A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! There's a couple of reasons I've been so slow to update this fic (and others), but one of them might be of interest to some of you! Sorry to shamelessly promote on here, but I figure it can't hurt! One of my many, many projects lately has been building up a collection of illustrations for my Etsy store SpookshowShop (insta: spookshowillustrations) in order to pay for my books for school (and, full disclosure, more tattoos,,,). I'd mainly been working on some Harry Potter pictures for a wall calendar which is now complete and up for sale, but I figured that in return for promoting my stuff on here, I'd get some SQ illustrations up on there too :) So, if you wanted to get yourself one, or just give the store/ products a like to boost my page, that would be hugely appreciated :)

Right, asshole salesman speech over! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I promise the next will be quicker in coming, as I've got the bulk of my illustrating out the way now!

Reviews would be lovely :)

"Well... It certainly wasn't surprise."

Lily fidgets with the sleeve of her jacket awkwardly when Regina greets this statement with a raised brow.

"What do you mean?"

The Mayor prompts when she bores of waiting for an explanation, and Lily sighs as she surveys the blonde's living room uneasily.

"I think you'd best ask Emma about that."

"Maybe so, but right now I'm asking you."

Regina challenges, and Lily wrinkles her nose as she mutters uncomfortably

"It wasn't a surprise, because you're her type."

"Her type? I don't... I don't follow."

The Mayor frowns, although she's prettty sure that she does. The suggestion ignites a strange feeling inside her chest, and she feels heat creep across her cheeks despite managing to keep her tone neutral when she points out silkily

"I wouldn't have said that the pirate and myself share a great many similarities... I'm almost offended at the implication."

"So would I be, but I'm not so sure you're right... Both you and Hook have a darker side you've overcome. You're both outspoken and hot-tempered. Emma might argue with you 'til she's blue in the face, but that's partly because she enjoys it... More so with you than with Killian, I'd imagine, because you're not trying to move in on her space and demand a label for your relationship."

"I wouldn't know how to describe my relationship with Miss Swan if my life depended on it..."

Regina shakes her head, and Lily offers her a small grin as she insists,

"Yeah, and I'll bet that just makes her like you all the more."

"She doesn't- I mean not in the way you're implying... Does she?"

"I've never asked. All I can say is that you're her type."

"Well... I mean, there is one glaring difference between myself and Hook. Neal. Graham-"

"-Who?"

"The late Sheriff. He and Miss Swan had a-"

"-Oh, him. Yes, she told me about him."

"Mmm."

Regina purses her lips, and Lily shrugs as she can tell that the darker woman suffers some unresolved issues when it comes to Emma's predecessor.

"So, what's the glaring difference?"

She asks, already knowing the answer.

"Well, I'm... You know..."

"Royalty?"

"A woman."

The Mayor hisses, and she glowers at the younger woman as she can tell that Lily had known exactly what she'd been trying to hint at but keep from saying.

"I'd noticed."

"... That's her type?"

"You're her type. Whatever it is that makes you you. I can tell by the way she talks to you."

"Only today you were expressing your confusion that she would wish to do so at all! You made your anger about the situation quite clear."

"And I stand by that confusion."

"And your anger?"

"My anger... Is complicated."

"How so?"

"Because... Like you keep reminding me; it's been a while. I know you've done good as well as evil. I know there's more to you than one fucked up decision. I also know that you and I- and I guess that strange little man we just visited- are the only people in this town not insistent on getting the calvary involved at any given hurdle. That might end up biting us, and it might prove a giant mistake... It's also how Emma would prefer things were handled, and I know that's your reason for trying to figure this out for yourself rather than asking the others for help. I respect that. But I still don't like you."

"Noted."

Regina shrugs; neither surprised nor concerned in the face of this admission, and altogether a little distracted as she's still trying to process Lily's previous revelation. Looking up at the younger woman as the latter pulls loose threads from a cushion she's hugged to her lap, the Mayor wonders momentarily if some of her companion's bitterness might stem from jealousy, but this strikes her as a topic completely out of her comfort zone, so she opts to push her confusion to one side in favour of logic.

In favour of sanity.

"I need to figure out how to get home."

She reiterates, finding it all too easy to refocus her discomfort as memories of her former self wash over her without invitation. She swallows, finding the thought of Emma spending time with the Evil Queen grossly unsavoury.

And just a little embarrassing...

"I might have a suggestion."

Lily muses, catching the darker woman by surprise, and Regina studies her earnestly and demands

"What is it?"

"Well, that depends... Are you willing to do this as 'we'?"

"... I'm willing to accept your help should I need it."

"Fine. Then I think we should go and speak to my mother."

"Saviour."

The Queen announces her arrival; raising her voice to be heard over a roar of thunder. She stands at the entrance to the stables; dark eyes glittering as she drinks in ancient bone on ravaged cobbles, and the sorry state of the blonde. Emma remains motionless, despite the darker woman's barked address, and as the brunette takes a couple of steps further into the shadows, she finds herself less certain that her games haven't spelt the end for her foolish opponent. This notion sits oddly with her; forever striving for victory, but so rarely offered its sweet embrace, and as she is faced now with the possibility that she might have won this battle of wits, she can't help but wish that the final blow had been a little more spectacular.

Theatrical.

Bloody.

Something that would just break Snow's heart.

"This will do."

The Queen assures herself on the last count at least- relishing the thought of making this death notification in person- and yet...

And yet, she's wary.

"Saviour?"

She tries again, quieter now. The blonde's face is turned away from her, and the rain that pelts down through the broken thatch collects between the cobbles in small rivulets and drenches her hair sodden gold.

And, there is blood.

Not a lot, but the Queen can see it smeared down the side of the blonde's jaw; painting that sharp line, and suggesting she might find more if she were to stalk over and inspect her prey face to face.

It suits her... But I don't recall any injury made by my hand that might account for it...

She frowns, tearing her eyes from the lifeless form of the Saviour and scouring their surroundings uncertainly.

"What is going on?"

She hisses, turning her attention once more down towards Emma and pursing her lips thoughtfully. She remains alert to the fact that this might all be a trap, but she isn't sure what the blonde would be waiting for should this be part of her game. The stables are miserably cold, and littered with death, decay, and scattered instruments from a time long gone. It seems so far removed from Emma's cruel trick with the diary, which had been a sordid display played out over soft sheets, sheltered from the elements. It would seem strange for the younger woman to opt for such an uncomfortable setting, particularly after her previous misfortune down in the dungeon.

Why would she wish to allow me to punish her here?

Unable to answer her own question, the Queen reminds herself of her power, and the sheer elegance of her decision to leech into the Saviour's best guarded secrets. It had been inspired (if she says so herself), and perhaps- just perhaps- having to deal with those images unwillingly shared, along with her physical torture and whatever curious power forced her disappearance were simply too much for the Saviour. A deadly combination neither of them had anticipated.

"If so, it would be a curious method of disposal to experiment with further in the future..."

The darker woman murmurs beneath her breath; the idea titillating, however much she might regret that it has called an abrupt end to her games with Snow's feisty whelp, as it has been quite some time since she's enjoyed carnal methods of torture quite so deliciously, and fears it might prove challenging to find comparative enjoyment when testing out another.

"Must our fun end so soon?"

She sighs with a hint of amusement colouring her tongue; coming to the conclusion that she has simply allowed the blonde a greater sense of power in her mind than it seems was deserved, and she moves over to where Emma lies in the damp and the dirt and offers her a commiserative smirk.

"Such a damaged thing you were. A pity, as that's where resorting to evil might have helped you, dear. It might have purged you of all that misery- all that rage- I felt by simply touching you in that special place."

Light laughter at this- salacious and cruel- as she leans over the younger woman and turns Emma's face up to the thatch and the thunderous skies beyond; studying sooty lashes and more blood smeared from abused lips by the rain. She supposes it's entirely likely that Emma had bitten down in order to keep from screaming as her memories were pilfered through, and she offers still features a queerly affectionate smile; content with this answer, and the lack of any reaction from the blonde.

Still warm.

She sighs, a little irritated that she has so quickly broken her plaything, but of all the ways their battle for dominance could have gone, she is more than willing to accept this outcome and move on.

Move on to figuring a way out of this place.

Move on to finding Snow White.

"And I'll be sure to tell her just what happened to her misguided princess. I'll make sure that she knows her firstborn died in the dirt, Saviour. In the cold, in the rain, amongst neglect, amongst bones. Amongst... What-"

But the Queen's confusion over the small metal spoon and its strange contents- kept dry under a carefully selected vein of unbroken thatch- is interrupted by utter disbelief and incomprehension, as the Saviour's limp frame tightens and moves with unexpected speed, and the blonde reaches up for her, grabbing her by the wrist, before flicking the small heap of pollen from the bowl of the spoon into her face; allowing her no time to think better of the act as she breathes in that noxious powder as she prepares to scream.