"What's Emma doing here?" Henry pipes up, causing Emma to freeze mid-pulling-her-shirt-on, and judging by the way Regina scoots out of the bedroom and hurries off with their son, she's not exactly thrilled by the question.
Well. At least that solves the problem of breaking the news to him.
Between Henry's time with Neal and the grandparents, Emma's already bought herself three nights in Regina's bed without having to worry too much about anything but the fact that Regina is a restless sleeper, all flailing limbs and melodramatic pauses in her breathing. Emma, who hasn't shared a bed since Neal, finds the whole thing kind of ruinous for her getting much rest at all.
And yet she keeps rocking up here, night after night. Half of her clothes are filling a few drawers in a guest room, because they have to have some kind of boundaries about all this. The room is, technically, Emma's own to do with what she wants. So for three days now she's been testing Regina in every way possible, to see what limits exist in this messed up Pretty Woman situation.
Not that Emma is anybody's whore, but Regina has been laying it on a little thick with fancy meals and a hundred little comforts Emma wouldn't know where to buy, never mind actually owning them. But fluffy towels and nice things to put in her hair won't protect her now, so Emma quickly brushes her teeth and stomps downstairs to face the kid-shaped music.
Emma isn't sure what she expected, beyond Henry being happy about being reunited with the mountains of fancy crap Regina has bought him over the years, but the full-on tantrum is more than she knows how to deal with. Regina is already storming out of the kitchen, tears streaming down her face, leaving Emma feeling woozy and defenseless against Henry's anger.
"Do I have to stay here?" He asks, when the yelling and actual stomping of feet is done with. "Grandma and Gramps won't mind if I move in with them, right?"
"No way," Emma finds it's easier to treat him like a target from her old life: no compromises, no concessions, just take the hard line and get the job done. "The point of this is for you to spend time with both of your mothers."
"Why?" Henry asks, his face still flushed. "Two months ago you hated her. Now you're best friends?"
"We're…"
"Oh God, it's true!" Henry is off again, knocking his cereal bowl clear across the counter. "Nicholas has been teasing me about how you're some kind of dyke and—"
"Don't you dare use that word!" Emma is appalled, and she knows there's no way he learned that kind of talk on Regina's watch. Another line in the victory column for Emma's parenting record, then. "And what happens between me and Regina is none of your business, kid. That's grown-up stuff."
"It'll be grown-up stuff when you do something stupid when you get drunk, and then she'll rip your heart out and crush it, just like she did to Graham and all those other people, too," Henry is yelling again, his usually neat hair sticking up from where he's clutching at it.
"You love Regina," Emma reminds him. "And she loves you. Don't you like spending more time with her?"
"I do," Henry admits. "But this feels like when I have homework and instead of doing it, I just pretend I lost my book."
"What do you mean?" Emma demands.
"You and Mom. Something bad is gonna happen, something terrible. And you're just making it happen later, that's all."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you read too many stories?" Emma asks.
"Only for most of my life," Henry sasses right back. "I have to get to school, Grandma says I can't have any more late marks this term. Are you gonna drink today?"
"Henry…" Emma warns. "You know I'm trying really hard."
"Sorry," he says, blushing as he dashes over to give her a hug. Emma presses her cheek against the top of his head, as if affection now can make up for the lie she just told him. "I guess I don't really mind living here. At least I'll have some privacy."
"That's more like it," Emma encourages, guiding him towards the door.
"Hey!" Neal calls out as she strolls into the tackle store. "Hold on, lemme get down on one knee."
"You're a jerk," Emma sighs. "And thanks for going to my… to Regina, instead of me. You just can't stop causing trouble for me, can you?"
"To be fair, the trouble is almost never my idea," Neal counters.
"No, but you're easily led. Just a typical lost little boy," Emma points out. "Speaking of, when do you want to see Henry next week? I'm pretty open."
"Trying to make some alone time for the Two Mommies?" Neal teases, ducking as Emma grabs the nearest thing to hand—a fishing reel—and hurls it at his head.
"Don't push me, Neal," Emma finds her voice a little more pleading than she means it to be. "But yeah, if shiny new Daddy could maybe convince Henry that me and Regina being together isn't the new Axis of Evil, that might help."
"You want me to do your dirty work?" Neal asks. "Besides, what does that make you? Iran or North Korea?"
"It makes me someone who's tired of everyone telling her what to do. Including my 11 year-old kid. So now that I'm finally choosing something for myself, I'd like it to not end in tears and bloodshed, ya know?"
"And you think Regina is the best choice to avoid that? She nearly choked me to death just for mentioning her Mom's name."
"I'm sure you were asking for it," Emma says, her tone drier than the driest white wine.
"Yeah, probably," Neal shrugs. "But how about I take Henry for the weekend? I'm going fishing anyway, it's about time he learned. And if he gets bored and wants to come home, I'll call you?"
"You mean Friday through Sunday?" Emma tries not to leap at the offer, which is a hell of a lot better than she was expecting. Although Neal clearly loves Henry already, his own daddy issues hold him back on getting too involved with anything beyond being buddies. "So can he just come here after school, or…"
"Yeah," Neal agrees. "He finishes at three, right?"
"Right," Emma says, and despite her sore head and fragile mood, she rounds the counter to give Neal a brisk hug. "You're not completely useless, sometimes."
"Careful," Neal warns. "Or I'll think you're considering making me a Prince after all."
"Bite me," Emma says, smacking him upside the head. He's still laughing when she exists the store, the bells on the door harmonizing with him perfectly.
The Sheriff's Station has been quiet all week, until Friday lunchtime when Hook drops by to file a complaint about more trespassers on his ship.
"You do get that you're a pirate?" Emma asks, the sigh starting all the way at the tips of her toes. His appearance is denying her the grilled cheese that is rightfully hers, after all. "So instead of giving me paperwork, you could just, you know, scare them off?"
"I'm a reformed character," Hook reminds her, eyes twinkling with what he thinks is irresistible charm. "How am I supposed to find a nice young lady to settle down with if I keep getting on the wrong side of the law?"
"It never stopped you before," Regina chimes in, appearing in the doorway. Emma wishes she could stop herself reacting, but there's no mistaking the fluttering in her chest or the sickly somersault her stomach performs.
And no wonder, since Regina is clearly dressed to kill today, in a short leather skirt that's only a couple of inches longer than something Ruby might wear, knee-high boots that have molded to every curve, and a sweater so soft that Emma has to bunch her fingers into fists to stop her marching over there and peeling it right off Regina's body. It's pretty fucking annoying, how attractive Regina actually is.
"Madam Mayor," Hook says, with his regular leer. "Sorry, your Majesty. Just like old times, eh?"
"Regina is fine," she insists. "I actually came to see Miss Swan, but if you two are practicing your flirting—"
"We're not," Emma assures her. "It's just that Mr. Guyliner here is apparently scared of the neighborhood kids. Won't take me long to fill out his complaint."
"It wasn't important," Regina sighs, looking pointedly at her watch. "I thought, since you never stop eating, that you might want to join me for lunch."
"Well, look at that," Hook interrupts. "Domestic bliss, right before my very eyes. I didn't take you for the type, Regina."
"I'm not," Regina growls. "And since it was clearly a stupid idea…"
"Wait!" Emma yelps, shoving the form at Hook. "Fill this out, assuming you can read and write. If not, wait for David to get back and he'll do it. I am on lunch."
"There's really no need," Regina says, turning away. But Emma is too fast for her, grabbing her jacket, phone and gun in one smooth shift away from the desk.
"There's every need," Emma contradicts her, following Regina out to the parking lot. "Now, where did you have in mind?"
Emma should probably know better by now: she just isn't the kind of girl that someone takes to a fancy restaurant, to show off and be proud of. In fact, by the time they reach the police cruiser, Emma's fairly sure the only dish on the menu today is her, and Regina's impatient chewing of her own bottom lip suggests that the oral fixation is coming out to play.
"Should we just drive around?" Emma says. "If you want me to come home for a quickie, you can just call, you know."
"Home," Regina says, rolling the word around on her tongue as though she's saying it for the first time. "Do you think of it that way so soon?"
"Everywhere feels like home when nowhere does," Emma says, shrugging it off. "Home is where my clean underwear is, pretty much."
"So you want me to cook lunch?" Regina asks, restlessly scanning the road as Emma pulls out into lunchtime traffic.
"Wait, you actually meant lunch?" Emma almost knocks the stick out of gear in her confusion. "But you were giving me the look."
"Which look?" Regina asks, and she seems genuinely puzzled for once, way more convincing that her ducking and weaving of questions during the curse.
"The 'lean on the hood and spread 'em' look," Emma blurts, feeling a little sheepish.
"I see," Regina says, tone clipped to the point of downright frosty. "So, despite opening my home to you, I'm not entitled to want anything but sex from you?"
"That's not what I mean!" Emma hits the gas a little harder. "But yeah, I assumed that's what you were offering. Sex and I don't know, sharing the childcare stuff."
"Assumptions are dangerous things," Regina said. "I had, in fact, made a reservation at Patrice's. But since you clearly have a one-track mind, you can drop me off there and I'll eat alone. I assure you, it won't be the first time."
"I could eat!" Emma insists, scanning the relatively empty road before pulling a highly illegal turn outside Maurice's flower shop. "It's out by the docks, right?"
"Don't do me any favors," Regina says huffily.
"Come on," Emma says. "We'll be there in two minutes."
"We can't have sex on the table, if that's what you're thinking," Regina warns, looking at Emma with the suspicion she's been nursing since the night Emma rolled into town.
"No," Emma says, managing to avoid saying 'duh' instead. "But that's no reason we can't enjoy ourselves at lunch."
Patrice is a timid man, and Emma hasn't asked, but she's pretty sure he's the same brand of talking mouse that Gus was. Just a cooking mouse, instead of a mechanic mouse.
Christ, just thinking that has her itching for a cold glass of beer. Emma tries to think, sometimes, about how she would explain any of this to an outsider without getting locked up. So far she's come up with nothing but headaches and drinking that very real concern away.
Regina looks in her element again, seated at what is clearly the best table in the restaurant. While Emma's own family is engaged in outright war with Regina most of the time, the rest of the town's inhabitants mostly keep out of their former Queen's way. Emma's heard a bunch of reasons, from old loyalties to self-preservation, and somewhere long the line she realized that not everyone in town is invested in preserving some Charming happy endings, no matter what her parents might assume.
Thinking of them only makes her frown lines deepen, so Emma shakes it off before Regina can notice and prod at yet another bruise. Sometimes Emma feels bruised all over, offering herself up to Regina's skilled but sadistic hands, letting her ask where it hurts, but only so she knows to push a little harder in those places.
Or maybe Regina's just good in bed, and Emma's a mess, and who cares if it's fucked up when you come hard enough every time to knock yourself out?
"So," Emma says, before she can spiral any further into her own head. "We go on dates now?"
"We have to eat," Regina points out. "It's hardly unusual that we should do it together."
"People already know about us," Emma reminds her. "My parents get chatty when they're pissed. And doing this… well, we've got no hope of denying it. Neither does Henry."
"What's Henry got to do with this?" Regina pounces on the note of worry like a terrier on a bone.
"Nothing, it's just he said some kids at school were teasing him, and you know he's kind of sensitive—"
"Of course he's sensitive," Regina snarls. "I protected him from that kind of thing his whole life. Five minutes in your care and he's a target for bullies."
"Hey!" Emma protests, though she thought exactly the same thing. "I'm just saying, we need to be sure about what we are and aren't saying. Especially to the kid."
"Who's teasing him?" Regina demands, breezing right past the thread of sanity in the conversation. "I may not be Mayor anymore, but I have ways of making them sorry they ever spoke to my son."
"No magic," Emma reminds her. "Or Henry will get even madder."
"Not everything is about magic," Regina retorts. They're interrupted by an even more nervous waiter, who shakes the ice in the water glasses so hard they sound like maracas by the time he sets them down.
"Can I take your drinks order?" He asks, his voice a croaky little whisper. Must have been a frog, Emma thinks with a snort.
"Wine?" Regina asks, with the kind of nonchalance that doesn't come by accident. She expertly avoids Emma's gaze, staring blankly at the menu instead.
"Red," Emma replies, as smoothly as she can. "I'm leaning towards steak, so…"
"Very good," the waiter croaks, all but running back to the safety of the bar.
"I'm just going to have the one glass," Emma says, once the silence has become suffocating.
"Like I said," Regina says. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"Right, but I have to work this afternoon, is all," Emma pulls a piece of bread from the basket in the center and starts pulling it apart with shaking fingers. "And even though we don't have to worry about Henry this weekend-"
"I hope Baelfire won't be getting used to this level of access," Regina interrupts. "After all, having Henry back in our house is supposed to be about me reconnecting with my son."
"Right," Emma agrees. "But I'd also like to try some things without worrying you're gonna suffocate me with a pillow when you try to keep me quiet."
"How can you trust that I won't?" Regina asks. "Suffocate you, I mean. You're so very vulnerable in those moments."
She sips from her water then, running the tip of her tongue over her teeth as she rakes a long glance over Emma. Despite her jacket, shirt and t-shirt under it, Emma feels practically naked.
"Speaking of," Emma says, before she can back down. "Henry mentioned that he blames you for Graham's death. I guess in everything that's happened, I forgot to ask..."
"If I killed him?" Regina enquires, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I had no magic during the curse. And I don't think even I could fake a heart attack, do you?"
Emma bites her tongue, because the unreliable little voice in the back of her head is saying that Regina is lying her ass off right now, even if she's doing it without so much as blinking. Given that she's been wrong about almost everything for a really wrong time, though, Emma shouts the voice down and ignores it.
"Okay," Emma breathes, as the waiter reappears with two glasses of rich, plum-colored wine. "You're joining me, then?"
"I asked you if you wanted wine," Regina corrects. "So really, you're joining me."
"You know, Regina, it's actually okay to let something go once in a while. Not every conversation is a fight to see who'll win," Emma points out.
Regina treats her to a glare that states she believes exactly the opposite.
"Fine," Emma sighs. "Let's order some food."
"So," Emma asks, feeling like a reporter who's been given one shot to land an exclusive. Regina has relaxed with their second glass of wine, and while Regina has opted for some kind of fancy salad, Emma is taking another bite of her melt-in-the-mouth steak. "How badly did you hate me?"
"Are you going to specify a point?" Regina asks. "Because you may have noticed, my annoyance with you has varied since your arrival."
"When I broke your curse," Emma nudges. "I know, I know. You're gonna say it saved Henry and it was worth it. But come on. You're easily the most spiteful person I've ever met."
If the insult wounds Regina, she doesn't show it. Instead she lowers her fork back to the plate and rests her chin on immaculate fingers to consider.
"I don't think I hated you, for that," she admits after a long moment. "I was so terrified you would take Henry, that I'd lose him like I've lost everyone else... I think by the time it finally broke, I was relieved. It felt almost good to tell the truth after lying for so long."
"Seriously?" Emma is aware of the mouthful of steak, frozen halfway to her mouth. "So, you're what? Grateful?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Regina warns. "Now, you tell me something."
"Like what?" Emma snorts, wondering if any other date in the history of the world has included conversation this completely weird. Well, nearly as weird as considering anything with Regina a date. Emma hasn't entirely ruled out getting some action before returning to the station, and to that end, she kicks one of her ankle boots off beneath the table, sliding her foot carefully towards Regina's calves.
"Why did you give up Henry?" Regina demands, and there's a glint in her eyes that makes her look like she could take down whatever Emma's steak used to be with one bite. It halts Emma's lame attempt at footsie in a split-second. "The real reason, I mean. Not the sanitized 'best chance' routine you gave him."
"That's a little deep for lunch, isn't it?" Emma deflects, the familiar prickle of sweat at the base of her spine appearing at the very mention of the topic. She's almost gotten used to it, after a year of Henry's questions and a couple of month's of Neal asking the same things. But from Regina the question is a skewer: straight to the heart of everything Emma has carefully not been saying.
"You started this by showing up drunk and ready to off yourself in my kitchen," Regina reminds her. "Shallow waters are quite far behind us now."
"I don't think I want to talk about it," Emma says, stumbling over the words. "It's personal, you know?"
"I do," Regina agrees. "Confirming once again that while we're happy to bare our skin, perhaps it was a mistake to think we might bare our souls, too."
"Hey, that's not fair," Emma challenges, draining her glass and signaling for a refill. "Nobody said anything about all that... emotional stuff. I mean, what next? You're gonna try and make me into some kind of true love?"
Regina stiffens at that, almost choking on the baby plum tomato she just speared and popped into her mouth.
"What a delightful offer," she remarks. "Thank the Gods I've already had mine. For which you, in case you were wondering, would be no substitute."
"Nice," Emma sasses, and if it stings a little, well: that's just the cost of doing business. She'd rather be around bitchy, unfeeling Regina than the smothering kindness of everyone else. "You know, instead of wasting time on lunch, I could be getting back to the station."
"Still so childish," Regina sighs. "The reason I've persisted with this... thing is that you at least seemed up for the challenge. Are you really going to run off crying every time it gets a little snippy?"
"Do you see me running?"
"Well, it is what you do best. I assume you're only ever a few minutes from hitting the road. Still, I'm going to the washroom. I expect you'll be gone when I get back?" Regina stands, not waiting for an answer.
Emma slams her cutlery down on the table, and yanks the stupid napkin from her lap to throw it down right on the plate. Damn straight she's going to be gone before Regina gets back. She's going right back to that insane mansion on the hill and she's going to take every last possession from it, before telling Kathryn she will be keeping the apartment after all.
That's absolutely the plan, except it takes a moment to dig out a few bills and throw those down on the table. The universe hates her, Emma's sure of it, because her excellent sense of timing has her walking past the ladies' room just as Regina is on her way out.
It's the smirk that does it. The condescending quirk of lips that says 'I told you so', which are Emma's four least-favorite words, right after 'The stick says positive' and 'finds the defendant guilty'.
"But the check-" Regina has the presence of mind to blurt as Emma lunges at her. It only takes a shove and a sharp jerk of Regina's arm to have her facing the wall, pinned in position like any other perp Emma's chased down. She pulls Regina's arm up behind her back, and although there's a risk she'll lash out like a wild animal caught in a trap, Emma's fairly sure she can keep Regina under control for now.
"Unhand me," Regina bites out the words, and she's all Queen in that moment, dark and dangerous and maybe a little unhinged. "After all, Sheriff," she tries next, all honey and light. "I was planning on having you for dessert."
Emma has to tip her hat to the survival instinct at work there, wondering for a sickening second if this is how Regina also managed the grandfather Emma never met; the man Regina killed for making her his wife.
"Two choices," Emma grunts, pushing Regina harder against the wall, maybe hard enough to bruise one perfect cheekbone. "You come quietly now, and do as you're told. Or I march you back through the restaurant and let everyone think you've been misbehaving again. How long before Henry hears, do you think?"
"You wouldn't," Regina gasps, but Emma yanks the chain of the cuffs in emphasis. "I thought this nonsense would stop now that we're living together..."
"Oh, Regina," Emma sighs. "Where's the fun in that?"
Every option is open to her on this cool and sunny afternoon, but Emma ignores the turning for Regina's house-for home-or the apartment whose keys are still on her keychain.
"Where are you taking me?" Regina demands. Emma hasn't bound her in any way, but she's put Regina in the back where she can't open the doors from the inside, at least not by conventional methods.
"You and I need to have another little talk," Emma reminds her. "And I think it's better if we do that away from any distractions, don't you?" There's a half-bottle of Jack on the passenger seat, and Emma grips the steering wheel a little harder to stop herself taking a swig as she navigates the twisting road out of Storybrooke. "Remind me, what happens to you when you cross the town line?"
"I die?" Regina ventures, but she's too turned on by Emma roughing her up at the restaurant to lie convincingly.
"No, you don't," Emma sighs. "Just for that, I'm putting some of my music on."
"Is it far, at least?" Regina asks.
"Not really," Emma admits. "But you might as well get comfortable."
Regina kicks off her heels with a weary sigh, and roots around in her purse for one of the paperbacks she seems to carry with her everywhere. Emma cranks up Nirvana until the frame of the car vibrates, and floors the gas pedal again.
The sight of the roadside diner makes Emma's breath catch in her throat all over again, and she slows the car just in time to pull into one of the empty parking spots.
"Out," she barks at Regina, who frowns as she slips her shoes back on and rearranges her purse. "Now!" Emma presses, stepping out and surveying the gray skies above them. No rain, yet, and with every passing second Emma realizes she has no idea what in the hell she's doing. They could be back in Regina's oversized, overly comfortable bed right now, instead of a few hundred yards from the place that Emma first entered this world.
It feels so much more plausible, now that she's heard the story from her parents and Marco, instead of spineless, lying August. Emma won't voice the thought, but she can't be the only one to suspect that even a fresh start as a kid isn't going to save August from himself. Maybe people can't change, but starting over without any kind of real consequences doesn't exactly seem like the learning curve that Emma's been on for the past couple of decades. Does someone have that planned for her, when this all finally calms down? Will that creepy nun-fairy wave a wand and turn Emma back into a crying baby, this time not shoved in a wardrobe, or abandoned by a puppet, or sold down the river by Rumpelstiltskin's son?
Emma wonders what that kind of person might turn out to be, and hugs herself protectively at the thought of being erased so easily. For all she's lived through, for all the days and nights she wishes were physical things in order for her to burn them down to ash, she can't imagine giving up now.
But maybe, but maybe...
Wouldn't it be nice to not feel this emptiness in her chest all the time? Wouldn't it be great to wake up in the morning without another pounding headache and a craving for things much stronger than coffee or OJ? To remember only days when loving parents cared for her and read her stories, instead of the brutes who taught her to steal for them and only told her stories that they wanted her to learn and repeat for the well-meaning social workers that let Emma stay as a meal ticket?
There's only one person who might feel the same as Emma about all this, and she's stamping her feet on the worn tarmac on the other side of the car.
"Regina?" Emma asks, already regretting it. "If someone could do a spell on you right now, send you back to being a baby... would you let them?"
"It wouldn't change anything," Regina says after an endless moment. "My mother would still have been without her heart. Rumpel would still have me earmarked to cast his curse; he would still find ways to break me, to get me to a dark enough place."
"Right," Emma nods. "I can see that."
"You want that?" Regina asks in return. "That's cowardly, even for you."
"I didn't say I wanted that," Emma snaps. "But with everything that happened to August, well... I wondered. You can't say you've never wondered about a fresh start."
"I had mine," Regina reminds her. "They're not all they're cracked up to be. Now, are we here for yet more greasy food? Because Granny's would have been a lot quicker, and at least I know she cleans the place occasionally."
"We're not here for food," Emma tells her, turning towards the woods and the small gap that signals the beginnings of a rough path. "This way."
Regina curses up a storm at having to pick her way through the muddy ground in three-inch heels, but Emma is short on both sympathy and patience.
"So," Emma announces. "This is it."
Regina turns in a slow circle, taking in the barren clearing, populated only by a few trees, some pathetic shrubs and the odd piece of litter that careless hikers have left behind.
"You'd better be about to perform some magic," Regina warns. "Because right now all I see is some scrubland."
"This is where they sent me," Emma says, pausing to take a lengthy swallow from her bottle. "This tree. August showed me and I laughed in his face."
"Really?" Regina actually looks intrigued. "That damn fairy always was an amateur. A simple warding spell would have made sure you were dropped somewhere safe, like near a hospital."
"Yeah, she found more than one way to screw me over," Emma says, kicking at the dirt. "You want some?" She asks, out of some dormant sense of politeness. Regina shakes her head.
"One of us is going to need to be sober enough to drive back," Regina replies. "And you were over the limit even before you opened that."
"Then why get in the car with me?" Emma demands, stepping into Regina's space and catching her off-guard for once. It takes no more than a gentle push to have Regina backing up against the tree. "I'm beginning to think you like the danger." Emma pats her holstered gun to make the point, and she's satisfied to see Regina swallow hard at the sight.
"Do you remember it?" Regina whispers, looking down at her feet, at the earth where Emma first met this world.
"Nah," Emma says, all cavalier. "I was only just born, remember? I didn't know that Mary Margaret was supposed to... anyway. That would have made you even more pissed, right? If the one person you wanted to curse escaped it?"
"Probably," Regina admits. "Although I'm not sure there was anywhere angrier to go, then."
"How hurt do you have to be," Emma wonders aloud. "To do something like that, I mean?"
Regina glares at her, bottom lip protruding slightly as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her trenchcoat. Emma stares a moment in wonder, wondering how someone who's lived so long can still be so young.
"Getting revenge felt good?" Emma presses. "I mean, even after the curse broke. My parents sent away a princess and all they got back was me."
"What do you mean?" Regina asks.
"Well, look at me, Regina," Emma says. "I ain't no princess, that's for damn sure. How do you think Mary Margaret felt when she remembered who I really was, on top of all the crappy stuff I told her about my life here?"
"I imagine it broke her heart," Regina answers, and she gets the smirk under control just before Emma has to slap it away. "It would break mine, if you took Henry away and then twenty years later I found out he'd had a terrible life."
"I know," Emma admits.
"Of course you do," Regina says, reverting to that monotone she seems to reserve for her deepest hurt. "After all, it's why you stayed. You gave up your freedom, your ignorance, your sense that you did the right thing... all to protect Henry from me."
Emma takes another pull from the bottle. She isn't restraining Regina in any way, and she could walk away if she wants.
"You weren't that bad," Emma tells her. "I mean, you know that. I still don't really know why I stayed."
"For the same noble reason you gave him up, no doubt," Regina suggests.
"Not gonna let it drop, are you?" Emma complains. "Fine. I'll tell you."
She steps away then, sitting down heavily on a fallen log. For this she needs a little distance, and a lot more to drink. Her jeans scratch against the rough bark and Emma digs the heels of her boots into the soft earth as she considers how much of herself to give up this time. It's all she's done, since the curse broke. Give and compromise, sacrifice and change. Pretending all along that she's just a fairytale character, too.
"You want to know how crappy my life was back then?" Emma asks. "I was relieved when I worked out I'd give birth just before my sentence was up. I was relieved… because at least in prison the state would pay for me to actually get the medical care I needed. I wouldn't have been able to do that outside. Henry would have been born in some bus station washroom, probably."
"What a wonderful image," Regina says, but it's not as vicious as it might be. "I wondered why you served the full term on a first offense, when Sidney got the records. Is it because-"
"Yeah," Emma cuts her off. "I was a good girl, at first. Until the guard pulled me aside one day and told me I was up for early release. I, uh, panicked."
"You were up for parole?" Regina muses. "You sound more and more like a Johnny Cash song."
"Funny," Emma deadpans. "Anyway, I couldn't let them turn me out of there, not when I was only seven months gone. So I stabbed a girl in our work detail."
"You stabbed someone?" Regina asks, unable to hide her shock.
"In the hand. With a really blunt screwdriver," Emma admits, wincing at the thought. "Honestly, it was more one big bruise than anything. But it got me down to serve out my whole time, and so Henry was born in a hospital."
"You had no option?" Regina pushes again. "Surely since you were due out so soon, there was a discussion..."
"I didn't want him," Emma admits, finally. "Not just because I wanted him to have great stuff, although I did. But I'd spent my whole life broke, unwanted and living in crappy places. Seeing this baby just hit home that I'd be tying myself down to at least eighteen more years of that."
"You wanted better for yourself, too," Regina rephrases for her.
"I had a hard life," Emma says. "I didn't want it to be even harder, just because I got knocked up by some asshole who ran out on me. And I didn't want to become like my worst foster mothers, treating a kid like an unwanted pet somebody dumped on them."
"And you beat yourself up about that?"
"All the time," Emma admits. "I should have wanted him enough, right? To make it work."
"I'm glad you didn't," Regina says in an unusually small voice, and it feels like the most honest thing that's ever happened between them.
"So, now you know," Emma says, draining the last of the bottle and regretting it when she attempts standing.
"Keys," Regina demands.
"Get 'em yourself," Emma dares her. They're wedged pretty painfully against her hipbone right now, in the impossibly tight pocket of her jeans.
"Oh, for God's sake," Regina huffs, snatching at Emma's jacket and pulling her close. "Is this really what I've taken on? An overgrown child with no impulse control and no-"
Emma shuts her up with a kiss, because just like most other days, she's already had it up to here with Regina's bitchy remarks.
This wasn't the plan, this sudden grabbing at each other, using a hollowed out tree for leverage as they fumble with zippers and buttons like their fingers have forgotten how to work, but Emma doesn't care.
It doesn't matter that there's half a chance some hikers will stumble across them, or that they're not really that far from the road, and this isn't the kind of woodland that a person can really hide in. Emma, softened by the wine and whisky, is trembling with the need to touch. She wants soft skin beneath her hands that remain rough, no matter how much handcream Mary Margaret offers her. She wants to trace old scars, find new blemishes, and make that light olive skin blanch and redden as she squeezes and slaps.
"So," Emma mutters, pulling Regina against her, with a twist to make Regina face the tree instead of her. "You might want to grab on to something."
"So sure of yourself," Regina challenges, but she slips a hand behind Emma's neck anyway.
"Nuh uh," Emma corrects. "I plan on bending you over and..."
Regina snorts at the idea, but a moment later she's leaning forward, placing her palms flat on the tree trunk, sweater already pushed up by Emma's questing hands, and the skirt she'd worn to lunch little more than a broad belt around her waist. Emma's jeans are undone and her shirt is already dumped in the dirt and leaves, mostly protected by her leather jacket. The weather is about as pleasant as it gets in Maine - bright and just warm enough to make Emma feel like she's just been skinny-dipping in a lake.
"You've been on edge since I slammed you in the restaurant, haven't you?" Emma asks. Regina shakes her head, because defiance just comes naturally to her.
"Before," Regina admits. "Why do you think I wasted a lunch like that on your unrefined palate?"
"So it was a booty call," Emma states, not expecting any argument now. She smacks Regina's ass to express the beginnings of her displeasure. "You think you can use me."
"Just like you're using me," Regina groans through gritted teeth as a few more smacks rain down. She wriggles as soon as Emma stops, already seeking more. "You only moved in because you want to do whatever you want without being nagged."
"Isn't that what everyone wants?" Emma asks, yanking Regina's whisper of a thong down over her thighs. An experimental slip of one fingertip confirms Regina is already soaked. "Except you, because clearly all you want right now is me."
"You always flatter yourself," Regina accuses. "Not bad for someone whose self-confidence crumbles at one pointed remark."
Emma digs her short nails into each of Regina's thighs then, and rakes upwards for the howl of pain and satisfaction she was hoping for.
"Seem like I'm crumbling to you?" Emma asks, but she's in motion again before waiting for an answer. Running her fingers over the wetness between Regina's thighs, she builds the pressure of each stroke until her fingers are resting on Regina's clit, already hard and straining for Emma's touch.
"You don't deserve what I'm about to give you," Emma tells her, before starting to rub in the hard, fast circles that Regina can't seem to brace herself against. It doesn't take more than a few minutes, Emma never relenting and Regina gasping her way to her first climax with the occasional annoyed curse word thrown in for good measure.
Not Emma allows for anything like recovery time. Regina's still twitching, her knees bent and her shoulders slumped, only held up by her grip on the tree and Emma's hand on her hip. At this rate, Emma's going to be holding her up all by herself, and she sinks to her knees now that Regina is too buzzed to think of it as submission.
Taking a firm grip of Regina's ass, Emma pushes her towards the tree, pleased when Regina does have the presence of mind to brace. That's enough for Emma to start licking in earnest, spreading the increased wetness around with the tip and then the flat of her tongue, lashing one moment and softly massaging the next. The constant changing keeps pushing surprised sobs from Regina's throat, and Emma recognizes that as yet another thing she could get addicted to, or the causing it at least.
She stops, when Regina is teetering on the edge (and on the edge of falling), waiting a long moment before replacing her tongue with three fingers, and the satisfied moan from Regina says that's exactly what she needed. Thrusting hard, Emma slips her right hand beneath her own panties, keeping pace with Regina as Emma rubs her own clit, and somewhere in the noise of them both climaxing there are words Emma doesn't believe she's hearing.
"Well," she gasps, as Regina falls back onto her. They're a mess already, and it's going to take more than a regular wash to get this much dirt out of denim. "I might not be worth loving, Regina. But I'm sure as hell worth fucking, right?"
Regina rolls off her then, and grabs Emma by the hair. It's so needlessly desperate that Emma is stunned into silence.
"I didn't say that," Regina growls. "I didn't say you weren't worth loving. That's the worst... I would never say that."
"You'll imply it a whole fucking lot," Emma reminds her, finding her voice again. "You damn sure seem to get off on making me feel that way."
"I'm the one who's not capable of loving again," Regina spits. "Me. The damage is mine. That has nothing to do with your worthiness. Other than the fact that seeking out someone so broken means you might not be capable either."
"I'm not," Emma states, quite seriously.
"Well, then," Regina says. "Why don't we get back to that surprisingly spacious Sheriff's car, and stick to what we are capable of?"
"Now you're talking."
The drive back must actually be boring without Emma's company, and Regina seems to get irritated every time she checks the rear view mirror to make sure Emma is still breathing. Of course, Emma could tell her she's wide awake now and sit up front to make small talk, but frankly she's not in the mood. Something about a bunch of orgasms, all that drinking and a sneaky few pills from Regina's purse has left her content to flop out on the backseat; let Regina do the work for once.
A few months ago no one would have thought twice about the Mayor driving the Sheriff's car, but Emma's glad of the onrushing twilight and the relatively empty streets as Regina navigates her way home through Storybrooke. This way nobody's going to see Emma in the backseat and start a kidnapping rumor, anyway.
Parking outside her own house isn't exactly discreet, but Regina is apparently beyond caring. Emma thinks this must be what the old Evil Queen was like, all 'fuck you' before anyone even asked. Emma would be lying if she didn't say the idea turns her on all over again, but her body protests the fresh surge of arousal.
That, Emma assumes, is why Regina shakes out a little handful of pills before the less-than-easy task of yanking Emma out of the backseat. Either Regina expects the moving to hurt, or she's trying to tamp down the magic urge again; but still Emma's the only one with a problem, apparently.
In shuffling steps, Regina drags Emma up the path and into the safety of the foyer and Emma does actually try to help despite the fact that her legs really don't want to. Regina lets Emma slump to the floor with a drunken mumble as she gets ready to take her upstairs, and Emma tries to ask why Regina isn't just using magic.
It's just as well she doesn't, in the end, because a moment later Henry comes running through the front door, catching up to them a few steps up and offering what little strength his boyish frame has to get Emma to the guest room she's taken over.
"You let her get this way?" Henry says, when Emma is vaguely comfortable on her bed and he's retreated to the hall alongside Regina. They must assume she's a lost cause for the night, because neither bothers to close the door, so Emma can hear every word.
"Miss Swan is a grown adult," Regina reminds him. "I don't let her do anything." Her back muscles are trying their hardest to spasm, but the Vicodin is doing its job at last. "She'll be fine, Henry. I wouldn't let her stay here if she was any risk to you."
"She's not fine!" Henry explodes, his face reddening again. "And you trying to explain that you're teaming up as 'co-parents' was a load of crap, too. Emma told me you're together."
"I know she did," Regina says, and Emma doesn't need x-ray vision to know exactly which frown accompanies it. She shuffles a little, yanking her shirt off and pulling the comforter over her. She smells like dirt and there are probably, maybe some leaves in her hair, but Regina clearly wasn't doing that much damage control with Henry there to witness. "I wanted to tell you... nicer. In a better way."
"Well, that must mean you care about her," Henry carries on, and Emma's own nose wrinkles at the thought. She just hopes Regina has a better poker face.
"I want her to be okay, for you," Regina insists. "You've told me many times that you need Emma in your life. I'm trying to give you what you want."
"Then help her," Henry pleads. "I don't like this, and it's scary, Mom. Why is she so sad if she got her family back? She got me back, and now she has you. She shouldn't be so sad."
Well, that succeeds in making Emma feel like total crap.
"Henry," Regina says firmly, and Emma hears the creak of the floorboards as Regina kneels. "I'm going to tell you something I've learned, and I hope you never have to find out for yourself, okay? Sometimes life does things to us that we can't get over with a new comic book and a shower. You're a smart boy, and I love that about you. I love that so much..."
"Mom?"
"Emma needs us to help her in the way she decides," Regina resumes. "Forcing her to do things for other people only makes it worse. She doesn't need the pressure of giving everyone else their happy ending. So I want you to think about that, in that smart brain of yours, and give Emma some time."
"You're sure?" Henry asks, because a little part of the kid has to be remembering the lies and the stories about the Evil Queen. But what the kid doesn't realize is that even if it is a scam, all the good guys fall for one. Thinking about that stops Emma having to wonder about the kindness in Regina's words, or the fact that for the first time in Emma's life, someone actually understands.
"I'm sure," Regina says. "Now, you're supposed to be with Baelfire tonight. Why did you come home?"
"Oh, I need my waders for the morning," Henry says. "Dad went to the store, so he'll pick me up on the way back."
"Then let's get your waders, and we'll have a cookie and some milk while we wait for him, okay?" Regina suggests, and Emma's glad that Henry doesn't fob her off with a lame excuse this time. Maybe Emma being in such a state is making Regina look better, even if the kid hasn't noticed that Regina's every bit as tired as Emma is.
Emma's eyes are slipping closed at last, sleep finally too seductive to resist, but she hears Henry's parting shot just fine.
"Hey Mom?"
"Yes Henry?"
"How come there are twigs stuck to your sweater?"
As ever, your reviews are a frosty glass of Diet Coke after a day in the desert. Sorry this took longer, the last four chapters took some serious re-jigging. But here we are in the final stretch, I hope you're all ready for the last three chapters and The Ending (but can it be a happy one?)