reluctantly, Emma obeys. "Look in my eyes and tell me what you see."
Light. Love. Regina's eyes are bright, even in the darkened room, gleaming with tears and a softness with which no one, perhaps not even Regina herself, has ever looked at Emma before. She immediately stares back down at her lap, embarrassed.
"Emma, do I need you to take care of me at this exact second?"
"N-no," Emma admits.
"But am I still looking at you like you mean something to me?"
"You..."
Yes, it would appear that way. The overwhelming amount of pure love shining through Regina's eyes, the inward lean of her shoulders, and the tenderness of her touch speak volumes, but Emma can scarcely allow herself to believe it.
Regina traces her finger along the line of Emma's jaw, gently tilting her chin upwards and gazing directly into her eyes. "Emma, I love the way you take care of me, even though I know I'm terrible at showing it." She punctuates the declaration with a soft chuckle and a gentle, chaste kiss. "And I love the way you make me feel safe-" another kiss "-and confident-" another "-and sexy, not to mention heroic." The kisses are getting harder, deeper, longer, and Emma moans in between tiny sobs, in spite of herself. "But none of those things are the reason why I love you."
Lips throbbing and aching for more, even as she hates herself for appearing so desperate, Emma leans in closer to Regina and rasps, "Why, then? Why do you love me?"
Regina gives her a watery smile and another kiss. "I love you because you're you," she explains simply. "I love you because you light up my life just by existing. I loved you when you were making paper snowballs at your desk; I loved you when you were limping along behind me on the running trail; I loved you when you were crying in the bathroom; I loved you before I even remembered what love was, and then I loved you because you made me remember."
"But-"
"No buts. Emma, you're the one who told me that love isn't about what you deserve, and although that may be true, you deserve it. You deserve every ounce of love that I could possibly give you, but that doesn't matter because it's already yours."
"But someday-"
"I don't want to think about someday," Regina interrupts. She leans in closer to Emma and swallows hard, resting their foreheads together and joining their trembling hands. When she speaks, there's a small waver in her voice, but her gaze is strong and determined. "Yes, there's a possibility that this could all change. We can't promise each other forever. All I know, Emma, is that right now, I could not imagine loving someone more. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself the possibility of a future, but when I'm with you, I can begin to feel it again. And I know that whatever future exists, I want us to be together for it. I want to stick around for you."
Regina's name comes off of Emma's lips in a breathy whimper that's immediately silenced by one final kiss, by lips and tongue and teeth that are both hard and soft, desperate and composed, wholly giving and wholly receiving, and Emma sighs contentedly and melts into Regina until they're both collapsed on the floor, unwilling to separate from each other's warmth for long enough to move.
Henry's kind enough – or freaked out enough – not to say anything when he finds them on Saturday morning in the same position, parted lips still lightly touching as they sleepily inhale and exhale the essence of proof that the other is still present.
Or maybe not.
"Okay, when you two are done sleep-kissing, can we make waffles?" he hollers from the kitchen.