jfc i'm so sorry for taking so damn long. Over the past couple of months I graduated from my nursing degree and started a new job and moved and fell in love and all good things but all my energy has just been burned up with life.
However we are nearing the end. I am so close. After this chapter, we have 1 or maybe 2 left.
Thank you so much for sticking with the story for this long. It's been a challenge to write, and it's developed my writing skills too, and reading about how much this story has meant to people has been incredible.
Usual disclaimer, i don't have a beta and i try to pick up on all mistakes but i am human with tired eyes ^^
Enjoy, and let me know what you think.
"So Emma, you've shared with me some of your time on the island, getting captured… do you think there is anything missing?"
It's a new day, a new session. The sun is shining outside and lazy dust particles dance in the light streaming through the window. Pongo snores in the corner with one long leg sticking out his bed. He twitches occasionally in his plaid patterned bed.
Emma tilts her head. "What do you mean?" She's feeling more and more like she's talking everything to death. That was supposed to help though.
And thinking over the past month, in fact – thinking all the way back to the start. It's only when she started talking about everything that things became, well, better. She's getting more sleep, granted it's only when she's in Regina's bed, or at least in her bedroom.
They have taken that side slow, Emma absolutely trying to respect Regina's pace in everything. But it was a little frustrating that she was sometimes invited into the brunettes bed – simply to sleep – and sometimes just to use the comfortable chaise longue. Emma reminds herself she is damn lucky to get either. She has meals with her family regularly, Henry no longer surprised to see her there in the morning, or randomly throughout the day.
She has just as much right to be in that house as her or Henry, Regina had said to her one day, before perfunctorily picking Emma's clothes up off her bedroom floor.
They occasionally kiss, comfortable on the couch, warm and full, but it doesn't stray past fingers tracing gently under hems and kissing until the need for air became important. Their lips bruise with mutual want but Emma won't let herself trip over that precipice into smoothing her palms up Regina's stomach, her thighs, under tight skirts that enticingly ride up. Regina breathes heavily and rests her forehead against Emma's or presses against her shoulder and lets her hesitate and stop.
It's frustrating.
It's exhilarating.
Things are changing.
Snow had left her speechless when she'd managed to convince Emma to go for coffee with her one day.
"I know, ok?" She'd exploded almost as soon as their beverages had been set in front of them. "I know. About you and Regina." Emma had noted Ruby's raised eyebrows as she had studiously cleaned the table behind them.
The other woman had stared at Emma for a few moments with a furrowed brown. "It's going to get easier, isn't it?"
"What?" Emma had questioned slowly, unsure, totally unprepared for this kind of conversation with Snow.
"You and me? I'm your mother." Emma cringed but the brunette had pushed on. "We were friends once? And I am on your side. Whatever your side is. Even if that side is Regina. And I thought we might be getting somewhere with helping you."
Emma had spent the rest of the day feeling like she was in some kind of twilight zone.
Her train of thought changes again.
She thinks of Regina's body, warm, her mouth finding Emma's, leaving them both breathless and wanting more. Tongues touching, flicking against each other teasingly, smiling into open mouthed kisses and fingers tracing lips. Jokingly stealing each other's air.
Archie leans forward, bringing Emma back to the present. His fingers steeple together. "Well, have you considered the fact you've never talked about how you escaped?"
"Yeah i…." Emma frowns. "We…" she begins again before trailing off.
Archie blinks at her, patiently, leaning back once more and crossing his legs.
Emma presses her lips into a thin line and thinks hard. She thinks furiously. She remembers with chilling explicitness running for their lives. She remembers the desperation in her chest, trying to escape from between her lungs. She remembers the sharp slap of leaves on her skin, the heavy sound of her breath in her ears and being acutely aware of Regina's footfall right behind her. Her heart trying to beat out of her chest. Aside from that panicked chase and odd moments of clarity with Regina, smells, warmth, all Emma's memories of the island have a very hazy quality to them.
"Have you heard of repressed memories, Emma?"
Emma shakes her head.
"Well, some psychologists theorize that traumatic events can lead to your mind unconsciously blocking out certain memories. It's a… controversial topic. There's not been that many studies on the matter, however. I think there is something there in this case." Archie was nodding thoughtfully to himself.
"So... What do we do?"
"Well, I think we should start talking about this. I'll look into it a bit more. My knowledge of it is a bit rusty, so I will need to do a little research before we delve into it, but I want you to dwell on it. The question remains, however, do you want to know what happened?"
"I… I don't understand, why wouldn't I want to know?"
"You've been through a of a lot, Emma. You've been making good progress. What if this interferes with your progress?"
Emma nods again, suddenly curious, suddenly grappling with a fear deep in her belly, clawing up the back of her throat. What was scarier than realising part of her mind was blocking something out, was the fact that Emma briefly didn't want to know.
She'd been through hell.
What on earth could have happened that caused her mind to protect itself that was worse than what she'd been through?
"I'll think about it."
It's been another comfortable evening, Henry long in bed after a beautiful meal. He'd been overflowing with excitement about a sleep over with Grace the next evening and had kept conversation afloat with what they were going to watch.
He'd eventually gone to bed however, a kiss to each of his mother's cheeks, and Emma and Regina sit together in the lounge, the fire crackling away. They both have glasses of cider in hand and Emma can feel her lids start to grow heavy. She's warm and heavy and peaceful in a way she's not been since she spoke to Archie that morning. She forces her eyes open, his suggestion floating to the fore of her mind once more.
She opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Regina talking first.
"What's on your mind Emma? You've been distracted all evening."
Emma takes a deep breath and asks what's been bugging her all night. All through the delicious meal Regina had prepared, through the chatter from Henry. Emma thought she'd been attentive. Apparently not. Not much can escape the brunette, Emma should have known better.
She wonders if now is as good a time as any to broach what's been keeping her in turmoil, or whether to let the evening pan out as it should. As she desperately wants to. Things are becoming more like a smooth lake surface and it's a peace Emma is craving. If she starts to talk about this, she's going to disturb it all again. She's tired of that chaos. So tired.
But her mouth opens before she can stop herself.
"Regina… how… how did we escape."
She's not seen Regina be effected much by talking about the island before but the other woman pales and her eyes close. It's how she imagines she looks when she's caught up in fear.
"Regina," Emma prompts again, her eyebrows drawing together as she notes the other woman's knuckles whitening around the tumbler in her hand.
"Emma," Regina breathes, shifting, placing the glass down on the table. She then reaches forward, catching Emma's hands. "This is something I don't know if I can talk about yet. I don't know if you are ready to talk about it."
"What does that mean?" Emma breathes, her throat tight. She barrels on, unable to stop the ugly mess of emotion bubbling up and out of her mouth. The sudden spike in adrenaline is making her hands shake and she hates the thin, stretched feeling she's experiencing. Again. Oh no. "I've done good haven't I?"
Regina stills at Emma's words, her eyelids sweeping down for a split second. "Emma…" she says softly.
Emma still feels the word like a punch to the stomach.
"I've been trying so hard dammit Regina." Emma feels sick at the words but she can't stop herself. She feels like history is repeating itself, feels like she's been thrown back weeks. Fuck all progress. Fuck everything. "I'm good enough to kiss but not to trust," Emma stands, slamming her glass down. Some of the liquid spills over her hand onto the table top. "Damnit," she curses, clenching her fists.
"Emma," Regina tries to gently slide her fingers around Emma's wrist, but Emma pulls away.
"Fuck," Emma presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she turns to look at the brunette looking contrite on the sofa. "I think I should leave. I'm sorry."
"Okay," Regina quietly murmurs. "You don't have to though, you-"
"No I know," Emma shakes her head, "but I think it would be wise. I don't feel steady; I don't feel fucking safe." Emma knows that is a low blow and she swallows the traitorous, acidic taste she can feel at the back of her throat. Regina has been her safe port in the storm, in their storm and she doesn't deserve those words but they are free in the world now and Emma doesn't have the energy or stillness to reach out and grab them: to stuff them back behind her teeth with sincerity. She turns and walks from the warm room, the warmth of the eyes on her back, and pulls her boots on, ready to take the cold walk back to the loft.