Sorry for the wait...

Chapter; Of Mirrors and Storybooks.

'I…'

Regina wiped away the tears that remained on her cheeks and stared, for a moment, in horror at the stains she had left on Emma's tanktop.

'I am terribly sorry…'

That soft and (she might as well admit it) true statement made the blonde frown and Regina saw the question appear on her features even before it was spoken.

What for?

Because the answer to that question was one she had avoided for so long.

When she had seen her mother crush Daniel's heart… Ever since the moment the feeling had washed over her as she cried in her pillow over losing him, she had tried to store it away, tried to direct it at others, tried to lash out.

The guilt.

For she knew he lost his life for one reason only.

Because she loved him.

And the pain of that had just been too much.

It had cut her, clawed at her, broken her. And the pieces out of which she had tried to build a person again were ragged and pointy and didn't fit. And now, now she was falling apart once more.

In Emma Swan's arms, no less.

Emma, the Sheriff, the savior… Who seemed to be everywhere. In her backyard, in her son's life, in her nightmares. But also in fires, against angry mobs or wraiths. When it mattered the Sheriff was there.

Always…

Saving her despite all that she had done.

It was an accident, catching their image in the mirror and when her eyes met their reflection, she knew what would happen before she could control it.

The shattering glass made Emma jump, and surprisingly (or maybe not so, the savior indeed) she felt the arms around her once more as they crouched down, the pieces of mirror raining down on them. Or, more accurately, on Emma's back.

'Jezus Ffing Christ, Regina…'

'Mom?'

The knock on the door caught them both by surprise, and Emma pulled away from her as if burned, leaving her cold and hurt and broken once more.

Her voice is broken as well, hoarse as if unused for weeks.

'Your son is looking for you, Miss Swan.'

'Mom?!'

They hear the desperation in his voice now, and their heads snap up in unison, their eyes meeting the way they had when the hospital had called them to tell them Henry was dying. The familiarity, the sharing of the fears of parenthood that Regina had had to miss for 10 years, came flooding back instantly.

Wordless communication was enough for Emma to rush through the door and pull it open, the scattered fragments of glass crushing under the soles of her boots. Reina wants to wave her hand, use the magic that has been building up inside of her, oozing off of Emma Swan, savior extraordinaire. But she promised Henry she wouldn't.

The loss of him, the ache of hearing him call another person 'Mom' is a dull throbbing in her chest, constantly present even in sleep. She hadn't rested much lately, the catnaps in Henry's room with his tear-soaked pillow clutched to her chest the only sleep she had allowed herself to succumb to.

Opening the door of the hall closet to get the broom she would need to sweep up the remains of the mess, she couldn't help but wish that was what she could do with her life. Swallowing away newly forming tears she tried to focus on the manual labor, anything but let her eyes drift to the happy reunion of son and birthmother even though they must have seen each other earlier that day.

'Mom!?'

The small arms that found her waist fit in the oddest way, restoring a small piece of the destruction that was her soul. The head crashed against her abdomen knocked the wind out of her temporarily, and her hand, on its own accord, moved to hover above the untidy brown locks of her son, so eager to make the contact, so fearful that the moment she would, this would all disappear.

His voice was muffled as he asked the question, and she retracts her lingering hand immediately.

'Did you do magic?'

It shouldn't be surprising, the smell of it, sweet apples mixed with something foreign she can only determine as cinnamon, still lingers in its surprisingly soothing combination.

She felt her muscles contract, the knowledge that, with her answer, she will lose this gift, the son in her arms, once more. But she didn't even consider lying, she just pleaded, her voice still hoarse and tainted with a sadness she had not intended for the boy to hear.

'I… I think I did, Henry. But I didn't mean to, I swear.'

He didn't pull back his head, instead he snuggled closed against her and her hand now, shaking, found the top of his head.

She felt it then, the pull of them, and when she looked up she saw the emerald eyes glimmer with something she could only describe as tenderness.

The wordless communication was back again, stronger now, and she handed over the broom to the smiling blonde, leading her son away from the destruction of the hallway, his face still hiding in the silk of her blouse as she heard the sweeping sound behind her.

She wanted so much to crouch down, to take the boy she loved so much into her arms, to cup his cheeks in her hands and kiss his forehead, but he just kept on clinging to her, tightly, as they awkwardly made their way to the living room. They just kept on standing there, in the embrace she had craved for so long, and it was not until she felt the warm hand on her shoulder that she realized the time that must have passed.

She told herself she want coil away from the touch, but, bodily betrayal be damned, she sank into it immediately. And then, Henry finally looked up.

'Henry!'

Their voices overlapped as they both uttered their shock by the means of their son's name. His lip was split, a bruise forming on his right temple, a crooked smile, the perfect mix between shame and pride breaking through.

'What happened?'

She heard herself demand it, but it didn't sound as harsh as it once had, the breathlessness as her fingertips hovered over his injuries.

'I got into a fight…'

The words came out reluctantly and he steals a glance at his adoptive mother before looking at his shoes again.

It laid on the tip of her tongue, the reprimand, even though a comment about violence not solving anything was probably an oddity coming from the woman once (and probably still) known as the Evil Queen. But before she could even truly contemplate the words forming themselves in her mind, Emma's voice drifted towards them.

'Was it something worth fighting for, champ?'

His grin widened then as his eyes lit up and he glanced at her with something she had, for a moment, trouble to grasp. Maybe it was because no one had looked at her like that since… Since she couldn't even remember.

It was pride, glittering in his eyes, shining through in his voice.

'They said my mom was the Evil Queen, but I…'

She didn't hear the rest of the sentence as the world became a blur, the edges of her vision blackening, sounds reaching her only as if she is under water. It was not the redness she was used to, the flame of anger she had learned, so long ago, to use, to hold onto. The hatred she had let guide her all these years. No, this was heavy and almost gentle in its suffocation. The tear that fell from her eye left a mark on her cheek she could feel, like a cold trail. Her rasping breath hurt, as if every molecule of oxygen protested to enter her lungs.

Her son got hurt because of her.

Again.

And right then and there.

The blackness won.

'Mom!'

'Mom!'

'Regina…'

It was tender and warm, and accompanied by the strangest little tickling sensation over her temporal bone. Her eyes snapped open to find the lingering fingertips stroking away a lock of dark hair before the green comes into view.

'Woa, easy there.'

The velocity in which she had gotten up to the sitting position indeed might have been a little too much of a good thing. The dizziness that waved through her made her cling onto the arm that had been outstretched to her. She felt her fingers tingle at the contact with the strong forearm, the bright green eyes burning their way through her as if they could see to her very soul.

'Why don't you get your mom a glass of water, kid?'

Henry hurried off to do just that, and the words echoed through her. 'Your mom.' She felt it tug up the corners of her lips.

The hand, the palm, soft against her cheek, made her gasp and she could actually feel the turmoil of emotions, of desires for conflicting reactions cross her face.

The urge to pull back was so innate she actually felt herself submit to it before blinking, slowly.

She had once told Henry she didn't know how to love very well, but suddenly, as she felt herself give in to the sensation of Emma's hand, she allowed herself to doubt if that was the case. Maybe it was the being loved part that she was having problems with…

And maybe, just maybe, if she would let go of all these walls, all this pieces she was trying so hard to keep together, maybe things would finally start to fall into place. She was so tired of fighting.

All.

The.

Time.

The escaped locks were once again pushed behind her ear, and for a moment Regina allowed herself to be cared for, to be caressed, to be…

Well, some things were better left unsaid. And unthought.

'Here, mom!'

'Thank you, dear.'

The glass shook as she took it from him, but the hand that had only moments before been on her cheek caught it, enveloping her fingers in the process, making her shiver.

'Not too fast…'

She trembled even more when she realized what Emma was doing. No one had ever actually helped her drink a beverage before and she found the different sensations utterly… confusing. The blonde's fingers grazed the back of her neck, while her other hand kept supporting the glass. Some collected condensation formed a drop that stickled towards Regina's wrist. She was pulled against the softness of the other woman's breasts for support, feeling them rise and fall with every breathe…

She blushed as she felt her pulse quicken.

Maybe confusing hadn't been the right word…

Maybe arousing was.

Oh dear gods.

What was she doing? Her son was hurt and here she was thinking of… inappropriate activities… with Miss Emma Swan…

She felt the red on her cheeks burn deeper.

'Miss… Emma? There is a first aid kid in the…'

'Don't worry, mom, I'll get it…'

And he dartled off again, like a young puppydog unable to sit still. It reminded her so much of the time when he had lived with her that it ached in her chest.

'Regina? How are you holding up in there?'

It was as if the turquoise cut through her, the small smile adorning Emma's lips making her feel like the other woman knew exacty what she had just been thinking.

'Miss…'

Swan!

They died in her throat, the words, the shield of protection she had automatically wanted to erect around her.

'You can't do it, can you?'

She only looks into the caring eyes, drowning in them, struggling to say something, ANYTHING, to make this pain go away. To at least hide it from those seeing, seeing eyes.

She knew it was true the moment it passed the blonde's lips.

'You can't say it.'

The word fell from her lips then, when the sentence didn't sound victorious or harsh, but only observant. And Regina saw she was understood.

'Emma…'

Earlier that week:

Snow looked at her grandson's twinkling eyes and smiled. There was so much of Emma in him. The glitter of childlike naughtiness, the observant glances, the curiosity. But there was a freedom in the boy that his mother lacked, a confidence and open, freely given kindness she had seen in another woman many years ago.

It shouldn't be strange that Henry reminded her of this person, the brunette who had always had a special place in Snow's heart. But it confused her, it confused her to see parts of the Regina she had thought to be disappeared in this beautiful child she cared for so much. Of course, there were the impeccable table manners and the way he could put his thoughts into words in a way that was far beyond his years that felt like it was all his adoptive mother, but this innate goodness that was inside of him, no matter how much Snow wanted to believe it was Charming shining through, she knew it was Regina.

Those dark eyes that haunted her dreams as they twinkled in happy introduction after making sure she wasn't hurt by the bolting horse. The plea in them to understand, the explanation of true love, the begging not to tell Cora, to please not tell Cora.

She always woke up from her nightmare at the moment the secret spilled her lips. Her heart pounding with the guilt of knowledge… For it was her, her actions, that had made the beautiful innocent girl into an Evil Queen. And, no matter how she tried to rationalize it, she couldn't deny it.

So when her grandson pleaded, his smile so eager and full of trust, so familiar, Snow felt her heart wrench and doubted there was anything she wouldn't do for him.

'Please, Grams?

'Alright, what is it you need?'

He pulled the storybook out of his ever-present backpack and smiled at her brightly when he began to explain.

TBC

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