Notes: this is shameless emotional stuff, and necessary, so more plot later. Huge thanks to Race for all the work she put into editing this, it's special to be able to post something I'm so proud of.
The next time they all returned to the Mayor's mansion was a shock for a completely different reason, and this time, when Regina's feet failed to carry her forward, it was out of awe, not horror.
Once again the mansion stood as pristine and whole as the first day of the Curse. Mal and Emma hadn't taken the time to fix the garden, or the grass, and her perfect home was a spot of order amongst chaos, but it was back, and hers again, painstakingly repaired which Regina knew would have required both of them working extra, ignoring Regina's carefully written repair schedule. Her throat grew thick with emotion and something trembled in her chest as she unlocked the front door and let them all in to the familiar cool interior, the white walls and cream and black accents a world of clean and order after the disaster of the rest of the town and the crowding of the gym. She could breathe here.
Mal and Lily would be in the guest rooms for a few days as Mal hadn't taken the time to repair her own roof yet, and Regina appreciated that they'd be nearby in case they were required. None of them knew what would be the next thing to terrorise their town, but this summoner wouldn't stop, so they needed all the help they could get.
She laid this out, calm and logical, forcing her voice to stay even but it was a struggle, especially when she walked into the kitchen, saw the gleaming surfaces where she'd cooked a thousand meals, where Henry had grown up and she'd kissed Emma. Even the drawings on the fridge - an old report card of Henry's, perfect A's of course - had been restored. That was when her eyes started to sting and it was suddenly hard to breathe around the emotion welling in her chest. She stopped, swallowing it down until Henry, Henry who was far too perceptive because he was her son and Emma's, stepped close and hugged her. Henry held her, one arm around her shoulders, while she held back tears in the kitchen because they could finally eat at home.
The electricity still wasn't working, but the water and the stove were functional. They'd be able to eat breakfast in the morning, and making light was the most basic of spells. The house was liveable.
"It's okay, Mom," he promised, and she wanted to tell him this was happiness, because she was home, with people who cared enough to put that home first. But then he kept talking and she had to laugh, even if it came out a bit choked. "They didn't deviate from your schedule," Henry said, grinning knowingly.
Pulling him close she kissed his temple, a pang at how tall he was pushing at her ribs. "I promise not to scold them too harshly."
Mal scoffed, pretending to be annoyed, but her eyes were gentle where they watched Regina and her son. "We did it off the clock," she insisted, folding her arms over her chest and not looking the least bit sorry. "Don't worry yourself, dear." Though she'd protest otherwise, Mal had been pushing herself further than even her endurance could handle. Her face was paler than usual, and the deep circles under her eyes were a reflection of those under Emma's. No one had slept particularly well in the gymnasium and it was that knowledge that made Regina keep whatever other argument she has behind her teeth. With the four of them almost wholly responsible for repairing and protecting the town from magic, it would be better for all of them to be here.
"Thank you, Mal, Emma," she said softly. Mal's nod was queenly and superior and Regina rolled her eyes just a little. Honestly the woman hadn't changed at all.
"It's a nice house," Lily said, standing next to Mal as she looked around. "See why you missed it." She sounded a little wistful and Regina wanted to reach out and pull her into a hug too, but a glance at Mal told her to wait. They would be okay. They had time.
Henry, with all the wisdom Mal had noted, gave Regina a final squeeze and stepped away, offering to show Lily around and with a quick glance at Regina, who could only nod, Lily accepted, a lopsided smile on her face.
As soon as they were gone ,Emma moved immediately to wrap her arms around Regina's waist, pressing her body against Regina's back and resting her chin on Regina's shoulder. Once it would have galled, made her tense up out of old, defensive habit but now she relaxed into the embrace, Emma's magic thrumming under her skin and warming her. One of her hands carefully found its way to rest low on Regina's stomach now, as if protecting the baby and Regina wondered if Emma even knew what she was doing. Even with Emma relieving her symptoms a little though, her fever was still with her, sapping her strength, which probably had added to Emma and Mal's determination to get her back home. It would be the greatest gift to have her own bed tonight, and Emma's arms around her.
Mal smirked at them both, something proud and fond on her face. Regina couldn't even muster a glare at the arrogance of the woman. She was too touched by how hard Mal had worked to return her - to bring them all - home.
"We need to tell him," Regina sighed, staring after their son while her chest ached. "He should know."
"You need to rest," Mal countered, the fond look replaced by a scowl and her tone brooking no argument. "Your news will wait until morning."
Regina opened her mouth to argue, only to be silenced by a soft press of lips to her neck. "She's right Regina. We're not keeping secrets from him. It's okay. Let Henry show Lily around and we can sit down."
Narrowing her eyes, Regina turned in Emma's arms. She recognised the tactic and she was fully prepared to tell Emma she was fine...except that she had not counted on the effectiveness of Emma's pout. She looked so much like Henry in that moment, something in the line of her mouth and the way her eyes widened just enough. Regina had been helpless in the face of that pout for almost fourteen years she apparently didn't have any more resistance just because it came from her son's mother and not Henry himself. "That's cheating," she muttered even as she let herself be led into the living room, stopping only by the door to discard her boots (the lowest heeled ones she had, because Emma had had shown up with them at the gym and she should have guessed then that Emma was up to something).
Still it was a relief to curl up on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. When Emma came to sit beside her with a blanket, she didn't pull away, noticing for the first time a chill in the house.
Emma gently drew the blanket over her shoulders then slipped in next to her, wrapping her arms around Regina and gently pulling her close in a way that Regina absolutely refused to call snuggling. Had she been so cold all day or was it just now that she had time to notice? Regina hadn't really thought much about how she felt, because there had been so much that needed to be done and it was easier to ignore her body than give in.
Mal, incongruous in her tailored suit with bare feet, went to the liquor cabinet, dug around until she found a bottle in the far back that she liked, then poured herself a drink. Glass in hand, she settled on the other sofa and the way she settled, even adopting her usual insolent sprawl, told Regina the dragon was more tired than she let on.
"I'm not the only one who needs to rest," she shot back with a pointed look at Mal. The blonde woman raised her drink in mocking salute but her expression was open and weary.
"We all do," was all she said, voice low and heavy and all three women knew Mal wasn't just talking about going to bed early tonight.
The silence that descended after Mal's words was weighted and Emma's hold tightened briefly. Regina wanted to tell her it would be fine, but four years of history in this town kept the words behind her teeth.
"I don't know whom your little town has run afoul of, but they're tenacious," Mal said, and the irritation in her tone was comforting.
Emma muttered her agreement, and she and Mal started trying to theorise who would have the power to summon up the creatures they'd been contending with. For once, Regina listened to them half-heartedly, giving little attention to what they said and instead just letting their voices wash over her. Even exhausted, Emma's stubborn optimism and Mal's dry wit were familiar, comforting as an old, worn blanket. They bickered lazily and it wasn't long before conversation shifted from the now, to the past. Mal slipped easily into old stories about the other villains she'd known. Some of them Regina knew well, Mal had loved to talk long into the night while the candles burned low back when they'd first known each other. The dragon had centuries of stories collected in her memory, and few of them were ever written down, let alone in books that Emma would ever read. Regina closed her eyes, letting her memory drift back before this realm, before a crushed heart and a curse. For a few dreamy moments, she could have been with Emma and Maleficent in another place that had been safe, almost like home.
She must have fallen asleep, because she wasn't wrapped in Emma's arms in Maleficent's castle, safe from her mother and Rumplestiltskin, that had never happened. Emma hadn't been there, nor had Henry, but he was in front of her now, looking down at her, far too grown up, his expression soft. Lily was standing next to her, still looking a little awkward, but her eyes - the exact shade of Regina's own - were crinkled at the corners in a soft smile.
Emma still held her, but it was Mal who had woken her, soft touch at Regina's chin bringing her back to the present.
"Comfortable, dear?" Mal's words were teasing but her tone was as tender as her touch.
They all looked at her, their expressions soft, gentle...caring. Embarrassed, she started to sit up, insisting that she was fine, just tired because she hadn't slept, because she'd used so much magic. It was instinct born from brutal practice and even in front of those she loved, she couldn't put it wholly aside, she needed to be strong. Especially for Henry.
Emma's cool fingers ran through her hair and stopped her movement. "It's all right. I was half-asleep too."
The look on Mal's face would have told Regina that Emma was lying even if she didn't already know, but Mal held her peace, allowing the fiction...for her, Regina knew. They were doing this for her.
There were moments - more and more often as the days went by - where Regina could accept this, could believe that she had, at long last, the family she'd always dreamed of as a little girl. Well, maybe not how she'd dreamed it, patchwork and complicated and stitched together by decades of often painful history but somehow more beautiful for it - but the strength, the love. Regina had been surrounded all her life; by a mother's magic, by an imp's power, by guards and greedy nobles and angry mobs. The faces that had stared back at her had always, always wanted something from her; her future, her magic, her body, her wealth, her power. Until Storybrooke when those faces had been blank and empty, hungering for things they couldn't name but at least weren't her. It struck her then that she's surrounded once more, but every set of eyes fixed on her belongs to someone who doesn't want anything from her, they want instead only to take care of her, to love her. Each face was family. Her family.
The room tilted on its axis and she forgot for a moment, a long moment where her heartbeat pounded loud in her ears, how to breathe. Or maybe that space beneath and between her ribs was just filled too full of something else to make room for her lungs.
"Regina?" Emma's voice, soft and close and starting to worry. Regina blinked, breathed and hoped her smile didn't look too much like she was breaking. She must have done a good enough job because Emma just rubbed between her shoulderblades and told her to go up to bed. "I'll make sure the guest rooms are ready. I know where all the bedding is. Fully domesticated and everything." Her eyes sparked with just a bit of humor and Regina felt the pressure inside her ribs ease, her smile getting a little easier.
"Try 'barely' domesticated," Henry muttered dryly, and Regina had to bite back laughter at Emma's pout.
The banter steadied her, put strength back in her knees so she could stand and open her arms for Henry to hug her which he did, easily and tightly. " Don't worry, I promise I'll brush my teeth, and floss." HIs smile was cheeky but she could see the worry at the corners of his eyes and she had to clench her teeth not to tell him not to worry, that everything would be fine because she wasn't sick. She remembered Mal's words, though, and stayed silent, kissing Henry's forehead and brushing the hair out of his eyes. He allowed it, which meant he truly was worried and another pang of guilt struck her. Tomorrow, she reminded herself.
Emma nudged her gently towards the stairs. "Go on, I'll be right up."
Lily nodded to her, still too shy for more than a soft smile but Mal stepped close, hand coming up to cup Regina's cheek. She leaned in, brushing her lips across Regina's forehead, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "Thank you, for sharing your home." Maleficent was rarely grateful, and even more rarely expressed that gratitude, but there was no humor or mocking in her voice and Regina swallowed around a suddenly tight through, nodding.
As if aware of the heaviness of the moment, Mal stepped back, turning pointedly to Emma and arching her eyebrow. "Well?" she demanded. Regina had to bite her lip at Emma's expression. Leaving the three to get the guest bedrooms sorted, she turned to head upstairs. Something of her emotions must have been too clear on her face, though, as Emma's fingertips brushed the back of her hand.
"I'll just make sure they have enough pillows," Emma promised. "It'll be quick."
"Goodnight, Mom," Henry added.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
He left, the heavy tread of his ever-growing feet thudding up the stairs, vanishing when he reached the top floor. Mal and Lily followed Emma and suddenly Regina was alone, at once grateful and unsteady and she held to the polished wood of the banister as she climbed the stairs, heart pounding a little too hard and breath short even from that minimal effort.
Reaching the door to the master bedroom, Regina rested against the frame for a moment, her legs suddenly unable to take her full weight. One of Emma's socks still lay on the floor of their bedroom. It must have been there from before they left, before they drove all that way to find Lily, a departure that seemed like a lifetime ago now. It still waited, crumpled and waiting for Emma (more likely Regina) to pick it up and place it in the hamper where it belonged. Regina stared at that simple blue sock, not because it was out of place, but because it was the simplest reminder of how her life had changed. This wasn't just a place Emma left her stuff sometimes, it was her home now.
Regina's hand rose to rest below her navel.
Their home.
Pushing off the door frame, Regina forced her knees steady and moved across the room to the bed, ignoring the sock - for now. Instead of going to her usual side, she moved to where Emma slept, sitting with no grace whatsoever, her legs crumpling like wet leaves under her, dropping her on top of the covers where she curled onto her side, wrapped in on her herself, head on Emma's pillow. It still had her scent, faint, but recognisable, and Regina pressed her cheek deep into the soft fabric and focused on just breathing.
She was nearing the end of her limits, physically and emotionally exhausted. She still reeled slightly; the last few days, the last hours, untethered in a way she couldn't remember experiencing before. Regina was no stranger to exhaustion, to feeling hollowed out and empty, to feeling broken.
This was different.
There was no heat of rage or cold grip of despair to drive her forward relentlessly this time. She was shaken, as fragile as the battered windows of her house that Mal and Emma had repaired, and yet it wasn't fear or loss - that all too familiar darkness - that filled her now, it was...happiness.
She'd forgotten what that felt like.
It had been so long since she'd felt this way; not since those first years with Henry had she known this wild light inside her.
It was terrifying.
If she carried this baby, their baby, to term, she'd watch her grow up, just as she had Henry, but this time she'd have Emma beside her, taking turns when the baby couldn't sleep, with diapers and baths and all the things she'd experienced - that she'd treasured - with Henry, alone. Henry who was even now sleeping - well, more than likely reading with a flashlight - in his room, home, because he wanted to be here again. Mal and Lily would be just down the hall, a presence that once would have felt like an invasion in her private sanctuary but now just made her think of familiar magic and lips against her forehead and Lily, her other child, finding a home with them.
Somehow, after decades and curses and realms and so much pain, she managed to find everything she'd ever wanted; a family, a home, a son who knew her and loved her, a daughter who was trying to do both, she had Mal, and she had Emma. Emma whom she'd never expected but now couldn't imagine life without. Emma who gave so much of herself and was constantly afraid it wasn't enough, who had given her the last gift Regina hadn't even dared to hope for. It was nothing like she had ever dreamed, not even close. Her dreams had always been of Daniel, of a simple life in a simple place, green hills and horses and freedom. By the time her dreams were filled with fire and Snow White's screams, there was no place left in her heart for the future, let alone a family, the dream that had been Daniel fading and dimming until he was little more than a photograph rescued from a fire, charred and cracked and eventually destroyed.
Tears, hot and silent, slipped from her eyes and Regina clutched the pillow tighter as her breath stuttered and broke, the last weeks finally cresting over her like a wave, pulling her down until in the quiet of her bedroom, she surrendered. She had everything and it was real and solid and vivid, she could walk out of this room and look in on Henry, reach out and take Emma's hand, she could feel the heat of her own skin that was proof of a new life within her and it was all so much.
Regina thought of earlier that night, waking surrounded - perhaps for the first time in her entire life - by people who loved her, she thought of Emma's touch and Henry's growing shoulders and Lily's careful, careful smile and Mal's concern, and felt them slip through her hands like the dust of a crushed heart, she thought of a future where a little girl with her eyes and Emma's laugh looked at the world without fear.
This happiness, this child, this was magic, ancient and powerful and beyond Regina's understanding.
And all magic came with a price.
That was the truest lesson of Regina's entire life; whenever she found some tiny sliver of happiness, some measure of peace, it was taken from from her. Sometimes brutally, sometimes carelessly, but the result was the same. Her sister had once said that she had the most resilient heart, but everyone has a breaking point and Regina's had always been those she loved. It was why she had worked so hard for so long to close herself off, guard what she thought was a heart withered and blackened by magic and rage and terrible deeds. Henry showed her she was still capable of love, opening a door she'd thought long barred. And then Emma Swan came along and blew it off its hinges, leaving her raw and unguarded and now carrying a child created by magic so powerful that Regina couldn't even begin to fathom the cost. She'd paid for Henry with eighteen years of loneliness, of living the same day, each as empty as the last. And he was worth it, worth every second, but what would be demanded of her this time? What price did the creation of life have? Regina had no more hatred, no more grief, no more nothingness to offer up in payment for something so wonderful.
Fear, cold and hard, rose in her stomach, twisting and demanding. All that she had might not be enough, she might lose this baby anyway, the impossibility of her being able to have a child overwhelmed the flickering spark of 'maybe.'
That was all it took for the doubts to set in, whispering, echoes of Rumple, of Cora. She couldn't be pregnant. There were so many reasons why this would never work. If her magic supported the child, if she was still too dark, too tainted, the child might suffer.
A small voice, her own, Henry's, Emma's, 'What are you doing?' 'Changing,' reminded her that she had light magic too. That she was a good mother, her love for Henry was true love, and if she'd been able to draw on that, maybe she could do this, maybe she was strong enough to carry this baby.
But that tiny voice bent under the weight of memory, of magic choking her, of being held high off the ground, of blood in her mouth and her stomach sour and hard from fear. What if she was too damaged, if Cora's lessons had been carved too deep?
What if she became her mother?
She didn't hear the door, or realise that Emma had even circled the bed until she felt the mattress dip and Emma, her precious Emma, whispered soothingly that it was all right, everything was fine. Regina held on to Emma's voice, let it pull her out of the past until the phantom pain of magic restraints faded and she could breathe again. No longer denied, her senses flooded her mind with information; she was at home, in her own bed, safe if not entirely comfortable. She wore the same clothes from the day, Emma's pillow was soft beneath her cheek, and Emma herself eased closer.
A gentle touch at her shoulder, warm and comforting but the memories were still too close, old instincts kicking in before she could control them and Regina flinched, shame a hot flush on her cheeks. She knew, knew it was foolish, that crying wasn't weakness, that this was Emma, Emma who was safe and wouldn't hurt her. But in that moment it didn't matter, Regina had learned too well that weakness meant punishment. Pain was how she'd been taught to be strong, and sometimes - like now - she had to struggle to remind herself that Cora was wrong. Henry and Emma had shown her that, proved again and again that love wasn't a weakness. Love was strength, and it held her family together
Their daughter would not grow up thinking that love made her vulnerable. She'd never be punished for crying, or have her mother's hand lift her chin in a vice-like grip to explain how again she'd failed. This child would be protected, shielded and allowed her experiences, like Henry had been. At least, until her lies unravelled their life together and he'd been lost, but she didn't let herself think about that.
"Hey," Emma whispered, interrupting her thoughts. "It's okay. You're okay."
Emma's hand ran down her side, and then Emma's knees slipped in behind Regina's own, and Emma took her, wrapping her in her arms, and then her fingertips brushed Regina's neck, moving aside her hair so she could kiss the bared skin beneath. The press of her lips sent a soft flare of magic flowing down Regina's spine, settling low in her belly. It helped, grounded her, let her focus on the solid strength of Emma's arms and the way their bodies fit together and the warmth that she soaked in like it was water and she was parched.
Slowly, her shoulders uncurled, her heart calming. Emma smoothed her hair and curled closer, warm and reassuring. "What's wrong?"
A part of Regina wanted to assure, to say she was fine, just tired, that it would pass, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out, her throat was still too tight and she found the words trapped. And in truth, she had no idea what to say. There was so much tangled up inside her, how could she offer Emma the truth when she wasn't even sure herself.
Instead of answering, Regina reached up, catching Emma's fingers and pulling them to her chest. Emma took that as a signal to press their bodies even tighter and Regina felt a little more of the tension in her shoulders fall away. Emma's magic, even inactive, surrounded her, like lying in the sun on a midsummer's day.
Thoughts of Cora, memories of darkness and shame remained but they were distant, as if Emma really was her shield. She was silent, and Emma didn't push, didn't ask again, just held her. And slowly, the knot lodged beneath Regina's ribs untangled.
"What if I can't?" she asked at last.
Lips against her shoulder. "Can't do what?" Not demanding, not afraid, just waiting to understand.
Regina wondered if Emma could, when she herself was still trying to make sense of it. She'd thought herself incapable - years of Leopold's seed withering inside her without even the broken promise of a child. She'd been so grateful then, the thought of some part of him growing inside her enough to make her scrub at her skin until it nearly bled, or stand at the edge of her balcony...again. A child would have been nothing more than another shackle, and she'd been grateful that fate had kept her free, to learn magic and grow her power.
But she'd still been a young woman in a powerful King's court, she'd still been the replacement for a Queen beloved by an entire nation. Regina had heard the whispers of the court, seen the disappointment on Snow White's hated little face when year after year she had no little sister or brother, and no matter how hard Regina tried to feel otherwise, it had become simply one more way she'd failed. For all her beauty, the young queen was barren; a empty shell, not a real woman, not full of life like Snow White, like her mother, like the first queen-
She'd killed many of the nobles who'd whispered those things, delighted in their eternal silence. It hadn't made the whispers or the shame die.
Emma's hold tightened, her magic flaring softly.
"Whatever it is, I can feel it hurts, Regina."
It did. Even after all this time, even now, with proof they were wrong, it hurt. She wondered if there would ever be a time it didn't. Soft lips on her shoulder and Regina had her answer. Not today but someday. Suddenly needing to see Emma's eyes she shifted, rolling over and moving willingly into Emma's embrace again. It was like being enveloped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer, the way Emma's magic slipped across her skin, warm and soft.
"I still can't believe...It should have been you."
That sweet, pink mouth pulled down into a frown and Emma reached up, stroking her cheek, obviously not following Regina's thoughts. "Why do you think it had to be me?"
Regina stared at her, wondering how she'd explain it. "Because I can't be pregnant-"
Emma shook her head, eyes sparkling as she smiled, leaning in close. "Regina, you are."
The gentle teasing tugged the corner of Regina's mouth up briefly before it fell again. "Yes, but-" she paused, struggling to explain.
Emma waited, looking into her eyes with far too much affection. "What?"
"I shouldn't be."
"I don't understand. Why not?" When Regina didn't answer, Emma shifted, pulling Regina closer against her. Regina went gladly, her head tucked under Emma's chin, slim strong arms around her shoulders. It was easier this way, where she could feel Emma's heartbeat, the rise and fall of her breathing.
"Mal was able to get pregnant," she said eventually, still searching for words. "Back in the Enchanted Forest, and I wasn't."
Emma chuckled, the sound low and rich under Regina's ear and it almost made her smile too. "So once a dad always a dad?" Emma teased, her hand stroking up and down Regina's spine. It was ridiculous and juvenile and utterly Emma to try and make her laugh in that moment, and Regina tried, she did but -
"No, no, I suppose not but-" she stopped again, looking up Emma, at a loss for how to give voice to the tangle of fear and hope, how to separate past from present and even begin to think about the future.
And then Emma, stupid, noble, wonderful Emma opened her mouth and did it for her.
Green eyes soft and wide and serious, Emma slowly reached down between them, her hand resting just below Regina's navel, her touch steady, steady, and her fearlessness steadied the tripping beat of Regina's heart. "I don't know how this works," Emma said softly. "You know I'm not as good at magic as you. I don't know if there are any rules or how this is supposed to go, if it's because I had an implant, or it would have always been you, but there's nothing wrong with you. Whatever the 'why' is, it doesn't matter. You can do this. We can do this. You're not alone this time, Regina. I'm here. Henry's here -"
But Regina shook her head, eyes stinging. "He shouldn't have to look after me."
"Why not?" Emma asked, that sweet pink mouth frowning and her eyes serious. "He loves you. He'd do anything for you."
"Children shouldn't have to- I mean, Henry shouldn't-"
Emma kissed her forehead, then pulled Regina into her chest, holding her close. "We're going to look after you, because we love you. Me and Henry, and the dragons. Granny will probably get involved, because she likes you a lot more than either of you will admit and hell, my mother will probably want - " There, finally, Emma's voice failed and now it was Regina's turn to press gentle lips to warm skin, to tighten her arms around Emma's waist. That was a wound that still hadn't closed, but it would. Eventually, she'd see to that. Not for Snow, but for Emma, who was hurt and angry and hellbent on being good but not right and who needed her family, even if that meant Regina had to deal with a woman she wasn't entirely sure she could ever forgive completely. But that could wait. Emma wasn't ready now and Regina wouldn't - couldn't - push her.
There would be time.
Regina looked at Emma and suddenly all she could think about was the sock on the floor. Despite having somewhat different standards of "clean" than Regina, Emma wasn't actually messy, and she was never careless with her things. If the sock was still on the floor it was only because Emma hadn't yet come back to pick it up.
It was like pulling back a curtain to finally see the orchestra playing the music you've been hearing for a while. Emma's socks, her jacket on the chair, Henry down the hall - she would keep coming back. They had time.
The last of Regina's turmoil washed away, not gone forever, but the tide receded, leaving behind a beach washed clean and empty, and tired.
"Do you want this baby?" Emma asked softly.
Cora and magic, Leopold and a prison, Maleficent and a missed chance at family; blood and loneliness and magic and years of nothing, nothing, nothing, then Henry. Henry and Emma, Emma, magic and anger and passion and love and hope. Chances squandered and love stolen and given and given again, tiny fingers and first steps and a small quick heartbeat growing inside her. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. Maybe she didn't deserve this, maybe Emma was right and it wasn't about deserving. Regina closed her eyes, sighed.
"Yes."
And Emma, because she was Emma, and could make everything simple complicated, and everything complicated simple, just smiled, green eyes sparkling and that wide, wide smile. "Okay. Then you're going to have a baby, and we're going to look out for you - me, and Henry...and probably your dragons because I don't think anyone could keep Mal from worrying about you."
Regina made a soft noise of amusement but her limbs were growing heavy again, the aftermath of emotion leaving her hollowed out but lighter, as if she'd finally managed to set down a burden that had bowed her under its weight for so long her spine had forgotten what it was to straighten.
"Mal won't like being called 'mine'" she murmured against Emma's neck. She knew what Emma said was true though, and having them as backup did make her feel safer. Mal had done this before, alone, and she'd had Lily. No matter what they had been through, Mal had always protected her, when she could.
Emma rubbed slow circles between Regina's shoulders. The effect was hypnotic. "It's going to be okay, you're going to feel better, the baby's going to be fine. We'll even get the lights back on."
It took her a moment to realize what Emma said, but when the words registered Regina sniffed. "Now that's too optimistic," she answered, almost surprised by how easy it was to smile. She shouldn't have been. That was what Emma did. "There are miles of powerlines we need to replace."
"Tomorrow," Emma said, sighing, and there was weariness in her voice too, faint, and well hidden, but Regina knew Emma, and so she said nothing. "We can do that tomorrow. Now, you need to brush your teeth and get to bed."
Regina shook her head, resting her forehead against Emma's. "I'm already in bed." She didn't whine. She didn't. But she could feel Emma's smile in the lips that brushed her cheek that said otherwise.
"I think I can handle magic pyjamas, but magic teeth brushing is probably beyond me."
Regina lifted her head only to immediately fall back against the pillows, her whole body too heavy to lift, as if her bones were suddenly iron. "I'll do it in the morning," she muttered, defeated by how incredibly tired she was. Emma waved her hand, and her clothes were pyjamas - or Emma's version of pajamas; one of Emma's worn, old t-shirts and soft faded sweatpants. It was a long way from Regina's usual silk but it felt...good. Warm. Comfortable. They smelled like Emma's fabric softener. With contented sigh, she shifted (it wasn't snuggling) deeper into the pillows. Freed from her bra, her breasts reminded her that they were sore and heavy and she shifted, trying to get comfortable.
Pale eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. Emma'd never seen Regina go to bed without flossing. Her expression turned quickly gentle though. "I can't imagine how tired you must be. I'm exhausted, and I'm not even pregnant."
Regina just 'hmmd in agreement and then watched, too tired to move, as Emma brushed her teeth, then changed her own clothes with a wave of her hands and then started easing the blankets out from under her so they could slip in bed together. Emma moved her gently, helping her roll to her side of the bed before she climbed in next to her and cuddled up again. A flick of her hand doused the little light spell that had illuminated their bedroom in the absence of electricity and though there was no heating, with Emma pressed up close, it was warm, even comfortable.
"It'll get better," Emma promised, running her thumb across Regina's cheek. "Mal said the spell will take a lot of the weight off."
She nodded, but was so tired that it was barely a bob of her head. Emma kissed her nose, then her cheek, as if saying goodnight. "I don't mind," she whispered, and she wasn't even sure Emma had heard, or if Regina had even spoken.
Then Emma asked, "You don't mind being sick?"
This was their baby, and she'd have whatever she needed, everything Regina had to give. "Not if-" she had to repeat herself when she yawned, "not if the baby has what she needs."
Emma kissed her, then kissed her again, then pressed her lips against her forehead. "We'll share this, it'll get easier, I promise, I will help you with this," she promised. Her words were gentle, but Regina could hear the echoes of a girl, sitting all alone in jail, grappling with the knowledge she was about to become a mother, and the woman she'd become, who fought every day to make sure that the people around her were protected.
The last thought Regina had before sleep took her was that she loved Emma so very much.
The smell of pancakes that woke Emma the next morning. Regina was still asleep in her arms, her face smooth and unlined in sleep. She looked better this morning than she had in a while and Emma contemplated just staying in bed. The almost obscenely loud grumbling of her stomach forced her hand though. Shutting off the alarm Emma carefully slipped out of bed, tucking the covers back around Regina who was so deeply asleep she didn't stir.
Grabbing Regina's robe from the closet, Emma padded down the stairs to the kitchen to discover Henry and Mal were the ones making pancakes. Or more accurately Henry was making pancakes while Mal sort of assisted and Lily watched with something like fascination. Standing in the doorway, Emma took a moment to watch the trio. Henry moved around the kitchen with ease, no sign of teenage clumsiness. He reminded her a little of Regina, really, lording it over the kitchen like it was his kingdom. He was probably the best case ever for the triumph of nurture over nature and that bright swell of emotion that always rose up when she thought about how Regina had done what she never could filled her now, moving her feet forward till she could wrap Henry in a one-armed hug and mess with his hair. He protested but she got a soft smile that told her their kid knew his mom too well before turning back to the pancakes. Emma left him to it and went to join Lily and Mal where they now sat at the kitchen island.
Even with her hair down in a braid, Maleficent sat at the counter with the kind of regal posture that reminded Emma of Regina. She nodded her good morning to Emma and kept drinking her coffee while she traced something onto a map of the town.
Lily lifted the french press towards a mug she'd had waiting. Without the power, they must have had to improvise, but with magic it would have been easy enough. At least in Regina's house, they'd have good coffee. "Coffee?"
"God, yes," Emma said, taking a stool next to Mal.
Henry turned the pancake over, studying the golden-brown side before he smiled at her. "Operation short stack is a success so far," he said, mock saluting with his spatula. "Is Mom okay?"
"Yeah, just needs some more sleep," Emma promised, smiling as brightly as she could. She had to cover a yawn while Lily set coffee in front of her. "I guess we all do."
"Perhaps in time, we'll get it, though Regina's far too precise schedule of repairs takes us through into next week." Mal reminded them with a resigned sigh. "I once used magic to terrorise whole kingdoms, now I'll apparently need three days to repair the lights of your quaint little town. Candles would be sufficient."
Lily and Emma shared a look and Emma hid her smile behind her coffee up. Sipping her own mug, Lily asked Mal, "Did you use candles in your castle?"
"Yes, and they provide a much more pleasing light than these supposedly efficient bluish things," Mal said, waving her hand at the light bulb on the ceiling that was out.
Removing a pancake from the griddle (because of course, Regina had a dedicated pancake griddle), Henry placed it on a plate and passed it to Emma. They could have been using the table, but Henry was still cooking so they had all the stools pulled up to the island in the kitchen. It was the kind of ridiculous family scene that she and Lily used to dream about when they ate stolen food and tried to stay out of the rain and when Emma glanced up at Lily she could see the direction of her thoughts was similar.
Something sour twisted in Emma's stomach as she remembered those days, her anger at Lily when she found out the girl had a family, people who wanted her, the thing Emma would have killed for. Now though, sitting in Regina's kitchen, with the family she'd finally found, watching Lily with Mal it was so much easier to understand the young girl Emma had known. Lily's adoptive parents had been good people, had wanted her her, they must have cooked for her, looked after her, but the memory of her birth mother stamped deep down into her very bones must have made it so hard to let go and be happy. Sympathy pushed at Emma's ribs. Lily must have felt so crazy there, with parents who loved her, but that all of her instincts insisted weren't right, weren't "hers". And then she'd lost them.
She and Lily had a lot of things to talk about at some point.
Dark eyes - god, just like Regina's, the same shape and everything how had Emma ever made the connection? - met hers over plates of pancakes fresh off the griddle and the corner of Lily's mouth quirked upward. It was a rueful, almost sad smile and Emma felt herself returning it. Their pasts were littered with so much hurt, and not a little between them but -
Lily looked away first, glancing at where Mal sat, watching her with that tender intensity. The kitchen was bright with magic and warmth and the smell of breakfast and Lily was home now, with the birth mother she had looked for her whole life, in a place where she could understand the magic inside her and people who wouldn't be afraid of her.
People like Emma.
"You could change the town's lighting to candles if you wanted, I mean, nothing's stopping you," Lily said, passing Emma the butter, the moment passed. Her eyes were a little softer though, the quirk of her lips a little less wry and when Mal appeared to legitimately consider her suggestion she winked at Emma, the long lost prankster who had rescued Emma from being arrested for shoplifting poptarts flickering across her face.
"Hmm," Mal almost purred, a wicked smile blooming on her face. "I could, actually." She flicked her hand and the light bulb in the ceiling became a gaudy chandelier, covered in candles. It clashed horribly with the decor of the kitchen and was far too ostentatious.
Henry looked up, one eyebrow arching - absolutely mature - at the twinkling crystal monstrosity. "Mom will hate that," he said dryly.
Maleficent shrugged, unphased. "She can change it back. I could change all the street lights to torches, or gas lamps, or glowing crystals," Mal said, grinning slyly as she looked at her nails. "Perhaps we should have a town meeting and discuss the possibilities. Just because Storybrooke was invented in the middle of an age without style, doesn't mean it has to continue to look that way. That diner could be converted into a lovely little tavern with a thatched roof."
Lily made a choked sound, hiding behind her coffee mug, but Mal looked at Henry with such sincerity that Emma had to laugh, then Henry did, and then they were all joking about turning Storybrooke into some kind of strange combination between a Disneyland fairy tale village and something out of a steampunk daydream. Henry wanted more of a Hobbit-Lord of the Rings aesthetic, Lily suggested gothic architecture like some of the more outlandish illustrations in the fairy tale book, and Mal considered it all very seriously because the cursed architecture of Storybrooke was all incredibly dull and she didn't understand why anyone in their right mind would want to keep it when they had the option to change it.
"Your world could be equally beautiful, no more of these dull grey paths - sidewalks? And these hanging wires," Maleficent shook her head, pretending (or maybe she really was) offended. "Between your mothers, Lily, Ursula and I, we could make your little town a land of wonders," Mal told Henry.
Emma honestly had no idea if she was serious or not, Mal's sense of humour was so dry that Emma (and she suspected Lily) both had no idea when she was joking, but it really didn't matter because they were happy. Henry was laughing and Lily was smiling, her smile stripped of all the years between the little girl Emma had known and the woman she was now.
Emma concentrated on eating her pancakes while Mal, Henry and Lily discussed whether or not the Hobbit had an equivalent universe in the fairy tale realms, and if Smaug would have ever left his treasure horde. Mal defended him, even though she hadn't seen the film, because she thought draconic greed was overdone as a stereotype. Lily and Henry argued with her, ending up on the same side and insisting that when the power was back on, that they'd watch the films so she could appreciate how beautiful their world was.
It was silly, really. They had so many other things to worry about, but the coffee was good and Henry made great pancakes, and this was family. Emma remembered breakfasts like this with Henry in their year together in New York, and breakfast with her parents and Henry, and lately Regina, before this whole mess took over their lives. This was normal. Silliness and laughter and pointless conversations: that was family. And they all needed it so badly, because even Maleficent, the great and terrible dragon, smiled when Henry and Lily laughed at the face she made when she accidentally sipped coffee gone long cold and reheated it with a tiny flame held in the palm of her hand.
After two cups of coffee, Emma put one of Henry's pancakes on a plate, plain for Regina, because she remembered how terrible her own stomach had been some mornings when she'd been pregnant with Henry. If the pancake was too much, she could probably figure out how to make toast (or have Mal do it, since her fire control was significantly better than Emma's).
"I'm going to check on your mom," she said. "See if she'll accept for breakfast in bed."
"No coffee?" Henry asked, holding up a mug.
Emma could have kicked herself and she could feel Lily and Mal's eyes on her. Regina without her coffee in the morning was another Dark Curse waiting to happen and she could only hope Henry wouldn't suspect anything more than her own forgetfulness.
"Thanks kid," Emma said, taking the coffee. "Probably would have gotten kicked out if I forgot." Lily and Mal shared a look behind Henry's head. It was going to be so much easier once he knew and it wasn't a secret. Leaving her own empty mug, Emma balanced the tray and headed upstairs with Regina's breakfast.
The sun from the window now poured across the bed, but Regina didn't appear to have moved much since Emma left her, dark hair tousled on the pillow and her eyes still shut in sleep. Emma set the coffee and her pancake down on the nightstand, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, just watching Regina sleep for a moment. It was so different, seeing her like this, still and quiet when so much of what made her Regina was motion and energy and sheer presence. In sleep she looked smaller, the edges of her softened somehow and Emma wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around the sleeping woman and go back to bed. She wasn't at all surprised that Regina was still out and Emma hated to wake her. She'd slept fine, better than Emma expected actually. Because they were so close, or because Regina was back in her own bed Emma didn't know. Either way she'd felt better; her skin a more normal temperature this morning. Now she had the blankets pulled a little tighter around her shoulders and a soft brush of Emma's fingers across her cheek said her temperature was rising again. Worry descended again, weighing her shoulders and tightening her ribs. Even if she knew the why it still hurt to see Regina carrying this alone.
Maybe tonight, if they conserved their strength, they could cast the spell that Mal thought would ease Regina's symptoms, and maybe then she'd feel better during the day.
Glancing at the alarm clock, Emma realised that it hadn't changed because it was plugged in and there wasn't any power. She'd tried to save the battery on her phone, it was still dead, and Regina's intention of starting repairs by ten was probably long past, judging by how high the sun was. Emma debated. No one would judge them for taking some time, would they? Everyone else in town was capable of clearing streets, and making their homes livable again. Magic just made it faster.
Storybrooke could handle Regina having a lazy morning in bed and taking the time to tell their son that she was pregnant. The needs of the whole town could wait just this once, because she wanted to get Regina accustomed to setting the boundaries now, so she didn't push herself too hard later.
Emma leaned down and ran her fingers through Regina's hair, rearranging it on the pillow. Very gently, she kissed her cheek, trying to ease her awake.
Her touch received a soft groan and Emma bit her lip. Reaching out, she took Regina's hand where it was tangled in the covers, wrapping their fingers together and slowly, Regina's eyes opened. Well, sort of. What actually happened was she blinked, then squinted at the bright sunlight, her face scrunching up into the most adorable expression of disgust Emma had ever seen. It was all Emma could do not to laugh, so instead she waved her hand, shutting the curtains part way. This time when Regina blinked up at her, she smiled, bleary and slightly unfocused and beautiful.
"Morning," Emma said softly, squeezing Regina's hand. "I brought you coffee and a pancake. If your stomach's like mine was, it might be easier if you eat before you get up, and skip the coffee. In fact, I'll drink it, that way Henry won't worry."
"He's worried?" Regina asked, losing her smile and struggling to sitting up. It was the wrong decision. Her eyebrows immediately knit together and she swallowed and Emma caught her shoulder, because just sitting up had shifted Regina from seeming so peaceful, to fighting not to throw up.
"He's fine," Emma promised. She grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and slipped it behind Regina so she'd be more comfortable sitting up. "I don't think he's used to you sleeping in, that's all."
Regina nodded, shutting her eyes and trying to beat her nausea through what appeared to be sheer force of will. "Who made breakfast?"
"Henry, and Lily, I think. I assume Mal can't cook."
"Not unless it's meat and you want it rare on the inside and scorched on the outside," Regina muttered, and Emma got half a smile.
"She doesn't get to run the grill at barbeques then," Emma replied, rubbing her shoulder. "You okay?"
"I thought-" Regina paused, wincing again as she balled her fingers into a fist in the blanket in frustration. "I thought this would stop if I was out of the damn gymnasium."
Stroking her hair, Emma moved closer. "Give it a minute, then maybe try to eat the pancake? It's plain, so it shouldn't be so bad. If that's too much, I think I can make toast, even with my limited magic skills. Might waste a lot of the bread…"
"I'm okay," Regina promised her, though Emma in no way believed her.
"It sucks, I remember," Emma reminded her, resting a hand on Regina's knee through the blanket. "Your stomach's a mess unless you eat, and sometimes even if you eat, and your head hurts and your boobs hurt, and you're so tired that all you want to do is sleep until it's over. That's normal. And Mal says this is worse, so if we need to poof into the bathroom, I'm ready, or I can get a bucket."
"Because Henry will never worry about you suddenly needing a bucket in the bedroom," Regina's tone was acerbic but the look she gave Emma took any sting out of her words.
"I could be cleaning or something," Emma offered, pretending to be offended. Regina rolled her eyes
"Like that's any more believable," she replied, her voice dry.
Emma chuckled, acknowledging the truth in that, and ran her fingers up and down Regina's arm. "If you need to throw up, that's fine. I'm here."
"It's not really something I thought needed to be shared," Regina said, her voice low. She grimaced again and stared down at the bed.
"It's nice to have someone to hold your hair," Emma said. There wasn't much else she could do at the moment. Mal hadn't had time to show her how to ease Regina's symptoms even temporarily, though considering Regina's face, Emma was tempted to go ask her right now. Not wanting to leave though, she sat still, rubbing her hand between Regina's shoulders.
Regina lifted her head, just a little. "Who held yours?"
"No one," Emma said, without thinking. It was the past for her, even if the memories were still unpleasant.
The hand that gripped hers tightly was a surprise and Emma looked up, seeing horror and sadness on Regina's face. And guilt. "I'm so sorry," she whispered but Emma shook her head sharply.
"Hey, no, don't you dare. That was never your fault Regina. A lot of people made choices - I made choices - that landed me in prison. And having Henry in prison was better than having him on the street," she said, her fingers squeezing, hard and steady, as she watched Regina's eyes. "And besides," she said, softening. "He went to you, and I wouldn't change that for anything."
In the soft gold light of morning, Regina's eyes were dark amber, wide and glittering as she watched Emma, stunned into silence. It struck Emma then that as much as they'd been through, as much as they shared, she still owed Regina the words she wasn't sure she'd ever said. "You're a great mom, Regina. I gave him up to give him his best chance, and he got it. So don't apologize. Not for that."
It was rare to see Regina Mills without words, her face raw, expression completely unguarded and Emma felt that sharp splinter of shame because she knew the sources of that expression and she was one of them. So when Regina finally managed to speak again, voice cracking with emotion, for once Emma knew what to say.
So are you," Regina replied. "You're a good mom too, Emma. "
"Because I learned from you," Emma said, squeezing Regina's fingers in emphasis, letting her magic flow, just a little, just enough to make Regina feel what she was trying to say. Growing up, Emma hadn't had many role models for parenting, and even fewer who could be considered 'good'. Until Regina. Until she'd realised just how amazing Henry was and started to understand him, and Regina...and Cora. Once she'd started to see, when she'd stopped fighting to take Henry away and realised how much he was loved, once Emma stopped letting her own guilt blind her to how hard Regina had worked, how hard she had struggled to give Henry everything that Regina never had, everything that Emma never could - then Emma began to see just how amazing Regina truly was. She was the kind of mother Emma wanted to be - for real, not just for a year with a foundation of Regina's memories, but all the time; the kind of mom who knew what to say and what to do to make their kid feel loved and safe. The difference was, Emma knew just how hard Regina had fought to become that mother, how deeply afraid she still was of failing.
"You thought I was an awful mother," Regina said, pulling back. She was over the old hurt, had forgiven Emma for what happened, but Emma knew how terrible she'd been.
"And I was wrong, and I'm so sorry," Emma promised, kissing her cheek. "You're the mother I want to be like."
Regina's eyes when she let Emma pull her close were so, so soft.