Emma sits on the couch, picking at a lose string poking out from the toe of her sock. She listens to David and Mary Margaret's hushed voices in the kitchen, her stomach a little uneasy. She coughs, reminding them of her presence.
Their voices pause, and she listens to their footsteps approach her. She doesn't look up, however, instead keeping her attention on her socks, watching how the brown and grey threads weave together, creating a tight knit.
"You have something to tell me?" she dares a glance up. Mary Margaret's face is visibly anxious, though David's calm expression counteracts hers, attempting to put both women at ease.
"Yes, um, darling," Mary Margaret begins, and Emma cringes just a little, Mary Margaret's effort to fall into the role of her mother always just a little unsettling. "We just want to tell you now, ourselves, before you might hear it from someone else….we thought it would only be fair to you, to try to break the news as—"
Her rambling is unbearable, and she lets out a sigh of relief as David interrupts her. "We're having a baby, Emma." David's voice is clear and collected, with only a tiny hint of pride as he wraps his arms around Mary Margaret's slumped shoulder, giving her cardigan-clad arm a gentle squeeze.
"Oh."
It's a shitty reaction, Emma realizes immediately, but the simple phrase feels like a punch in the gut. She wishes it didn't. She tells herself it doesn't matter, that it doesn't change a thing. But as she watches her parents – her mother's eyes brimmed with tears instead of the customary joy, her father's strong embrace of support, she feels her stomach churn with an ugly knot. She's an intruder in this small pocket of happiness they have finally been able to recreate for themselves. She knows she's loved, but it's out of place, so long overdue that she doesn't know how to embrace it. She looks down to Mary Margaret's belly, imagining the tiny infant inside her womb, already having a place. Emma doesn't belong in this snapshot.
She doesn't belong anywhere at all.
She filled her role as the savior, but it was a fleeting role, one that has been deemed useless. At twenty-nine years old, she's a useless asset. She's done what she was born to do, fulfilled her greatest accomplishment, leaving her with nothing.
"That's great," she finally squeaks out, pasting a fake smile on her face, an expression she's mastered. "I'm really happy for you guys."
It works, because she notices Mary Margaret's face visibly relax, her lips quivering with relief. David presses a small kiss to her temple, his lips grinning against her skin.
She waits, in suffocating silence, until they are both sleeping soundly before she leaves.
XXX
She doesn't smoke.
Not really, but it's a habit she picked up from Neal that she caves to from time to time. It calms her, gives her something to do with her hands, the repetitive motion of taking drag after drag offering her a dull, soothing sensation.
The nicotine laces lazily through her body as she brings the joint up to her lips, exhaling the warm cloud of smoke into the chilly night air. She focuses on each motion, the taste of the cigarette on her lips, the chilly prickling of the air biting at her ears. If she thinks about all these things, she doesn't have time to let any other thoughts wander into her mind. She gazes out at the ruins of Henry's castle, her ass growing numb as she keeps it planted against the hood of her car, her boots propped up against the front bumper.
She doesn't cry.
But she wants to.
XXX
"Henry told me."
"'Course he did," Emma spits, slamming her coffee mug against the table. "Now why don't you just get the fuck out of here and let me be. Because I'm this close," she pinches her thumb and pointer finger together, "to upping myself and leaving this town in the dust. And I don't need to see you around to gloat in your victory."
"He's worried about you."
Emma jerks her head up, Regina's response rendering her speechless. "And you're here to pretend you care?"
"If it concerns Henry, then I make it my business to care," Regina speaks carefully, trying to mask the irritation seeping into her voice.
"Well, fuck off," Emma hisses back, leaning back into her chair, jamming the heel of her shoe into the floor. "I'm fine. It's just another damn kid. It's not like it's gonna change anything. It's not like I'm ever filled that role anyway." Her voice cracks over the last word.
Regina swallows, though she doesn't say anything for a moment. "My apologies," she finally mutters.
"I don't need your sympathy," Emma glowers back at her, her heart clenching too tightly to gage if Regina's words are sincere or not. Regardless, they sting her, threatening to break through the ugly anger that's been welling in her. "I don't need it, not from anyone. I was fine before I got here, and I'll sure as hell be fine now."
"Hatred, Miss Swan," Regina reminds her, pulling her lips into a thin, crimson line, "is how I ended up the way I did. Just something for you to mull over."
A/N: Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! I know Emma is getting kind of dark and twisty, but as some of you stated, this role reversal is kind of driving her to resort to acting the way Regina did as she deals with all this unresolved hurt - an idea I find most intriguing. Please continue to let me know what you think :)