David had told her once - the bravado in his voice that she usually found charming instead grating and heavy - that her relationship with Regina was ruined.

The halls were darker than she remembered, longer and full of shadow. Snow wondered if they had always been this way, or if the simplicity of childhood had made them seem lighter. Or maybe age and all the things that came with it made the castle seem as shaped by gloom and ghosts of memory as it did now.

She couldn't be sure.

Ruined.

Turning the corner she followed a route that had once been familiar and well worn.

How many times as a child had she taken this same way to her mother's chambers late at night after being startled awake by some nightmare?

How many times as a young woman had she taken this way to Regina's chambers, unable to sleep because of some naive dream instead?

Her silhouette flickered in the light of the candle she held in front of her.

She wasn't certain what other familiar paths she might follow tonight.

In ruins. Destroyed. An untouchable artifact of something that had been but wasn't any longer.

The door was ajar when Snow reached it, soft yellow light cutting into the darkness of the hallway. Sliding into the gap, she stepped into the dimly lit room where Regina sat surrounded by books and tattered scrolls and codexes browning with age.

"You're still awake."

Without looking at her, Regina replied, "Go back to bed, Snow."

There was sharpness in her voice, but Snow could hear strain in it too. She was sure that if Regina had glanced up there would be dark circles under her eyes and exhaustion and heartache etched onto her face.

But Regina didn't look up. Snow set her candle down and stepped closer.

Ruins, rubble, decay. Built with skilled hands and destroyed just as deftly.

"You need to get some sleep, Regina."

Snow kept her voice gentle, leaning in to place a hand on Regina's shoulder - coiled tight as wire under the soft fabric of her dress.

She did look up at Snow then. And while fatigue was plain in her expression, fire and anger were burning and alive in her eyes. Snow slid her hand away.

"Someone has to figure out how to stop Zelena, and no offense to David the merry men camping in the great hall, but swords and arrows just aren't going to cut it."

David's words had rung in Snow's ears, rattling inside her head. And there were moments, when darkness wavered against the bright glow of her pure heart, that she believed him.

Snow sighed.

There had been a time in her life when that tone from Regina would have brought welling tears to the corners of her eyes - when she was still spoiled and selfish and too much of both to understand anything of consequence.

But that was a very long time ago.

There had been a time in her life, later, when she was willing to endure the hurt just to be alone in this room with Regina. Because Snow had believed she could handle any pain or consequences that might come…as long as they could both be happy.

That didn't seem as long ago as it was.

"You're no help to anyone without rest."

Suddenly Regina stood and turned. Her chair teetered on the stone floor.

But Snow must have been a step closer than she'd thought. Because as they looked at each other in the soft candlelight, anger faded from Regina's eyes and they instead grew wide with short lived surprise.

But it had never been true.

This close Snow could see how tired she was, how much pain she was carrying, how hard she was trying to stop Snow from seeing it.

And it felt too familiar, an echo of another life. One where she was still a child and couldn't understand why the young girl who had saved her seemed to be slipping away.

Away into darkness, and anger, and hate so strong it could tear through to another world.

But the candle flickered and and the moment passed.

"I have to do this, Snow" Regina's voice was tight with feeling "I need something…"

The unspoken words hung heavy between them. Something to keep her moving, something to keep despair from setting in, something to keep her from thinking about Henry.

Ruins, laden with memories that would hurt less forgotten, could still be built upon if the foundation remained in tact.

And at that, the echoes of the past vanished. All that remained was Regina.

Regina strapped to a metal table, electricity surging though her.

Regina limp as David carried her from the cannery to their bed in the loft.

Regina in Neverland saving her son and rescuing them all.

Regina on the town-line giving Emma and Henry a chance for their own happy ending - a gift no else could have given.

Regina alone in the forest digging a hole in the dirt, her heart in her hand.

Regina fighting against Zelena to protect them, fire singeing her fingertips.

Regina whose heart was so full of feeling, it was constantly on the cusp of breaking.

And just seeing the sorrow on her face made Snow's heart ache for Henry who didn't remember them, and Emma who was lost a second time, and for Regina who seemed to suffer no matter what she did, and for herself who wanted to take the pain away and undo a lifetime of convincing herself that Regina was ruined and everything between them was ruined with her.

So before she could summon the energy to lash out, Snow reached into the narrow space between them and took Regina's hand.

"Come to bed" and though it was innocent, Snow remembered times when it hadn't been, and her face flushed.

Rubble could be salvaged and used to house something living, something with promise and potential.

But Regina just gripped softly at Snow's hand before pulling her own back and shaking her head.

"I-"

But whatever she meant to say fell apart into a strained sigh instead.

At the sound, Regina turned her face away. Snow watched as shadows played across her profile. And even in the dim light she could see Regina swallow and take a shaky breath.

Looking at her, Snow felt the urge to take her hand again, to touch her, hold her together, keep her from crumbling.

But she didn't. Though her heart pulled tight watching Regina - who felt and hurt more deeply than anyone Snow had ever known - in such immense pain.

The image of her in the woods still lingered in Snow's mind. So too did her attempt at using the sleeping curse.

But when Regina looked back her face was clear and composed, betrayed only by the red rimming her eyes and the tightness in her voice as she said;

"I haven't been able to sleep."

Something that would stand up to the ages.

Snow didn't say anything, unsurprised.

She hadn't been sleeping either.

But in the space afforded by her silence, Regina's expression grew softer.

"I can't stop thinking about him" Her words were thick with admission "Wondering if he's okay, if he's happy, if Emma is feeding him vegetables and not just grilled cheese and pop-tarts."

There was a bite in her tone at that last part, and Snow smiled despite herself - glad for the joke, glad for the honesty, glad that Regina would offer her either.

So, when she again felt the urge to to reach out, she didn't fight it.

Lightly joining their hands, Snow pressed her palm against Regina's letting their fingers slide together.

This time Regina didn't pull away.

"Come to bed" she said once more - determined that neither of them would crumble, that for at least tonight neither of them would fall apart.

So as she gently lead them toward the bed, Regina followed.

And for all the ruin between them, Snow and Regina persevered.

Pulling back the heavy blankets and soft sheets, Regina lay down on her side facing the wall.

Without a word Snow lay down beside her, not too close, but near enough that the space between them was warm.

"You don't have to stay" Regina whispered still looking away.

"I want to." Snow said, then added "If you want me to."

Because she wasn't there to break down Regina's walls. There were too many things already broken between them.

Regina though said nothing. Then, without a word, the blankets draped over both of them shifted slightly as she turned to lay on her back.

Glancing over at her, Snow watched her in the cool darkness. Not moving, not speaking, just waiting to see if this moment - as fragile as it was - might persevere.

But the moment grew long in the still quiet of the night. And just as Snow was sure that the dust had settled, Regina reached out into the space between them. Her smooth skin slid over cotton sheets and she lightly took Snow's hand in her own.

And with fingers twined together - Snow gripping only as hard as she dared, never too hard, never too eager - they fell asleep hand in hand.

So as long as that was true Snow White would scavenge through the broken pieces of their past and place hope in their healing.

That night they slept soundly, neither dreaming of their lost children or of their old pains or of the struggle that still awaited them in the morning.