AN: Well, this chapter is a roller coaster of emotions. I spent a long time babying it, for better or worse, so I hope you guys like it. A little warning, we're jumping into a Snow/David sex scene right off the bat. :)


David grips my thighs as I straddle his waist, both of us naked in bed, and taking advantage of the rare opportunity that we have the apartment to ourselves. My open hands press against his chest and hold him down as my hips roll against his, pulling him in deeper inside me. A steady pressure is building in my stomach, with my eyes closed and my mind thinking of Regina. I don't even try not to anymore. I think of just a few days ago and how it was her and I in this bed, pinning me down and claiming me in this space she has no right to. She did anyway, reckless and brave with those dark eyes that only come out for me. They only want me. She gave no care as to my status or my husband, and how dangerous it was to come into my home. She wanted me more. I washed the sheets afterwards, wracked with guilt and fear, but I still smelled her when I laid down that night. And in the morning when David left for the day, I stayed in bed and came against my fingers, thinking of her. She should've just killed me before she left the apartment, and I would've preferred that.

I hear David moan under me, and I imagine its Regina's voice, imagining her in his place. Or even me, as she straddles my hips, grinding down, head thrown back in pleasure as she uses me. My hands grip tighter at his chest, and my hips move faster, angling just right with every thrust to cause the coiled heat in my lower stomach to shoot out through my body like electricity. Regina—Regina coming undone above me—because of me—her fingers rubbing tight circles against her clit, and I follow suit of my fantasy, one hand moving between my legs as the other braces my weight against David.

"I'm close." I whisper, and despite me pressing down on him, he pushes up to a sitting position, feeling warm and strong arms wrap around my back, his hips moving fluidly with mine.

"Look at me." He orders softly, and I resist the urge to cringe, because my eyes have been closed since he first touched me tonight, and it was with purpose but not one he was supposed to notice. "Stay with me…" His urging is laced with heavy breathing and pain, and it breaks my heart apart. My eyes open and I kiss him gently.

"I'm here." I whisper, then he kisses me with more passion than I feel, and I try to keep hold of the feeling as his eyes look into mine, I try to shift my thoughts to him, all images of Regina replaced with his handsome and chiseled features. It doesn't work though, and I end up faking it, right before he finishes.

And he kisses me because he doesn't know. He never does.


I'm fine. Everything's perfectly okay, Emma and Henry come back home from a late dinner and I'm warm and safe in his arms, while he sleeps next to me. My prince Charming. Just as it should be. All the okay's and wonderful's just build up and up, until I'm choking on the perfection. On the predictability of it.

And I need to see her.

And it's sad and pathetic, because I needed him just a few hours earlier, needed him because she's not answering her phone, and now we're in that stage of the cycle again. She does whatever it is she does to forget me for a little while, and so I do what I do so that I can bare it. But it doesn't work this time. It hurts more, it builds up faster, a frightening speed, and my mind drifts back to the my youth at the castle, and the time I wore that red dress—

No. This is what started it to begin with. Her coming into my home—my space—and forcing me to lose myself to my memories of her. Those few good one's that hit me harder than every bad memory combined, and it's absolutely not fair. I'm better not thinking of it at all. I'm better not thinking of her, and just to be done altogether. The missed calls I already left on her phone is embarrassing enough, so I won't degrade myself any more than I already have. I still have a semblance of my pride, I suppose.

With a slight eye roll, I'm shifting out of David's arms and pulling myself out of bed to get dressed. I throw on a pair of thin jogging pants and a button up blouse. It's the middle of the night, but I don't care. I need to see her.

I decide to walk, because I hope it clears my head, but all it does is leave me with a chill by the time I make it to her back door. Regina leaves it unlocked now, no matter the time of day, because she'll never do something as weak as give me a key, but she made some off handed comment one time, how there's no need to be so polite, because not many people were strong enough to go against the former Queen, and those who were, wouldn't be stopped by a door. There's no hesitation when I walk into the entrance of her kitchen, already spotting lights on inside.

Once I finally spot her, it's in her living room. Every cabinet and drawer of every shelf is throw open, some thrown on the ground. My eyes are wide as they scan the destruction of just this room, papers skewed along the floor, some in the fireplace along with other charred objects that I can't make out. Every shelf and mantle surface is empty, and her back is to me, facing the weak flame of the fire. She's wearing a pant suit that I'm she hasn't bothered changing out of, the day's wear causing the outfit to look slightly disheveled.

"What the hell happened here?" I ask, a panic lining my voice as I take a few steps toward her, but she doesn't turn towards me, or really react in any way.

"I lost something." Is all that's given as a response, but at least it sounds annoyed and slightly angry, taking on it's signature tone towards me. All snippy and bothered by my existence, and I gently roll my eyes.

"What, your mind?"

"For quite some time now." Regina replies to the banter, and I notice she's holding something, but I can't see what it is.

"What are you looking for?" I ask quietly, wondering if her quip means that she's calm and sane, and really was just tearing apart her house for the sake of spring cleaning. There's no such luck of that, because once that question hits her ears, she tosses what was in her hand into the fire, none too gently, and I flinch slightly when I hear glass breaking.

"Not you." She turns quickly towards me, a smile on her face and a darkness over her features. I realize she's been drinking, and I regret coming over here immediately. Her drinking is my least favorite part of the times when we're together, and it happens more often than not, ever since the curse broke. It's been taking its toll on her, just like it has with everyone, and just like everyone, we all hide it in our own ways. When Regina's drinking though, she's unpredictable, she's distant, and maybe it's selfish to want her full attention on me, but sometimes it's better that way. "Yet here we are, always finding each other, aren't we?" Regina goes on to say, with a sarcastic tone, stalking over to me.

There's a darkness she has that I don't, one that has nothing to do with titles and tyranny. It's enticing, that darkness that surrounds her, like a shadow whispering pleasure and sin, and I fall into it every time, but the cost is high. She's at her worst like this.

Once she's in front of me, Regina raises a hand to grip the back of my neck, pulling me into her for a hard kiss. I keep up with her pace through my desperation, because even drunk, even this is enough to make me fall apart at the seams. I just need her so badly. When our mouths break away, I'm already begging and she's already shushing me, her finger on my lips to silence me.

"Tell me why you're here." She always likes it when I talk, and if I don't, she will. The way she is tonight, I don't think I'll like anything she has to say.

"I was thinking about you." My head dips forward to catch her lips again, but Regina's teeth nip at them in punishment, her hands gripping firmly at my waist and holding me against her, guiding me, and controlling me, as I sway slightly with her.

"And what were you thinking?" Her tone would almost be playful, if it didn't sound so cruel. I rest my forehead against hers, and I ignore the smell of alcohol on her breath.

"I was thinking about you…on top of me," I whisper, watching her closed eyes. "Using me…" With a shift of my head, I catch her ear against my lips, placing a small kiss there, because I can't resist. "Riding my fingers..." A sharp hiss breaks through her teeth as her fingertips tighten and roll against the hip bones, in a gentle pulsing rhythm. I can't help but smile a little at her reaction to me. I can't help but push a little more, my tongue snaking out to trace the shell of her ear; "I love watching you come."

Regina's kissing me again at that, and my hands move up her arms and over her shoulders, arching to meld our bodies together.

"Did you think about that?" She asks, moments later when she breaks away to breath, and my body is on fire for her. I don't care about these games tonight. "Did you think about me coming, while you were fucking him?" She counters with a dangerous calm to her voice, and an absolute certainty that makes me wonder for a moment if she is taking to mirror watching again. And something about my face must show what I'm thinking, because she scoffs, and pulls back from me a little more. "I always know when you've just been with him. Something about the desperation—it feels…" Her hand settles between my thighs quite suddenly, her palm pushing into me and causing my hips to jerk against the movement, a jolt of pleasure throbbing its way through my body. "Different." Regina finishes, but I don't care, because she's right—I am desperate for her, just to give me a little chaotic stability, so I can feel something again—anything again. I lean in to kiss her as a confirmation, and for a moment, I believe she's going to kiss me back, but her head shifts away before our lips touch.

"I suppose you simply want the taste of him out of your mouth." A quiet sigh of frustration constricts on my lungs as she pulls her hand away. "Of all people, I can hardly blame you for that." Regina continues, speaking almost absently, lifting her fingers to the buttons on my blouse, slowly starting to undo them, when her words finally catch on my brain.

"What…" I whisper as my neck twists, pulling back from her. "What's that supposed to mean?" My whisper turns into a real question, one that she doesn't answer, she just moves with me, and continues her work on the buttons, looking down at her hands.

"So the princess didn't get what she wanted from her prince—turned out it isn't all it was said to be." My body stills, looking at her with an increasingly somber expression. I was right to think that I wouldn't like anything she has to say tonight. "You really should have known better, you should never have come here, offering me his sloppy seconds." My blouse is open now, and her movements are meticulous, and her face distracted.

"Regina." My voice is stern enough that it should bring her unfocused glazed stare back with me, but it doesn't. She doesn't even hear it, her nails and fingertips tracing over my collar bone, down the swell of my breasts and over the muscles of my abdomen. I don't know what her fingers are tracing, maybe old marks from years ago, or a knife's path. Whatever it is, she's focused on only that.

She's at her worse like this, unhinged and talking of the darkest parts of our past, because that's the only place her mind is at. It's not here, where she has control and power over herself, where she has Henry and people who care about her. And I know it's the magic doing it, I know well enough to see what dark magic does to a person, how it distorts things, it makes you see the worst in everything. She would be better without it, to gain some footing in her thoughts, but as it stands, I can practically feel the dark magic coming off of her skin. I don't know what she was doing before I came here, but she's saturated in it.

"Is it your own revenge on me, Snow White?" Regina asks, voice dark and thickened with an accent of our old land. I see her physically lose herself in a memory that I know she shouldn't be in. The urge to run out of this house as fast as I can is growing. My lack of reaction—my continuing to study her, only makes her angry, and she grabs my face with one hand, fingers pushing into my cheeks, gripping the underside of my chin. "All those nights I would call for you, after your father would have his way…" Red fills both of our sights and nausea fills my stomach, as my hand grips her wrists roughly the second she says it. "Just for something soft." Her tone is so dismissive and degrading, that I go cold all over.

"Go to hell."

We didn't talk about my father, and there were good reasons for it. So I purposely shove all those reasons, and the trauma attached to it, back into the boxes where they belong. Our memories of him were different, and that was something easy enough to admit, something I had known for quite a long time. And for her to bring him up like this, in such a way, after never speaking of him since his funeral, it makes me feel angry and dirty, cheap in a way that she's never made me feel before, and if that's all she equates it to—what we had—than she can burn for her insanity for all I care. I'll leave and go shower for three days. I'll leave, and we'll be done. Finally.

But still I don't push her away, and the anger fades from her face as it does mine. Regina's grip softens to cup my cheek, but still I don't let go of her wrist.

"Would you have killed him if I asked?"

"Don't." I whisper, closing my eyes tight when I feel them water. I know she's talking about my father. I know exactly what she's talking about.

"Not even for the promise of my body as a reward?" Her voice grows in volume and bitterness, I don't react as my brain tries desperately to compartmentalize all she was giving me, lock it away in boxes and keep it down where it belongs. My silence makes her angry though, because she turns her nails into the back of my neck sharply, and instincts tighten my hand on her. Finally, I feel stable enough to look at her again, opening my eyes. And the hate that I see on her face. "That was all you wanted, was to own me—to claim my heart and mind and body."

"That's not true." I try to defend with a voice that sounds so young to my own ears, because I'm letting her pull me in again, so easily, letting her drag me down with her every time, down into this frustrating chaos, just for the sake of her broken words.

"I won't give you the satisfaction." Regina yells over my words, until suddenly her other hand pushes fingers roughly into her temples, cringing at an apparent pain in her head. I move just slightly, running my hand down her arm, to try to try to give her some comfort that she can never find with me, because she's jerking away violently once she sees the movement, breaking her contact with me completely with a few shaky steps backwards. "It's your fault he's dead." She snaps angry and loud, and for a moment I think she's talking about my father, and a wounded anger starts to rise in me, because I know my fault in this, but I won't claim that. I refuse. Though, my hurt starts to dwindle when I see the tears filling her eyes, and the pain that's so clear on her face.

She's talking about Daniel.

"Regina…" I whisper, trying to reach out to her with the soft tone of her name, trying to break through the distance between her mind and the present. But she reminds me which part of herself I'm dealing with as her hand grabs my throat and pushes me back, and back, until I'm pinned to the wall behind me, darkness shrouding her face like a shadow in this room with us. The sudden act of violence has magic behind it, and fear grips me for a moment because as strong as I am, I don't know if I can break her bind on me.

"I'll kill you for it." She all but screams at me. "For all your betrayals, for all the lives destroyed because of you—" I feel her fingers tighten, and for a moment I think she's going to finally do it, and all I can muster is a prayer that they don't kill her for it. But then the grip loosens and I can breathe a little more. "You stupid girl…" The strength in her tone is fading fast and her eyes follow the trail of a tear falling down my face and settling on her hand at my neck.

"My Queen…" I whisper, her grip not even tight enough to make the words strained, and I raise my hand to trace the knuckles of hers.

"Shut up." Regina snaps with a voice that sounds like she's drowning. Wet along with the mist covering her eyes.

"It's okay…" The hand resting on hers tightens and gently pulls it away from my neck slowly. "Please, just look at me." My voice is calm and collected now, and I see her cringe because she hates it when I talk to her like this. It's the only thing I know how to do though, when she gets like this. The calmer I get, the angrier she gets, but it's an anger I know how to deal with. The anger that comes from dark magic, and the insanity inside the darkest parts of her mind—I dare not tread there.

Let her only be angry at me. It's better that way.

"You'll kill me." I feel the tension in her arm tighten, and I think for a moment that her fingers will go back around my throat.

"I won't."

Regina looks down at our entwined hands, traces her thumb over the knuckles, and I want to watch the intimate act, but I don't because it rings hollow for the situation.

"You do, that's all you do." She whispers, drunk and broken and I feel more tears swell in my eyes. Then her arm drops completely, defeated and exhausted. "That's why you're here."

It's about all I can take, so I take some steps towards her, cupping her cheek with the hand that stopped her from strangling me just moments ago, and I pull her face close to kiss her firmly on her lips.

"I'm yours." The whisper is placed on her lips, and my arms are wrapping around her neck, as I feel her hands timidly encircle my waist. "I'm here, because I'm yours."

Regina's body starts shaking and she buries her head into my neck, so I keep her close, hold her tighter, and hear the quiet words against my skin

"I hate you…"

I'm shushing her, telling her that it's okay, gently begging; "Stay with me."


Eventually we make it to her bed, I'm focused on keeping her away from the broken mess of the living room, and she follows me up the stairs pretty easily, even though she's eerily quiet, and when she does speak, it's not anything that makes much sense. I get her under the covers fully clothed, because she's waving me off when I even try to take her shoes off, mumbling something about her not being an infant. I just roll my eyes lightly as I watch her struggle with her sheets.

"I don't condone sleepovers." Regina says quietly, when she sees me lie down on the bed next to her, half way on my side so that I can be facing her. Her voice sounds so tired, and I know she hasn't been getting much sleep since the curse broke. None of us have.

"I won't stay long."

There's a few long moments when we just watch each other in silence, until her bloodshot eyes narrow and she shakes her head.

"We're not meant to be together." It's said as if a new revelation, but fate has told me this since I was ten years old. "All we do is destroy each other." She finishes, and then again, I think that maybe that was what fate planned all along. We're better apart, but maybe we're not meant to be better, because I'm not strong enough to stop, and neither is she. We're just two destroyed people that are weak for each other. So I give her no denial, or conformation, I only watch her as she watches me, the blinks of her glossed over and distant eyes get heavier.

She won't remember this in the morning, or at least she'll pretend that she doesn't. It's hard to tell sometimes, because she says things to me, certain comments, and it makes me wonder what it is she sees when she remembers how we were.

Memories aren't very clear for her.

After the still settles between us, she whispers;

"You lied to me."

I don't trust my voice to ask what she means, not while her words hold such history to it.

"You said you didn't love me." Regina finishes, just as I feel tears fall down my face. I didn't even realize that they were there, but she could see them. She could see through me better than I could, apparently. I close my eyes tightly as she closes hers gently, and focus on anything else besides this feeling—this terrible ache of an old love for her. It's tearing at my insides, breaking me apart. When I finally look back at her, she's already asleep. And it's such a deceitful beauty, as peaceful and calmed that she looks as she lies there. Compared to the hurt and broken self she was when I came here tonight. Now, there's no hate on her face, and she was vulnerable tonight, more so than she had been in a long time—it has been years since I have seen her walls down so completely, and it feels like she cut me open, like everything was spilling out and pouring in at the same time.

I remember now, what it is that made me fall in love with her. I feel it surfacing just like it never left. Maybe it never did leave.

I roll onto my back, covering my wet face with my hands. I'm still in love with her, and this will not end well.