AN: Hey guy's, sorry for the length between posts but I'm currently on holiday and actually posting from Edinburgh. As such, I'm also a little tipsy, and though I've edited this before posting I may have missed more mistakes than usual so please forgive them. As always thanks for the reviews, follows, favourites and feedback (good and bad), it all helps to make me a better writer and I really do appreciate it. Here's chapter 12, hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think :-)

I open my eyes and find myself sat in the front passenger side of Emma's Bug. The blonde is sat next to me, forearms resting on the steering wheel as she stares longingly out across the harbour we appear to be parked in front of. I have no idea where we are, but considering the obvious assumption that this is once again Emma's dream, I'd hazard a guess at Boston.

It takes the distracted Sheriff several minutes to realise that she's no longer alone. When she does finally register my presence it's with wide, surprised eyes and a startled gasp.

"Regina?"

I offer her a soft smile, taking comfort from our now regular, nightly meetings, "Hello, Emma."

"Geez," she bemoans, and I feel my smile falter as her shoulders slump, "Can't I get a moment alone anymore!"

I almost respond with a biting remark reminding her that as this is her dream, she's the one who must have called out to me, but I quickly change my mind when I notice the sadness in her expression.

"I can try and wake up if you want me too?" I kindly suggest.

"No!" Her reply is immediate, almost desperate, as though she fears that I'll suddenly disappear. "No. Stay, please," she repeats, softer this time, "I like being with you, I didn't mean that."

I nod my head, having had no real intention to leave anyway, and a strangely awkward silence falls over the car. The space is small and confined, forcing us into each other's personal space whether we like it or not, and the close proximity only serves to thicken the newfound tension between us.

"I'm sorry," Emma eventually says, rallying her inner strength to stop the downward spiral our relationship is taking, "I asked you to stay but I don't know what to say."

"We don't have to say anything," I reply with a small shrug, "I'm perfectly content to just sit here in silence."

Though the opposite was true a week ago I have to confess, Emma's presence has a calming effect on me. It eases the pain in my heart, stops the violent shaking of the town. It reminds me that no matter how ostracised I feel, I'm not alone.

She glances across to me, and for the first time since I've known her she looks genuinely scared. Looking at me right now is a woman so far removed from the Saviour that she's barely recognisable. This is the lost, orphan girl that nobody wanted.

"You don't want to ask about my texts?" She asks, her voice so small that I have to strain to hear it.

I shake my head, "Not if you don't want to talk about them."

The silence stretches on. I watch a boat drift across the harbour, see a happy couple stroll hand in hand across the ocean's edge, hear every breath that Emma takes…

"I didn't know!" Her admission comes from nowhere and catches me completely off guard. When I turn a questioning gaze her way she's quick to continue, "When I said I always wanted you I meant it, but I didn't know how I felt at the time. It was only when I realised how you felt - when I started thinking about our relationship - that I saw what was really there."

I take a deep breath, only too aware of how unsettling it can be to realise that you have feelings for your best friend.

"I didn't know either," I admit in a moment of brutal honesty. "I'd be lying if I said that I'd been silently pining for you all these years. The truth is, if Robin hadn't died I may never have known…"

"It isn't unrequited love is it?" She asks, interrupting me before I can finish. I find myself silently grateful that she did. "It's unexpressed because…"

This time I cut her off, the words she's about to speak too powerful to be ever given a voice, "It doesn't matter what it is," I reply quickly. "You love Killian, you've chosen Killian, and together we have to find a way to deal with this." I blow out a tired puff of air, "Maybe there's a spell or potion to sever this connection between us, to stop us sharing dreams."

"But I like the connection," Emma protests, pleading like Henry used to when I told him he was grounded. "Now that I know we have it I don't want to lose it. It makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe."

I feel a pang deep in my heart, her confession all that I want to hear but everything I can never have. Why did it take us so long to see what was always between us? How do we move past this now that we know what we share?

"Then I'm pleased one of us feels safe," I grumble, quickly turning it into a joke when I realise that she has no more control over the situation than I do. "Do you mind telling me why I find myself seated in your death trap on wheels?"

She grins, "Hey! Leave the bug alone, she can hear you, you know?"

I roll my eyes, failing to understand how one can refer to a rusty tin can as living, breathing, entity, but the exasperation quickly gives way to affection. Emma is nothing if not adorable, and under duress I believe that even I would admit to having a…warmth…towards this vehicle. After all, it did bring its owner into mine and Henry's lives.

Emma strokes her fingers tenderly across the steering wheel, "This was my safe place for so long, "She informs, lost in thought. "I've slept in this car, eaten in it…" She gives me a cheeky sideways smirk, "…done other things in it…"

The thought of her and anyone, especially Neal or Hook, getting intimate is one that does not sit comfortably with me, "Thank you for that very disturbing imagery!" I interrupt.

She laughs, more than aware of the effect that thought has on me, and swiftly moves on. "It's always been my mode of transport when I wanted to run."

"Do you want you want to run?" I ask, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"Honestly?" She takes a moment to consider the weighty question before nodding, "Yeah! Running's always been my instinct. But I won't. I couldn't."

"Because of Henry?"

"Because of…a lot of things." She loses the courage to say whatever she'd originally intended when our eyes meet across the central console. "Of course, Henry," She finally confesses, "He's a given." She sucks in a deep breath, "But also Killian, and mom and dad…and you."

Something inside feels infinitely lighter at her confession, but as my heart soars my brain laments. She cannot be declaring her feelings and we cannot be having this conversation. This will just make everything worse. This will divide Emma between me and the lover she has sacrificed everything for. It will put us both in an impossible situation. It will crush my heart to dust.

"Do you want me to leave instead?"

I blurt the words out on instinct, hoping beyond hope that she doesn't actually take me up me on my reckless offer.

"What!?"

But when I see the pain in her eyes, the way that her feelings for me are tearing her in two, I suddenly begin to see the sense in such a proposition.

"You have so many more reasons to stay in Storybrooke than I do," I press on, ignoring the internal voice that's chastising me for throwing myself in front of the Emma shaped train. I shrug, "I could go, give you a little space…"

"No!" Emma barks, apparently hating the idea as much as I do. Though at the moment I'm unsure whether that's a good or bad thing. She sighs heavily, pushing her long loose hair behind her ear, "Regina, Storybrooke is your town, and I'd never ask you to give up Henry."

I give her a sad, half smile, "I wouldn't be giving him up. He could come and visit me. But you could move on, settle down with your pirate."

She shakes her head in that way that people only do when they're tired, "Do you have to refer to him with that much disdain?"

As soon as my jealousy is called out I regret it. I don't want to make her feel bad for loving someone. I know how that feels better than anyone and it's not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy. "I'm sorry," I reply, the apology sincere, "it isn't…intentional."

She scoffs, "Sure it isn't."

My expression falls, a reflection of the hatred she still thinks I harbour inside and when she notices my pain her expression softens.

"I don't want you to leave," She whispers, and though the words are barely audible their meaning is the loudest thing I've ever heard.

"Emma…"

She stops me before I can say what neither of us want to hear, "Can't we just…carry on as we were?"

I'd love that. I want nothing more. If I could turn back time, stop my heart from ever calling out to her then I would. But love isn't that easy, and feelings can't just be erased.

"You've seen what this is doing to my heart," I reluctantly reply, hating that mine has to be the voice of reason. "You've admitted that you want me. We kissed!" I shake my head, "Emma, we can't just go back."

She releases a long, suffering breath, unknowingly echoing my thoughts, "I know, but wasn't it just easier then?"

"Ignorance is always easier," I smile, "and if we could go back believe me I would."

"Will it kill you?"

The question is unexpected, "What?"

She shifts in the driver's seat, turning to an angle so that she can face me. When her eyes meet mine they're full of concern, "Whatever's happening to your heart?"

I think of my mother's notes and curse my untamed anger for not having the time to finish reading them, "Honestly, I don't know," I reply, having not even thought of that until now. "I don't think so. I hope not…"

"I can't lose you…" She cuts in, her voice more passionate than I've ever heard, "…Henry can't lose you."

I shake my head, my promise as empty as her feelings for me, "That won't happen!"

"But you just said…"

Without thinking, I reach across the handbrake to grasp her fingers in mine, "I've lived close to two lifetimes and my heart has lost far more times than it's won," I reply, exuding a confidence that I don't feel. "I'll survive. I always survive."

"But what if…"

I shake my head again, determined to assuage her very real fear that I'll become the Evil Queen once more, "I won't become her," I try to reassure, "Not completely. I've come too far for that."

She turns her attention back to the ocean in front us and I do the same. The sun is flickering off the clear water, a thousand tiny crystals dancing across the waves.

"Do you ever miss her?" She asks after a beat, "The Evil Queen?"

I stop to seriously consider the question and am reminded of how much strength she's given me in the last few days. Courage I would not have survived without.

"Every single day," I reply truthfully. Certain that Emma is the only person I could admit that to without fear of repercussion. "I hear her voice and so often it's the one of reason, but it's also the wrong one. If I was still her I would have never have fallen for you."

She frowns, her brow crinkling in a way that is simply adorable, "What do you mean?"

"I became her when I found out Snow betrayed me, not when I lost Daniel," I begin, explaining an often misinterpreted conception. "The vengeance I felt stemmed from hatred, not love. If anything ever happened to you, then…" I laugh in spite of myself, "well let's just say Storybrooke would have reason to worry."

I see her confusion before she even expresses it, "But Robin just died!"

"And yet I'm still me!" I reply, "Another reason to assume that I was never in love with him in the first place."

Once again the silence falls between us. Those elongated moments of uncertainty where so much is said in the words we don't say. Eventually the silence is broken by Emma's deep, thoughtful, sigh.

"We're not perfect you know?"

Unsure exactly who she's referring to, I turn to her curiously, "Who isn't?"

"Killian and I."

At her unexpected admission I feel that tiny tendril of hope begin to grow inside me. If Emma and Hook aren't happy together then maybe they're not meant to be. If Emma and Hook aren't happy together then maybe, I still have an outside chance…

But then I remember watching them through my mirror a week before and the renewed hope quickly flickers and dies.

"Oh I know," I reply, the words bitter, "you've told me as much. But you still seem to…connect…well enough."

I can't think of a better way to phrase what I'm obviously trying to say but I find that I don't need to, if Emma's blush is anything to go by she knows exactly what I mean.

Green eyes narrow challengingly, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I watched you through my mirror that night you watched the film, Hook," I reply, unashamed of my blatant invasion of privacy. "I saw what happened!"

Emma's eyes grow wide with horror "You watched?" She gasps, shocked. "Regina there's something fundamentally wrong with your obsession for voyeurism!"

Amused that she'd ever think watching her fornicate was a constructive use of my time, I snort at her arrogance, "Please," I reply, "I didn't watch the whole underwhelming event. I watched until you forget that you were even planning on watching a film…"

Her frown deepens, "Exactly what do you think happened?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" My tone naturally drifts back to the dripping sarcasm so often used by my alter ego. "The same thing that happens between any consenting adults that are in love!"

Emma laughs, breaking eye contact to look out at the harbour, "Then you should have watched longer!" She replies flippantly.

"What?!"

Her cheeks darken with embarrassment but ever the hero, she fights to defend her honour. "Regina, Killian and I haven't…done that…since he came back from the Underworld!"

I think of the few times I've seen them together. Their closeness, the private knowing looks they share, and briefly wonder if I've read far more into their relationship than was ever really there.

"But…"

"He tries," She cuts in, ending any argument I may have made to the contrary. "He tries all the time. But I just keep thinking of the failed True Loves kiss and the weird True Love test, and the rejected heart..."

Her voice trails off and I can tell that she's thinking about those testing events again. She shakes her head, "You said he was a rapist, and it made me realise that I have no idea who he used to be."

Her doubt is something I should rejoice in but disappointingly, I find that I can't. The old me would have taken this opportunity to sweep her off her feet, to entice her into my bed, but I'm not that person anymore. Now I understand that feelings for one person can be misinterpreted by hopeless feelings for another.

It's perfectly reasonable to assume that Emma's newfound feelings for me are simply a manifestation of the fear she has for losing her pirate. I'm not a quick fix, a fun distraction or a dawn regret. If she truly does want me, then she'll have to prove it, but until that day my voice will be the one of reason.

"You don't know who I used to be either!" I reply, slightly curious as to why I've chosen now to start playing devil's advocate.

Maybe it's pride. That deep sated pride that my mother instilled within me during the years I endured her humiliating abuse. Or maybe it's fear, a genuine fear that if I allow myself to hope in something that will never happen, the Evil Queen really will return when it all goes wrong.

"Yes I do," Emma states, confidently interrupting my train of thought. "Everyone in this town has a horrific tale to tell about you. The book details every bad decision you ever made, and you wear your heart on your sleeve. You've always admitted your mistakes and regrets."

While I find that I can't disagree with that, I also can't ignore the fact that she's painting a far darker picture of her pirate then is really the case. "Hook wasn't as bad as me," I admit, uncertain why I'm suddenly so eager to defend my rival. "He was a villain and he did many unsavoury things, but he never committed the heinous acts that I did."

She shakes her head and I can almost see her dismissing my crimes without really knowing the true extent of them. It's times like this that I see how much she truly cares for me. How much I realise that she genuinely believes I've changed for the better.

No one has ever given me the second chance that she now offers so freely.

"I don't even think that matters anymore," She finally replies with a soft sigh. "What matters is that I know everything there is to know about you, and I know next to nothing about him."

Once again I feel that pang deep in my heart, the one that says I'm a liar and a con artist. An Evil Queen toying with the Saviour's good nature, to her own end. "You don't know everything about me," I confess, quietly ashamed, "You just think you do."

Her beautiful, expressive eyes fix on me and it feels as though she's trying to see through to my very soul, "So tell me," She insists.

I stifle a sarcastic chuckle, thinking the request nothing more than a hero's dream, the protagonist's belief that nothing is ever as bad as it seems.

It seems however, that Emma is deadly serious. "Tell me about you," She presses, sensing my reluctance. "Come on, I want to know."

"What, exactly, do you want to know?"

She shrugs, clearly not thinking the question through, "What makes you laugh?" She asks, her voice light and full of good humour. "I've known you close to five years and I'm not sure that I've ever seen you really laugh."

Flummoxed by the unusual question I say the first thing that comes into my head, "Apart from your parents?" I joke, grinning at the smile such a comment pulls from the blonde. "Henry's laugh makes me happy," I add, seriously. "He could brighten up a day with just one giggle." I half shrug, "Apart from that, I used to like a show called Sex and the City…"

"Seriously?" Emma teases, the relaxed, playful conversation coming easily, "You watched Sex and the City?"

I turn to her, disgruntled that she assumes me so backwards that I can't even enjoy a popular sitcom "That surprises you?"

Instead of the criticism I expect, I'm surprised to see her expression soften to something almost tender in nature "Regina, you surprise me every day," she replies truthfully. "You've given so many orders, passed so many laws…" her eyes narrow as she stops to consider exactly what it is that she truly wants to ask. "What's the most you've said with the fewest words?"

In an ideal world the answer to that question would be romantic and bittersweet. But then in an ideal world this conversation would be as perfect as it appears on paper. I swallow sharply, mentally preparing myself to admit a truth that I've never expressed to anyone before, "I do."

The memory of saying those words while stood next to a king I didn't love and never wanted marry reminds me of how trapped I felt - how completely alone I found myself – and I instantly feel sick.

Emma must notice as the colour drains from my face, "I'm sorry," she quickly apologises, desperate to heal the distress she's unintentionally caused, "that was insensitive…"

"It's fine, dear," I reply, hating that she now feels guilty for a situation that was never her fault to begin with, "I didn't have to say it."

"You did though," She argues, and though it's a topic I know she's not comfortable talking about it warms me to know that she's embarrassed to associate her bloodline with my forced marriage. "I know you tried to escape and your mother wouldn't let you" She tilts her head to the side, studying me closely, "Was that your longest night then? Your wedding night?"

If anyone but her had asked me such a personal, painful question they would have found themselves hurled across the room by an invisible force. But this is Emma, and I could never keep anything from her. I want her to know the truth about my past, every harrowing detail, because she's the only person in the world that I trust it with. I'd trust her with my life.

"No..." I begin, but she detects the dark undertone in my voice and quickly cuts me off.

"You don't have to tell me."

In that moment I know that I don't, and I also know that she'd never judge me if I decided not to say, but for the first time in my life I want to talk. I want her to know everything there is to know about me, good or bad.

"It was the night I murdered an entire village," I bravely reply, fighting the tears that threaten at the unwanted memory. "It was such an easy order to give, but when I smelt the scent of burning wood, when I heard the screams of all the scared children…" I shake my head, the images as clear as they were they day I witnessed them first hand, "I didn't sleep at all that night. I think I lived a hundred lifetimes in those few short hours before daylight."

"How did you do it?" The question isn't judgemental in any way, it's curious, gentle, as though she genuinely wants to learn about all the parts of me no one else ever cared for.

I raise a questioning eyebrow, "Kill all those people?"

"No," She shakes her head, the grim subject already forgotten. "How did you get by? How did you get from one day to the next when your life was so sad and hard?"

I look at her, at the goodness the exudes from every inch of her body. I think of her family, Snow White and Prince Charming, the true love that runs through her veins, and I want to lie. I want to tell her that it wasn't easy, that I struggled every day but I never lost sight of who I was. I want to be worthy of her.

But I'm just not.

"I surrendered to the darkness inside," I finally reply, aware that I will never be able to hide my past from her now that I'm in love with her. "I wouldn't recommend it."

My tone is spikey, laced with the threat of a once Evil Queen, but instead of meeting it with anger she smiles, a warm tender smile that very few people have ever directed my way.

"I know you wouldn't," She surprisingly agrees, "You were the only one who stopped me crossing that line when I was the Dark One…"

Realising that the entire conversation is becoming more about us and less about her boyfriend, I swing it back around to the one person that started this, "I think your pirate had more to do with it than I did!" I reply.

"Well you're wrong," Her response brooks no argument and even if it did, she doesn't allow me the opportunity to voice it. "A part of me thinks Killian would have enjoyed it if I'd gone completely dark!"

I take a second to digest the severity of her words. If she really believes that then a part of her must also believe that Hook still thrives on the darkness, that he misses being a villain. And that is someone that Emma could never truly give herself to.

"Are things really that bad between you?" I ask.

She takes a deep breath, "They're not bad they're just…" her voice trails off tellingly.

"Different?" I offer.

She flashes me a sad smile, "Yup!"

Sometimes it seems as though Emma and I will forever dance around the truth. We toy with it, flirt with it, but neither of us possess the confidence, courage or strength to give voice to what this really means for us.

Maybe it's a sign that we're never meant to be. Or maybe it's a promise that at the right time, everything will work out exactly as it's supposed to. But those dreams are for people who still believe in fairy godmothers and happily ever after. I'm not one of them.

"Love is hard," I state, as though I'm somehow an expert on the matter. "You should never give up on it just because it gets a little tough."

Our eyes meet across the car, the distance between us growing infinitely smaller the longer we talk, "Are you saying that with regards to Killian…" She asks pointedly, "or you?"

My heart beats double time, this is the first time she's really acknowledged that her feelings for me are real but at the same time, I'm more than aware that she's projecting her emotions back onto me. She wants me to be the one to put my heart on the line, to take that irreversible leap and I won't, I can't. So instead I do the only thing I know how, I project them right back.

"Are you saying that you love me!?"

Her cheeks flush pink, her pupils dilating with desire and it's then that I realise that at some point during our conversation we've gravitated towards each other. We're both leaning over the hand break, silently reaching for the other, our lips mere millimetres apart.

She noticeably glances down to my mouth, coming to the same realisation as me, "I'm saying that even though I know it's wrong, I really, really, want to kiss you right now," She replies.

I release a breath, desperately trying to collect myself and regain some control over my raging emotions, "Why?" I ask, wanting nothing more than to give her what she wants but still too proud to surrender. "You have the man of your dreams lying next to you in the waking world. The man you risked everything for. The man who made you feel again. Why do you want me?"

It may seem like I'm taunting her, that I'm trying to make her feel bad, but I'm not. If I give myself to her only to have her reject me then my heart will surely die. I'm willing to fight for her, but she needs to reassure me that it's not a hopeless battle.

That reassurance starts when she tenderly reaches out to stroke my cheek, "Because you and I…" She whispers, the words heavy in the minimal space between us, "we just work you know. We make sense."

I close my eyes and lean into her touch, knowing exactly what she means. When we're alone together it seems as if we're two sides of the same coin, a perfect fit, but then the rest of the world creeps back in, cruelly reminding us of all the reasons we cannot be. Her pirate boyfriend being one of them.

"And Killian?" I ask.

She shakes her head, torn, "…is the hero I always dreamed would sweep me off my feet. But he isn't you. What if I was never looking for a hero? What if I was just looking for the missing piece of me?"

I lean forward to press my lips against hers, desperate to feel her against me once more, but I stop myself before any contact is made.

"Emma, you need to think long and hard about what exactly it is that you're trying to say."

She nods, and presses her forehead against mine, "I know. What would you do if you were me?"

Mustering every last inch of self-restraint, I answer in the way that I know she wants me too, as her best friend. "I'd take my time," I reply, even as I curse my honesty. "I wouldn't let anyone tell me what I want or how I feel!"

"You think that Killian does that?" She pulls back slightly, and I inwardly wince when I realise that my weighted point was more transparent then intended.

"To an extent yes," I admit, "but in his defence he's from a very different time. He loves you, Emma. As much as it pains me to say that I'd be wrong not to tell you. He loves you."

Her breath brushes against my lips, "But so do you!"

"Yes. And only you know which one of us you want."

Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips and I swear I feel it brush against my own. I moan quietly in the back of my throat and try not to think about how much I want her.

"And if I want you both?" She asks.

The question is as promising as it is devastating, "Then I'd tell you to pick…"

I never get to finish my advice as Emma closes the gap between us by capturing my mouth in a passionate kiss.

I open my eyes.