A/N : As ever, I really value all of your feedback and thoughts about the story. A good review makes the paragraphs really flow ;) The final few chapters have taken shape, and when the edits are done I'll post as quickly as possible.
"This is-" Emma opens her mouth to say, after an awkward few minutes.
"If you say 'nice', I'll throw you out," Regina interrupts, leaning back and bumping her head against Emma's collarbone.
"Fine," Emma says. "I won't say it, then."
"I can hear your mind working from here," Regina sighs, cupping her hand in the water and then letting it trickle over her breasts. Emma can't help but be distracted at the sight. "Perhaps if you used your brain more often, it wouldn't be so obvious."
"Are the insults supposed to be a turn on?" Emma asks, shifting slightly and catching Regina's side with her knee, not completely by accident.
"You tell me," Regina fires back. "It certainly seems to be working so far. Since your issues have issues, that's hardly surprising."
"Are you seriously going to debate mental health with me right now?" Emma demands, not quite believing even Regina is that oblivious.
"Well, only if you're sober," Regina replies, and that shuts down any rant that might be forming on Emma's lips. Well, that and Regina's hands moving to stroke Emma's legs, alternating right and left with varying pressure from her fingertips that makes the bathwater ripple in pleasant ways.
"I don't know how this keeps happening," Emma admits. Absent-mindedly, she begins to gently squeeze Regina's shoulders, and she doesn't reject the massage. "Every day I think 'I'm fine' and then I end up wasted or, well, with you."
"I wish I could say that's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," Regina complains. "But like I said before, don't go thinking this means I want you here."
"Right," Emma snarks. "Because you've ever been made to do anything you don't want to."
She flinches at Regina's sudden turn, but instead of the anger Emma expects for her thoughtless comment, she only sees a kind of slack-jawed hurt on Regina's face.
"Oh," Emma amends. "I wasn't even trying to be a bitch that time. It just slipped out."
"You acted without thinking it through first?" Regina asks, turning away again. She hasn't taken her hands off Emma the whole time. "Well, how unlike you."
"Our problem," Emma decides, her hands back on Regina's shoulders, but with a firmer grip now. "Is when we talk. So let's not do that."
"No, my problem is you keep showing up here like a lost puppy," Regina corrects, leaning back against Emma, with a murmur of approval as Emma's hard nipples press against Regina's back. "Why in the world would you think I even care about your drama?"
"I don't know," Emma admits. She takes a deep breath, and then a risk. "But you must, because you never actually throw me out. Even when you have good reason to."
"Damn," Regina says. "You were right."
"I was?" Emma is suspicious, because Regina admitting that can only mean trouble.
"It is," Regina begins, turning and kneeling between Emma's thighs, the water sloshing gently around them. "Definitely," she continues, pressing a forceful kiss beneath Emma's ear. "Better," Regina murmurs, her mouth trailing lower before her tongue swirls over the hollow of Emma's collarbone. "When we don't talk."
"I don't know," Emma argues, for the sake of it, and because it makes Regina graze her teeth over Emma's wet skin in warning. "I bet I can make you pretty vocal."
"Pretty arrogant for someone who had to be carried here a few hours ago," Regina mocks, but it dissolves in a gasp as Emma captures a nipple between thumb and index finger.
"You were saying?" Emma teases, pinching lightly until Regina groans in reaction. "You know, I'm not so sure about the whole bath thing. I think you'll be wet enough without it, don't you?"
"Don't be crude," Regina says through gritted teeth. "And no more calling the shots from you."
"You didn't seem to mind when I was-" Emma retorts, but Regina cuts her off with a kiss that owes a lot more to threats than anything like affection. Her tongue is forceful, demanding entry, and Emma has very little to offer by way of resistance. Her body is lighting up all over at the prospect of being so satisfied again, the mindless explosion of it the only thing better than passing out drunk when it comes to forgetting all her troubles for a while; even if one of her biggest troubles is going to be causing the explosion.
Regina seems to sense Emma's inner debate, and pushes her forcefully against the back of the tub, making her lean in a way that's basically offering her body up for whatever the hell Regina plans on doing to it. Emma really tries to make herself annoyed about that, but her ankles cross behind Regina's back and it's pretty obvious neither of them are going anywhere.
"Concentrate," Regina warns, and it's so pleasantly mean in a sexy librarian sort of way that Emma does what she's told. Of course, concentrating is a hell of a lot easier when the subject is how Regina's hand is cupping Emma between her thighs, middle finger gliding over her clit with the kind of patience that suggests Regina will take all day if she wants.
"I'm concentrating," Emma teases, leaning forward and uncrossing her legs, all the better to mirror Regina's actions. "Are you?" She asks, with a particularly firm flick of her finger over Regina's clit. The resulting moan is throaty, and quickly suppressed.
The contest is declared then, without a word. Free hands clutch at damp breasts, while rolls of the wrist and flicks of the fingers are traded in a silent display, punctuated only by a narrowing of the eyes and increasingly desperate hitches in breathing.
"Dammit," Emma mutters as her hips betray her and rock harder against Regina's hand. Emma's only option now is escalation, and she slides her middle finger inside Regina with ease, curling it to make sure the flat pressure of her fingertip drags over the spot that makes Regina's head drop back when she gasps.
"No," Regina mutters, but she's pushing two fingers inside Emma because it's still more about winning than anything to do with pleasure. The pace is punishing, and Emma's too tired to mount much resistance, giving in to the firmness of Regina's thumb on her clit and the thrust of the fingers inside her.
Emma comes with a cry she can't hold back, and Regina's smug expression makes Emma want to slap her, even through the little lights firing behind her eyes. Emma's hand has stilled as Regina savors her victory, but Emma is clumsy in starting up again, making Regina hiss through her teeth at the unexpected move.
Unlike Emma, Regina is able to hold out. She clutches at Emma's shoulders, nails digging into wet skin, drawing blood as she rides Emma's fingers to a grudging but powerful climax, taking just long enough to make Emma's wrist start to ache.
"You shouldn't be here," Regina grumbles when she catches her breath. No post-coital cuddling for her, Emma realizes again, as Regina leverages herself on Emma's shoulders and clambers out of the bath, snatching up a huge white towel to wrap herself in.
"What, I don't even get breakfast?" Emma jokes, slipping back under the water and reaching for the fancy soap.
"It's the middle of the afternoon," Regina points out.
"I'm hungry," Emma says, running the soap over muscles that are now happily relaxed. "And you can cook, so..."
"Presumption runs in the family, I see," Regina replies, stretching her neck muscles and cracking her knuckles like she's considering disappearing Emma in a convenient puff of magic smoke. "Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Or starve, for all I care."
"Gee, thanks," Emma snorts, watching the elegant lines of Regina's legs as she exits the bathroom. "Leave me something to wear?" Emma calls out after her. The slamming of the door is her only response.
The water is already starting to cool, and so Emma doesn't linger beyond getting properly cleaned up. She helps herself to supplies from the bathroom cabinet, impressed but not entirely surprised that Regina's guest bathroom is more equipped than most hotel suites. It's only when Emma steps out into the bedroom-very obviously Regina's bedroom-that she realizes that was no guest bathroom. (The sheer size of it should probably have tipped her off, but Emma's head is currently pounding like a death metal bassline, even with a medicinal orgasm, so she's not exactly thriving on details.)
There's no sign of anything being left out for her, so Emma helps herself to the black silk robe hanging on the back of the door, before heading back to the bathroom and washing down a couple of Regina's Vicodin stash with a full glass of water. Checking her reflection in the mirror, Emma pulls a face at the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the way her hair hangs limply around her face. A few pins deal with that mess, but there's no hiding her bloodshot eyes or the bruise on her eyebrow she doesn't remember getting.
It's going to have to do, Emma decides, and she makes her way downstairs. She feels like an intruder, creeping down the carpeted stairs and trying not to make a sound. At least the kitchen is easy to find, and she clears her throat loudly as she enters; catching a witch by surprise isn't exactly good self-preservation.
"You're having waffles," Regina says, pouring some batter onto a spotless waffle iron. "Cut up your own fruit."
"What, no whipped cream?" Emma mocks, prompting Regina to sigh and nod to where a glass bottle of syrup and can of whipped cream are already waiting on the counter. "Oh, Regina, you really do come prepared."
"If you think my feeding you is an excuse to make childish jokes, you're welcome to walk yourself down to Granny's and eat there," Regina warns, but she seems perfectly at home in her kitchen. Emma pulls up a stool on the far side of the island counter and watches Regina work, the same easy grace in her movements as she has in bed.
Emma's sinking her fork into the first waffle when there's a loud, impatient knocking at the front door. Regina simply rolls her eyes at the intrusion, but it bleeds all the old tension back into both of them. The relaxed atmosphere of Emma watching Regina cook for them both all but evaporates as Regina wipes her hands on a towel and goes to answer the door.
Emma waits on a kitchen stool, wrapped in Regina's robe, knowing that trouble can't be far away. Sure enough, Ruby comes scampering into the kitchen in front of Regina, her determined expression completely at odds with her beat-up biker jacket and vibrant makeup.
"Hey, Emma," she says, pulling Emma into a hug that she neither invites nor enjoys very much. Ruby looks down at the waffle, covered in roughly chopped strawberries and too much cream, her expression instantly wounded. "You didn't want to come to the diner for waffles?"
"David and Mary Margaret hang out there a lot," Emma mumbles. "And Henry will be getting out of school any minute now."
"All the more reason," Ruby says, laying a hand on Emma's forearm. "Your parents will totally forgive whatever silly argument you're having. They're good people."
Regina's snort is not quite quiet enough.
"And Henry just wants to know you're okay. He's lucky, he has two moms who care about him, so just remind him that you do... care about him," Ruby continues. "That's all I ever wanted from my mom."
"Before Snow White got her killed?" Regina asks, voice syrupy sweet as she turns around to interrupt. "Don't worry dear, she has quite the habit of doing that."
"You don't talk about my mother," Ruby demands, squaring up to Regina over the counter.
"I have no need to," Regina replies. "Your wolf people told me the whole story long ago. They tried to bargain with me to get vengeance for Anita-they tracked Snow for me many times."
"I do care about Henry," Emma interrupts, trying to defuse the tension. "But I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility."
It's Regina who cuts her off this time, moving away from the bowl of waffle batter on the counter.
"Yes, you are," Regina says. "Or at least you'll have to be. I may not like it, but Henry has chosen to have you in his life. I won't let you disappoint him."
"He's a great kid," Emma admits, closing her eyes against the surge of feeling that she's been trying to drown for weeks now. Who knew the baby she spent years trying to forget all about would be the exception to her promise not to feel anything for anyone? "I just don't know what the hell I'm doing."
"Archie had a suggestion," Ruby says softly. "And I know you're resistant to get help, but I really think if you at least talked to people about the drinking, people who understand, maybe you wouldn't get angry at them like you get angry at us."
"What, there's a Fairytale chapter of AA?" Emma snorts, but her friend's sudden enthusiastic smile says she's hit the nail on the head. "Are you kidding me?"
"Well, a few people have been having adjustment issues," Ruby explains, shooting another glare at Regina's back. "It turns out living a lie for twenty-eight years isn't that easy for everyone to process."
"And some of you should be grateful about what it allowed you to forget," Regina mutters, but Ruby doesn't rise to the bait.
"I'm not big on the touchy-feely crap," Emma explains, and she could swear she hears Regina snicker quietly from across the room. "You know that about me, Ruby. I'd rather drink poison than talk about, you know, me."
"That can be arranged," Regina throws out helpfully, and Emma's a little bit comforted that she's not the only one glaring at Regina for it.
"Will you try, Emma? Please?" Ruby reaches for her hand across the table, and Emma doesn't think to pull away. They sit there in awkward silence for a long moment before Emma exhales heavily and gives in. If it keeps the peace, is it really so bad? She's done a lot worse to keep foster parents happy, to stop them sending her back. Surely she can try just a little for parents and friends who actually seem to care about her?
"I'm sorry about how I've treated you all," Emma mumbles. "And if you really think it'll help, I'll do what Archie says."
"Oh, Emma!" Ruby can't contain herself any longer, and the hug is a powerful one that almost knocks Emma off her chair. She grimaces her way through it, patting her friend on the back until she's released. "Henry will be so pleased."
Well, Emma thinks, she's almost getting used to the guilt trip every time the kid's name is mentioned.
"I'll come see him later?" Emma asks. "Then I can take him home, if he wants."
"Perfect," Ruby says, both of them pointedly ignoring whatever Regina has started to chop with barely-contained fury. The knife slams against the chopping board, and Emma smiles at her friend in what she hopes is a reassuring way. "And your mom and dad will be so happy to see you, too. They just want good things for you," Ruby adds, nodding towards Regina with pursed lips.
"Ruby..." Emma warns. "One step at a time, okay? I'll come see you later, with Henry."
"Great!" Ruby says, eager to be out of Regina's house.
When they're alone again, Regina seems in no hurry to turn away from the fruit she's chopped for herself.
"Uh, I didn't know anyone would-" Emma starts to explain as the silence stretches on past uncomfortable.
"Of course you did," Regina snaps. "You might only just be reunited, but surely you know by now that half the kingdom is bizarrely invested in making sure your parents are the only ones with a happy ending. If that includes bringing their daughter back to them, well..."
"All that bitterness is going to make your waffles taste funny," Emma snarks, taking another bite of her own. Regina sits down two seats over, and they eat in relative silence.
Emma knocks on the front door, because this house has never been (and will never be) home to her. Henry comes running to answer it, a good sign since he knows to be expecting her.
"Hey, mom," he says, and this time it doesn't make Emma feel like she wants to scream.
"Hey, kid," she tries, forcing a smile.
"Why did you come to Mom's house last night?" He demands, leading her through to the kitchen. "She was pretty pissed when Hook woke everyone up."
"Um," Emma hedges, not quite prepared for the third degree. She meant to get here two hours sooner, but Regina had other ideas once the robes had come off. Emma's back is still stinging from the clawmarks that must look pretty angry against her skin. "It just seemed like the safest place to go."
"Emma," David says, from where he's rooting around in the fridge. "Did you eat?"
"I... did," Emma admits. "Listen, I wanted to say sorry about yesterday."
"It's fine," Mary Margaret chimes in, appearing behind Henry in the doorway. "We all understand you've been under a lot of pressure."
"Ruby came to see me," Emma continues, eager to get this awkward conversation out of the way. "She suggested a group that Archie runs."
"We know," David says, closing the fridge and coming away from it empty-handed. Emma already noticed the bottle of beer he put back in its place before moving.
"So, I'll go," Emma says. "If you think that's best."
"Thank you," Henry says from the doorway. "Are we staying here for dinner?"
"No, I uh, wanted to try cooking tonight," Emma explains, looking at each of her parents for approval. They exchange a glance with each other then, in their unspoken language that makes it so easy for them to gang up on their only daughter.
"That's fine with us," Mary Margaret agrees. "And for the rest of the week, just let us know if you need Henry to spend any time here. To give you a break."
"I'll let you know once I speak to Regina," Emma replies, daring them to disagree with her. "Henry's going to be spending time with her from now on."
"Supervised?" David asks, before shaking his head. "Never mind, forget I said anything."
"Get your stuff, kid," Emma instructs, before the conversation can flare up into another fight. "I'll be outside, you know it takes a few tries for the Bug to start."
"Cool!" Henry yelps, rushing off to whichever room in this house he's commandeered as his own.
"Thanks for looking after him," Emma says, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, which are going straight in the laundry pile the minute she gets home. Only a wave of Regina's magic had gotten rid of the caked-on mud from wherever the hell Hook found her. "Things are going to be better, okay?"
"Of course," her parents reply, voices overlapping as they rush to reassure her.
Emma heads out with an awkward half-wave, and she can feel their eyes on her until she's safely out of the front door.
In many ways, Storybrooke's Rec Center looks just like the ones in every other town Emma has ever breezed through. Since seeing Archie on Monday afternoon, she's stretched it out as long as possible, but figures the Friday evening meeting is as long as she can wait before some form of nagging starts.
She sits in the Bug until the last possible second, not quite listening to the pop song on the radio that she recognizes, but can't remember the words to. It reminds her of driving through the night to a new city, of open roads and the sulfur glow of freeway lights. She watches the other group members arrive one by one, heads bowed and hats pulled low, the collective shame of being gripped by addiction evident in the set of their shoulders and the shuffling of their feet. Emma knows there's nothing actually wrong with her, that this happens to all kinds of people, but she can't help feeling that if people would leave her alone for a while she'd be able to cope just fine, like she has done for all of the past year.
When she can't put it off any longer, already sighing at the thought of being anonymously ratted out to her parents, Emma steps out of the car and jogs towards the yellow glow of admitting defeat. There's coffee and stale cookies as she expected, a brown swill worse than anything she's ever drunk at Granny's, and if nothing else has her tastebuds calling out for a cold beer, that coffee does the trick.
She scans the assembled people, six in total, hats now removed and coats all thrown on a shaky table in the back. Emma pulls her blue leather jacket tighter around her, not willing to give up the little protection that it offers. Archie smiles at her from where he's shuffling through some index cards, and Emma nods in acknowledgment. She doesn't make eye contact with Leroy or Sidney, but the sight of Granny knitting on one of the folding chairs has Emma's suspicions raised. She's never seen the woman have so much as a glass of wine with dinner, and the fact that she's part of Mary Margaret and David's inner circle is reason enough to give Emma pause.
Still, she showed up. Nobody was smart enough to make her promise anything more than that.
Archie coughs a few times before the room finally comes to attention, and Emma takes her seat as far from everyone else as possible.
"Welcome, everyone," Archie says, and Emma finds herself almost responding to his warm, if nervous, smile. It isn't his fault that her parents have forced her here, backed up by Henry's pleading and the goddamned puppy dog eyes he clearly inherited from Neal. "I'd like to start with our prayer. If you don't pray, perhaps take this silent time to think about those who are still sick and suffering, who have yet to take this step to recovery that you have all been brave enough to take."
Emma tunes out at the mention of prayer, her experiences with religion too bruising to make her stick around. Eventually the mumbling along stops and an expectant silence falls over the group.
"I'm not going first this time," Leroy says, before anyone else can get a word in. "Every time you make me share first, and I've had enough."
"Fine," Archie sighs, and this is clearly not the first time they've had this argument. "Does anyone else want to share? We have a new member tonight, and it might be helpful to show her the ropes."
Emma stares straight ahead as everyone turns to look at her, and it's junior high all over again with the turning the new girl into a freak vibe that's in the air right now.
Sean is the first to stand, looking a bit less like a Prince in his stained coveralls. The stubble on his face is at least a couple of day's worth, and Emma feels a pang of guilt about how little she's looked in on Ashley and him since the baby was born.
"Hello," he says, in his soft voice, sounding only half as timid as the last time Emma had seen him. "My name is Sean...Thomas. And I'm an alcoholic."
"Hi, Sean," the others chorus, but Emma doesn't join in.
He starts to talk about his new life here in Storybrooke, and Emma hangs in there until he starts complaining about how he misses his castle and they all got screwed by Rumplestiltskin and Regina, and maybe he wouldn't need to drink if they just got some real vengeance out of their systems.
Speaking of Regina, Emma tries not to let her train of thought pull in that direction, but her mind is intent on replaying the last time they were together, and it's bad enough that the sex is burned into her mind in explicit detail, but she actually has a craving for the waffles, too.
Sean is still rambling on when Emma hears the squeak of a hinge behind her. She turns, but there's no evidence of anyone in the doorway. Suspicious, she mouths 'bathroom' at Archie, and slinks towards the back of the room without anyone else noticing.
She's walking the corridor, looking for a spy who probably isn't there, when a hand grabs her arm from one of the darkened doorways that lead off the hallway.
"Jesus!" Emma hisses.
"Not exactly," Regina murmurs in response, her voice low enough to send a shiver down Emma's spine. "I heard you were coming to this sad little event, and I just had to come see it for myself."
"Screw you," Emma mutters back, finally willing to go back in the room if it means escaping Regina's scorn. "I'm just trying to keep the peace. I don't have a damn problem, and you know it."
"I know more than most," Regina reminds her. "Since you now think I'm your keeper when you get too drunk to walk. What, I did such a good job of raising your offspring that you want me to babysit you, too?"
"One week of Henry back in your life and you're already trying to mess with me?" Emma asks. "It's like you want me to take him away again."
"Don't you dare!" Regina warns. "And don't be so sure that he'd go with you, in the state you're in these days."
"Emma?" Archie calls from the doorway she left through. Luckily, he can't see Regina from that angle. "Is everything okay?"
"Just a call from work," Emma lies, but Regina's still got a grip on her elbow. "So, uh, where are the washrooms?"
"Just down the hall," Archie supplies, helpful as ever. "Try not to be gone too long, okay?"
"Sure thing, doc," Emma answers, pulling away from Regina and heading for the ladies room. The minute Archie ducks out of sight, the click of familiar heels starts following her. Emma wants to pretend like she can resist this, too; that she could turn around and leave this building without giving in to a single temptation.
But in the absence of liquid courage, Emma knows she doesn't stand a chance. Regina is advancing on her like any good predator, and Emma has no place to go.
"I wouldn't usually stoop to this kind of location," Regina says, shoving Emma past the door. "But needs must, don't you agree?"
Emma doesn't answer. She already knows she's screwed.