A/N: I'm so sorry, I just absolutely spaced on uploading the rest of this fic here, so I'm doing it all at once before this happens again :P
Everything happened at once.
Snow jerked away, pressing at her palm. The wraith swooped forward, and a bright white-blue light appeared. Regina gasped as the wraith pulledsomething from her, something that made her choke and gasp and her body jerk helplessly. Henry woke up, shouting. The wind whipped around them, leaving Emma's skin cold and chapped.
Everything happened at the same time, and yet Emma was frozen, motionless in her bed.
"Ma!" Henry shouted, his voice cracking with the effort, as the wraith swooped lower. Regina gasped, leaning forward as the wraith moved its attention to Snow, the same bright light appearing between them.
She scrambled for her sword, slipping out from the blankets and finding Clarent where Snow must have left it beside their supplies. "Hey!" she shouted, her voice course with fear and surprise, and the wraith broke from Snow.
Turning, it looked at her with beady read eyes, and flung it's long hand out, clipping her shoulder. Her skin stung from the action, but it did nothing more than push her back a foot.
Pulling the sword up higher, she swung at the trailing body until it growled and flew a few feet away.
"Henry," Regina said urgently, holding her left arm out from her body as she helped the boy get to his feet with her right hand. "You need to run, get away from it," she ordered. Henry's eyes were wide in fear, but when Regina spoke low, asking, "Do you understand?" he nodded furiously.
In a second he was scrambling away from the tent, walking backwards away towards a series of trees by the stream.
Snow stood, running over to grab her bow and arrows as Regina stood on Emma's right, firing fireballs as the wraith swooped down again, getting closer.
"Snow?" Emma shouted, swinging the sword above her as she tried to impale the creature.
"Just a second," she said steadily, as she pulled an arrow from the quiver. She was standing on the side of the campsite by the stream, ten feet from where Emma and Regina were holding back the wraith.
"Emma, aim," Regina demanded, stepping to the side as she shot a fireball straight up, causing the wraith to jerk quickly to its right. And, directly into the line of Emma's sword. The blade sliced through the fabric of the wraith's cloak, and there was a sickly growl as it swooped quickly to the left, its body getting dangerously close to where Snow stood.
"Snow!" Emma shouted, and she watched, horrified, as the creature got closer and closer to her, unable to do anything to stop it.
"I'll get it," Henry shouted, running back to the pile of supplies. He held Emma's forgotten sword—Charming's—in his hand, the blade much too long for his growing body, as he charged toward the low-swooping wraith.
"Henry!" Both Emma and Regina shouted. Henry swung the sword sloppily, and the wraith dove away from Snow, only to focus its attention on him.
Regina stood in her spot almost frozen, as she gaped. Emma felt panic well up in her chest as she looked over at Regina quickly. "Magic," she breathed, snapping Regina's attention back, and she reached for her hand with her own.
"No," Regina breathed, just as Emma slid her right palm against her left. "Emma," she said, he face open in terror.
Emma's palm was on fire. Literally, her flesh was burning. She glanced down at their joined hands, gritting her teeth in agony as it felt like she was being branded, her healthy skin being torn away.
Henry's shouts drew their attention quickly, as Snow shot arrows at its chest, missing as it expertly dodged the threat. Emma turned to look at Regina, ignoring the pain of her hand and begging, "Help me," before she looked over toward Henry.
Lifting her hand, Regina shut her eyes in concentration. Emma raised her own free hand, watching as Regina's eyes flew open, and she threw a heavy flame toward the wraith, the fire burning blue and hitting the creature square in the chest.
Suddenly, something started to ripple beneath Emma's skin starting at her hand, and a small wave went out from her chest. Her ears began to ring and she dropped Regina's hand, doubling over in pain as her head swam.
She was seeing things. Memories. She could feel them coming back, slotting themselves neatly in with the fake ones like shuffling cards, and a similar sound echoed in her head.
Emma could hear screaming around her, could feel the wind move and smell cloth burning. Pressing her hands to her head she started to stand, and tried to look, tried to remember what was real right now.
The wraith. That was real. Memories of the wraith in the town hall, of portals and magic and helping Regina stand rushed past her as she tried to focus on the one that was not a memory. The one that was swooping low, much too low right towards her son.
Its cloak was burning, blue flames covering its body as it pressed long fingers against its hood, shrieking in agony. Regina continued to throw fireballs, screaming as it neared Henry, and Snow held her bow up, shooting straight until the arrow landed in its cavernous chest.
The wraith flung its hands out at its sides, swooping low and twisting before it flew away, high up into the sky.
Emma looked back at Regina, her face stricken in grief and horror, and Emma had to lean back against a tree as more memories slotted into the deck.
"Henry," she heard Snow gasp. Snow—Mary Margaret, her roommate, her mother—and she staggered over toward them. "Henry," a sob escaped her lips, and Emma gritted her teeth against the pain as she watched Regina fall to her knees.
"No," she murmured, "no, no, no, no, no, no," the words dissolved into a sob as Emma saw him. Henry—her son, Regina's son—lay on his back on the ground, face pale in the blue moonlight, and face serene.
A gash—as it had given to Hook—stretched across his chest, his shirt spread with blood.
"Henry?" Her throat started to close, her air got thin, and sobs began rapidly rising in her chest. "Henry, Henry," she murmured, dropping down on the other side of her son.
Regina's hands flew over his chest, over his heart, where his skin was torn. Gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut she begged, sobbing, as she splayed bare hands over his body, blood running between her fingers.
"Emma," she breathed, desperate, and reached out, pulling Emma's hands to cover hers, but nothing happened. Henry's blood was warm, sticky like molasses and Emma's face paled further at the feeling, the knowledge that his life was literally slipping through her fingers.
"Focus!" Regina screamed, eyes wild, and Emma did, she focused, with every bit of her being, on willing her son to not be—
"Please," Emma begged.
But there was nothing. Regina's fingers gripped at the fabric of his shirt, desperately, curling her fingers between Emma's and squeezing tightly. Emma couldn't think, couldn't process anything more than the texture of her son's blood and the strong grip on her hand that kept her fingers from trembling.
Regina leaned forward, her legs splaying awkwardly around her as she pulled her son toward her, and leaned down, pressing her forehead against his own. "Henry," she whispered against his temple, and pressed a small kiss there, hugging him closer as a sob tore through her.
A small ripple went over around them, the too-still air seeming to come alive, as Henry began to shift beneath them. "Mom?"
Regina's head shot up, immediately followed by Emma's. Henry's eyes were open, blinking slowly, and as he tried to sit up their hands fell from his chest, revealing nothing but smooth skin beneath the tattered fabric.
"Henry," she breathed out, and he reached for her arm, pressing his fingers tight against her shirt.
"Mom," he said, eyes wide in realization as he looked her over, really seeing her. Emma fell back on her heels as Henry sprung forward, his arms wrapping tightly around his mother's shoulders as he pressed his head against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said against her shirt.
Regina shook her head, not saying anything, tears falling silently as she stroked a hand over her baby boy's hair.
Emma took a deep breath, her chest much too tight as she stumbled to her feet. "Emma?" Snow asked in concern, looking from Henry quickly. "Are you hurt?"
Waving her off, Emma closed her eyes, and shook her head. "No, I—"
"She remembers, too," Henry said, pulling back from Regina's embrace. "Don't you, ma?"
The name—familiar and suddenly unearned—flooded back to her, and she gaped, her throat dry. "I need some air," she murmured, and nearly ran from the campsite.
Trees passed by her quickly but she couldn't stop. It was too much. Her heart was pounding, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.
Henry was her son, but not like she thought. Not like she'd known, and it hurt. It hurt so deeply, because in an instant she felt the pain of giving him up, of living without him for ten years, all at once.
In an instant, she'd lost ten years of happiness, and gained thirty years of pain.
Finally slowing, Emma leaned back against a tree, her shoulders scraping hard against the bark as she sunk down to the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest. Thirty years of pain. Not simply two; she wasn't only seeing, feeling, remembering things from her time in Storybrooke. There was more: the worst of the abusive homes, the most devastating memories of jail, the deepest doubts about herself.
It had all been hazy, suppressed. Emma hadn't been searching for her parents in her false memories because the need had been tempered. She had ten years of restful nights because the ugliest of her demons had been quelled. When Regina had given her a happy life with Henry, she had soothed some of her scars in the process.
The memories had slotted themselves in all at once, but nothing was orderly, no clear definition between then and now and too many bits overlapped sloppily. There was what she had known as a child about her parents, what she had learned in Storybrooke, and what she had been told by Snow.
Snow. Her mother. Not the friend she had claimed to be as she'd given her bits of the truth, wrapped up neatly in a selfless bow. It felt sour, now, how she'd taken her words as something close to impartial. With her memories back, Emma knew it wasn't the first time they'd talked about it; how Snow and David had sent her away, sent her to Maine because they were supposed to. Because the world needed her more than her parents.
It was messy, now. Complicated. She couldn't blame them anymore, not knowing the whole story, but that didn't mean her anger and sense of injustice went away. It was the same reason she had shot Snow down, every time she'd tried to broach the subject in Storybrooke. Because despite what Snow wanted to believe, despite the logical reasons it was the right thing to do, it all came back to the same thing: they had put the needs of the kingdom above her own.
A sob caught in her throat as she thought it, guilt hot in her stomach. Because that's what made them leaders, after all. What made them heroes. And it was wrong, selfish to be upset about an action they'd done to help others.
The thing was, Emma never wanted heroes. She wanted parents. Family. Safety and comfort and love.
All the things she'd had with Henry, back in New York. The very thing that they'd given her, by letting her go again. This time it had been selfless. It had been for her, and her son. And they'd done it without hesitation. Just as Regina had.
Regina.
Emma's heart pounded faster, her mind racing as more memories shuffled, tried to reconcile themselves; the cold mayor and the loving mother, the violent sorceress and the animal-lover. The woman that confessed the wrongdoings she could have buried, and the Queen that had drove Snow from her own castle.
The vision that had danced with her, laughing all the while. The person that had given her eleven years worth of happy memories, and a year of ignorant bliss.
It didn't fit, not with the stories, not with the truth they'd all made her believe. But if Emma was being honest, it fit with moments, with the smallest details of the bigger picture and the silences that spoke volumes.
Emma banged her head against the tree behind her, letting her head fall forward as she concentrated on taking slow breaths. This was crazy, waxing poetic about a woman she could barely tolerate on the best days.
Except, she had kind of more than tolerated her on this trip. In fact, she had kind of been enjoying it: the flirtation, the sharing, the connecting.
Emma's face flushed as she remembered her assumptions of the situation. The way she had taken every clue—completely innocent in context—and twisted them into something romantic. It was absurd, she realized that now. That either of them could ever, ever have been something more than…whatever it was they had been.
Only, Emma wasn't so sure she wanted it to be absurd.
Her connection to Regina had been misinterpreted, but it had still existed. Had still grown over the past few days. Regina had shared with her, had revealed truths about herself that she would never have done under normal circumstances. She'd not only trusted her with some personal secrets, but she had trusted her to listen. Something Emma hadn't truly appreciated the magnitude until this moment, as she sat recovered with her full schema of who Regina Mills was.
But the question was, had it been a trust born of friendship? Of shared circumstance and of empathy? Or was it something different, something that—though frightening—made her heart beat faster and her stomach flutter?
Groaning in frustration, Emma ran her fingers through her hair, only to hiss in pain. Jerking her palm away from her face, she winced at the sight: her skin was burnt, red and peeling in an identical mark to the one Regina's palm bore.
She had been marked. Just like Regina. Just like Snow.
Emma ran her fingers gently over the skin, afraid to touch the wound, and found herself unable to regret the action. She had done it to save her son. And she had.
They had; she and Regina. Their intentions had been pure; an act of true love, shared for their child.
A child that was almost certainly trying to slot away his own eleven years of falseness, of conflicting scenes inside his head. Guilt sat heavy in her gut as she remembered how she had left the camp so suddenly, after barely making sure he was fine.
Twelve years of being a good parent, of knowing how to put her child first and compartmentalize her own issues, gone in an instant. She was herself again; the ex-con orphan, unfit to raise a child.
Her talk with Snow came rushing back, the way she'd acted high and mighty, having made the "right" decision for her son by keeping him.
What a joke.
She was just as bad as she'd claimed Snow and David to be, too scared to do what she thought was truly best for her son, and even more afraid to admit it, hiding behind claims of selflessness.
Emma sat there for a while—for a long while—ruminating on it all. Tears pricked at her eyes periodically, but she sniffled, wiping at her lashes before they fell. Finally, she pushed up from the ground, her body heavy, and began walking back to the camp.
The fire was going again, she could see the light flickering as she neared, and a shadow sat on the log in front of it. As Emma neared, she found herself relieved and anxious as she made out the details: short hair, small frame, rigid back.
Regina.
Emma felt her heart stutter, and she licked her lips rapidly. As Regina leaned forward, and Emma got closer, she could see her face, illuminated by the glow of the fire. She looked as she had hours ago: black hair, hard jaw, full lips, dark eyes. Beautiful.
But there was something about her, now, something bittersweet; where the attraction she felt to Regina had been uncomplicated and alluring, now it was fuller, richer—robust and addictive. There was weight to the feelings she had, complicated but fascinating.
Taking a step forward, Emma's bare foot cracked a twig, the snap echoing around the small clearing. Regina's face snapped up, her palm at the ready to conjure. Her face opened when Emma stepped into the light, and her arm lowered to her side. "Emma," she breathed, in terror and excitement, anticipation and relief.
Clenching her jaw, Emma looked around the camp. "Where's Henry?" her voice low, scratchy.
"He's asleep. And he's fine. Snow is with him," she assured, shifting on the hard ground. Her feet were still bare, Emma saw. She cleared her throat, ducking her head. "You were gone for over an hour," she murmured, much too soft for the woman Emma had known for two years and three life-altering days.
"I had a lot to think about, Regina," she said, a little accusatory, as she walked closer to the fire, the heat now making her palm sting.
She stopped in front of Regina, a foot away, and looked down at her, scant inches taller in their bare-footed states.
Regina licked her lips, her eyes shifting uncomfortably, and Emma reached out, her fingers encircling Regina's wrist, limp against her hip. "Emma," she hedged, "about the things I told you—"
Emma tugged at her wrist, breathing shallowly as their bodies pressed flush against each other. Regina's mouth parted, her eyes wide, and Emma's eyes fluttered closed as she dipped down and pressed her lips desperately against Regina's own.
Her mouth parted in a small gasp and Emma's free hand slid past her waist to clutch at her back, fingers dipping into the small valley as she breathed her in. She tasted warm and slightly bitter, and Emma couldn't get enough, her tongue brushing against Regina's bottom lip in reverence.
She kissed her like it was everything; touched her like she would fade away.
Regina responded almost instantly, tasting Emma as she invited her in, and bringing her hand to clutch almost painfully at Emma's neck, fingers weaving into her wavy hair.
Emma's grip on Regina's wrist loosened, her fingers sliding up her arm to rest on her collarbone hotly. The non-stop shuffling of her brain had damped, the noise softer, now a pleasant buzzing as she pulled back from Regina to breathe.
"Emma," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut even as Emma's own slid open. She pulled back, her tongue searching her own lips for the last traces of Regina, as the thoughts—too-complicated, too-heavy—began to assault her.
She wasn't ready, didn't want this. All she wanted was Regina's mouth beneath her own and so as Regina's long lashes fluttered open, Emma pulled her back, quickly walking her toward a tree a few feet away and pressing her back against it.
Regina looked at her with dark eyes, her lips almost curved into a smile, and Emma fell against her again, putting both hands on her hips as if to steady her as she traced every inch of Regina's mouth. She kissed back urgently, sliding her hands up Emma's arms, moaning as Emma stepped impossibly closer, her thigh shifting between Regina's own.
Emma felt her hips begin to shift faintly as Emma moved her hands up to cradle Regina's face, fingers splaying out over the curve of her neck as Emma tipped her head back slightly. Her thumbs caressed the smooth line of her jaw as she sighed, satisfied.
One thought began to break through the radio silence of her mind, getting louder and louder as they shifted together: this is Regina.
Regina.
She was kissing Regina, holding her and touching her and wanting more. She pulled back, breathing heavily as she processed the thought, the way it made her feel somehow both hot and cold. Her fingers fell from Regina's skin as she took a full step back, and Regina's eyes slid open, brow furrowing slightly as she saw the torn expression on Emma's face.
They said nothing for a long moment, breathing together as their chests heaved from what they'd done, what they could have done.
Emma stepped back, toward the campfire, and Regina followed, sitting down beside Emma on the log silently. Her presence was comfort and pressure, and Emma looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "Regina," she started, "I—"
This was important. Regina was watching her, expression unreadable. She was everything in that moment: stoic but searching, lit by the glow of the fire, but face marred by shadow. She was moonlight confessions and untempered passion. She was Regina, the woman she had grown to call an ally in Storybrooke, and grown to call a friend here.
"I hope that was OK," she said softly, breathing through her nose, and the tension in Regina's shoulders eased, her head fell forward a bit and her hair fell around her in a curtain that Emma desperately wanted to pull back.
She was getting used to being privy to her, and she was certain that no matter how confusing it made everything, she didn't want to stop.
"It was," Regina answered simply. And looked up, resting her hands demurely in her lap. Emma eyed her, face still looking ahead, and she saw the small smile that had graced her, gone. She licked her lips and Emma felt heat dance up her spine, the memory of her mouth still fresh in her mind. "I told you things—confided in you—and I need you to know that I shouldn't have."
Emma's face burned a bit with rejection. "Oh."
Regina continued on. "It was…selfish of me, to use you like a friend, and," she lowered her voice. "I'm sorry."
"Oh," Emma repeated, lighter. "That's—" Regina looked over at her, features tinted with worry. "I think we were sort of getting there anyway, weren't we?"
Her face softened, her smile returning, and Emma knew she could kiss her again, in that moment, and mean it, fully. But her action had been hasty, the longer she thought, the more issues that rose.
Things were tentatively fine between them; most of the past hurt had been soothed by their allegiance in Neverland, and the gift she had given Emma the day of the second curse. But there were still fragments of their past that lingered, things they needed to sort out if things were going to be truly mended between them.
Things that could wait until another day. "Regina," Emma started, shifting a bit on the log to face her. "I get that you told me some stuff that you probably wouldn't have. And I'll forget it, if that's what you want." Regina nodded slowly. "But you should know that I'm glad, you know. That you told me."
She nodded again, her chest moving with the pressure of the exhale, and tilted her own body toward Emma.
It was a start.
Emma gave a small smile—her mind too much of a mess to muster anything bigger but still sincere—and slid her hands forward on her thighs, wincing at the burn, and she lifted her hand up quickly.
"Is it still burning?" Regina asked, tentatively. Emma nodded as she flipped her wrist to examine the wounded flesh. Soft fingertips traced the unmarred skin, and Emma looked up to watch Regina's face as she examined her. "The first is the worst," she murmured, and Emma shifted in her seat, the contact making her antsy, a little breathless.
"I'm so sorry, Emma," she said in a low voice, slow, an Emma felt a hot tear fall onto her finger. "For this, for Henr—" she broke off, her hand trembling as she relived it: their son unmoving, dead. Trying to protect her.
"Hey," Emma said, tugging her hand back and resting her hand firmly on Regina's shoulder. "He's OK. Regina, he's fine, right?" She nodded, eyes watery and lost as Emma tugged her closer, trying to snap her out of it. "Isn't that the important thing?" she asked, lifting one corner of her mouth into a smile as she tried to lighten the moment, throwing Regina's own words back at her.
Regina looked over her shoulder to the tent, where they could just make out the peaceful form of their sleeping son, cuddled in beside his grandmother. "But—"
Emma scooted forward, putting her arms awkwardly around Regina and pulling her close for a hug. She was stiff at first, as awkward as Emma, neither of them huggers. Finally, her body relaxed, and she brought her arms up, around Emma, and pressed their temples together.
"I almost lost him again, Emma," she said, broken. Emma pulled her closer. "We could have lost him."
The moment was intimate, more intimate than their kiss, their touches. It was the most bare she had even been with Emma, her deepest fear voiced in a whisper against her ear.
"We didn't, Regina," she started to pull back, but she clung to her, fingers curled desperately over Emma's shoulder blades. After a moment, she tried again, and Regina's hands fell, letting her go. She looked so vulnerable, soft, not a trace of the Evil Queen in her at this moment, and Emma reached out and tucked her slightly mussed hair away from her face, revealing her.
"You won't again," Emma promised, letting her hand drop to the makeshift seat between them. Regina turned to look at the tent again, longingly, and Emma asked, "Why aren't you with him now?"
"I had to keep watch. It was foolish, not to have," she said bitterly. "This wouldn't have happened—"
"You don't know that."
"—if I hadn't been unprepared." Emma saw the resolve in her face, and nodded, not fighting her for the moment.
"Go sleep for a while. I'll stay up." Regina looked hesitant. "I'm marked now, too, right? I can tell when its coming, and I'll wake you. I promise," she added, and Regina licked her lips.
"Alright." She reached down to the ground, and picked up her discarded gloves. "You'll need this," she handed over the right one, slipping the left onto her own hand. "You must not take it off around Henry. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Emma said, defensively. "I'm pretty sure I do," she held up her marked skin. Regina paled, and she regretted it instantly. But that's how they were: smooth sides until they hit a sharp edge. Still, Emma shook her head, trying to soothe the slight as Regina stood. "Hey," she said, "thank you."
Regina smiled softly, and they were back to smooth sides. "Good night, Emma," she murmured, and walked past, setting her bare hand on Emma's shoulder as she did, her fingertips gliding across her back as she left.
A heavy shiver raced over Emma's spine as she watched Regina duck beneath the tent, hesitating only a moment before she settled down close to her son.
Slipping the soft leather onto her hand, Emma flexed her fingers, and got used to the feel of the protective fabric. Holding it up toward the light, inches from her face, she could smell small traces of the darkly sweet scent that clung to Regina. Her skin flushed as she remembered the feel of her, the way she had moaned and sighed and welcomed her so easily.
It had been nice. Very nice. And as addictive as she'd always known it would be, in the brief moments she'd let herself imagine such things back in Storybrooke.
They'd made a lot of progress since those first days, and though she seemed to regret it, Regina's actions here in this world had laid the foundation for more. She had confided in Emma, shared with her, and trusted her. Something Emma knew she hadn't done much of herself.
The thought lingered as she stood, and walked over to their supplies to grab Clarent, returning to the fire with the protective blade.
They were halfway through their mission—just one blade left to find—and then they would return to Merlin, who said he could send them home. She wanted to leave, certainly, but now it was different. Home had meant Manhattan, Henry. Now it she couldn't help but think of Storybrooke, of her parents and Regina and a town that—while they seemed to expect her to solve all of their problems—was oddly charming.
Home certainly wasn't the Enchanted Forest—no place that hosted Ogre Wars could be—but if the others didn't want to leave, could she see it as such? Was her family—family she had wanted since she knew to want—enough to make her stay? She liked to think it would be, but her time in Manhattan, with her son had felt so real, so perfect. The thought of losing that, that perfect sense of comfort and warmth, was enough to make her doubt.
The fire was burning low when Emma heard a tentative voice ask, "How are you doing?"
Snow's voice grated, it was too loving, too understanding, and Emma needed more time to figure out how she was feeling toward the woman right now. "You mean since I'm marked for dead like the rest of you? Or because I almost lost my son? Or, I don't know, because you've been lying to me for three days?"
Emma was surprised at the venom in her own voice, but now that it was out there, she couldn't ignore it: she was hurting. She felt betrayed, and a little used by the woman that sat down beside her.
"All of it, I guess," Snow said, calmly, and her damn regal cool left her even more anxious.
"Why didn't you just tell me you were my mother?" Snow started to speak, but Emma held up her gloved hand. "Better yet, why did you make me talk about…it?"
"Us sending you away, you mean?"
"I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to go there, back in Storybrooke," Emma bit out.
"That's exactly why I had to, Emma!" she looked at her pleadingly. "It's come up now and then, but we haven't really talked about it, ever." Standing up straight, Snow said, "I gave you up. And you're mad at me. And I don't want this to just silently eat at our relationship until you slip away from me! I'm done losing you, Emma. And when we have another baby—"
Emma's heart stopped. "You're pregnant?"
"No," Snow said, quickly. "But your father and I had been trying." The conversation settled a bit as Emma tried to process the hurt that flared anew. She'd done this, been here with them before but it didn't hurt any less.
"Emma," she said, "I'm sorry, that you think I lied to you about your parents. But I didn't, not about why we did it." She reached out, exhaled a smile when Emma let her take her hands. "My first thought, when I realized I'd have to send you through alone, was that you would be able to grow into a strong, beautiful woman. And that one day, I would be lucky enough to meet you.
"And I was right," her chin wobbled as she began to cry. "I was lucky, so very lucky, because I got to see the amazing person you became on your own. I got to see you in a way most parents never do: purely for the woman you are, and not for the girl you had been."
Emma felt tears gather in her own eyes, and blinking, she gritted her teeth. "I'm not saying it's perfect, or what I would have wanted, Emma. You saw your nursery. You saw how I wanted to help you grow into someone incredible.
"But instead I got to meet you, got to know you without expectation. And you would have exceeded every one." A hot tear fell, lingering on Emma's jaw as she pulled her hands back from Snow.
"That's not fair," she said with difficulty. "You can't just say that, and think it erases the fact that you sent me away. Just because you think it turned out fine—that I turned out fine—doesn't make it OK, or true. You gave me up," she said, plainly.
Snow licked her lips of the tears that had gathered there, and she nodded, slowly. "I gave you up."
"And I will never be able to move past that completely." Emma's heart sank at the admission, at the very thing she never wanted to address with anyone—not even herself. Because it meant something deep, something impenetrable about herself, but it also made her think of Henry. Of the way he smiled at her and hugged her and laughed with her—as she did with her parents—and made her address the way she could never stop wondering if he felt the same.
"I know," Snow said, patiently. "And you don't have to. If that's how you feel, it's OK. That's part of being a parent, as you know." She looked over to the tent, and Emma saw the briefest moment of clarity on her face before she looked back. "Trusting that what you did was right, even if your child thinks it wasn't."
Emma reached across slowly, and took Snow's hand in hers. "I want to forgive you. I swear I do. I want to accept that you need to have a baby because you never got to be a mother, not like you had planned." She breathed out. "But I just can't. I can't, not right now. Maybe not ever. But I really am trying," she murmured, "mom."
Fresh tears fell over Snow's round cheeks, and she reached out, cupped Emma's face sweetly. "You don't owe me anything, Emma. But it means the world to me that you'll try." Emma nodded, their conversation weighing heavily on her, and suddenly her body felt tired, as her mind finally started to settle.
"Why don't you get some rest, Emma. I'll stay up, keep watch." Emma hedged, and Snow gestured to the bow over by their supplies. "I'm pretty good with a bow, remember?" she joked lightly, and Emma smiled, despite herself.
Emma stood, starting to walk back to the tent, when Snow's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist lightly. "I'm really glad to have you back, Emma. I know it's probably much busier up there," she gestured to Emma's head, "But I'm glad you're back."
Nodding, Emma said, "Yeah, I am, too." Snow dropped her wrist and she turned, made her way to the bedding, where Regina lay on her back, Henry tucked against her left side by the edge of the tent, his head on her shoulder. Smiling fondly, Emma's eyes flicked over to Regina, her head tilted toward his, a small smile on her lips as she rested her cheek against his forehead.
Emma hesitated only a moment before slipping beneath the covers beside Regina, and scooted to the bottom of the bag, bare feet warming as she settled. She slid her left arm behind her head, her right resting on the ground between their bodies, as she watched them, peaceful and together.
There was jealousy and doubt that prickled at her—loudly, even—but she tried to hang on to the memories of New York—real and fake—and shared secrets and cocoa in Storybrooke. He began to shift, his legs kicking out a bit, and Emma felt a pang as she realized she was too far away to soothe him, to rub his back and make him settle.
"He's got the legs of a kangaroo," Regina murmured, sleepily, and Emma watched as she did what Emma couldn't, picking up the reins as she stroked his back lovingly.
"Yeah, he does," Emma breathed, comforted in the shared responsibility, and tried not to gasp when she felt Regina's bare fingers brush her own. Regina opened her eyes briefly, her mouth turned up in a lazy smile as Emma pressed her hand closer, interlaced their fingers and scooted scant inches closer.
"Good night, Emma," she murmured, and Emma nodded, her body relaxing into sleep.
"Good night, Regina."