This Game We Play

by kirkmills

A Murder. A Visitation. A Family Dinner. When the citizens of Storybrooke are shaken by a mysterious but deadly invite, Emma finds herself heading up the investigation on a seemingly unsolvable case. Though the Sheriff of Storybrooke would probably rather face the strange spirits invading her town than the toubles of her own personal life. SQBB April 2014.

3. The Clock Tower

Emma's awoken far earlier than her messed up head can be grateful for by the insistent buzzing of her phone as it rings. She sits up dizzily, rubbing at her eyes and cursing when her hand comes away covered in black smudges.

"Shit," she grumbles – and this is why she doesn't wear excessive quantities of makeup, it's always a pain in the ass when you don't take it off.

Her phone keeps buzzing rudely and she throws back the covers, climbing out of bed and feeling sleepily around in the pile of clothes on the floor for her clutch. She finds it and pulls the phone out and her brow creases as she looks at it. She has twenty nine missed calls from Thomas.

It stops vibrating and then starts again almost immediately, a picture of Thomas wiping Alex's vomit off his shirt that Ruby had snapped with her phone flashing on the screen.

"Tom?" she asks as she accepts the call, voice thick with sleep, "What's wrong?"

"Emma, oh my god, where are you? I need you, Emma, I need you to get here."

Thomas sounds positively distraught, words tumbling over each other at an alarming rate, and Emma finds herself panicking at his tone.

"Tom?" she asks again, more urgently this time, "Tom, what's wrong? What's going on – is it the children?"

"No, no it's not that, it's Ash."

"Ashley?" The creases in Emma's brow deepen. "What's she done?"

"She's, God, Emma, she's missing. I don't know where she is!" he chokes out, sounding thoroughly unlike himself.

"Wait, what?"

"I don't… she's just, she's just disappeared and I don't know where she is. Emma, what if Murderer has her, what if she's next…"

"Tom."

"…oh god, I can't look after Alex on my own I can't fuck what if she's dead she can't be dead I don't know what I'd do…"

"Tom."

"…if she were dead she's my life Emma, her and Alex, and now she's gonna get murdered for some stupid sacrifice oh my God what am I gonna tell the kid how can I tell her I let her mommy get sacrificed?"

"Tom!" she shouts.

"Sorry," he mumbles, shutting up.

"Good boy, okay, run it down for me," she instructs, standing up and starting to look around her room for a pair of jeans.

He lets out a long breath – apparently trying to calm himself – and then coughs. "Okay," he says, sounding more like he's saying it to himself than her, "okay. I went straight home from the ball after you talked to us and when I got in it was dark, so I figured Ash had gone to bed already. I didn't wanna wake her if she was sleeping and I was pretty nervy after everything that went down last night so I decided to just crash on the couch instead."

"Okay," Emma nods, scooping up a tank top and dumping it on her bed with the jeans she's picked up. "Then what happened?" She moves to sit at her vanity, grabbing a wipe.

"Well I woke up this morning and she wasn't up yet so I went in to see her but she wasn't there and the bed hadn't even been slept in and I looked all around the apartment and then I went to the school to check if she'd gone in for some reason and then I tried Granny's and the bakery and Emma I've looked all over and I can't find her."

Emma hums in understanding, "And when was the last time you saw her?"

"I dunno," he says, sounding frazzled, "must have been not long before I left for the ball."

The blonde frowns, stilling in her action of pulling a cleansing wipe across her makeup-smudged face. "She didn't come to the ball?" she asks.

"No, she hasn't been feeling well."

Emma's heart drops to her stomach. "What?"

"Yesterday, she said she was feeling pretty sick and didn't feel up to coming to the ball," he says, sounding confused as to why Emma herself is.

"Tom, she didn't – she didn't see any of the children, did she?"

"I…no. No she would have said something. But I mean – I saw victims in various stages of illness and she didn't look anything like any of them. She didn't even look that sick."

"She didn't?" Emma puts her phone on speaker and walks back over to her bed, pulling on the clothes she's laid out there.

"No, she… Emma, I don't what's going on but I'm scared, I'm so scared. Please, you've gotta help me find her," he begs, tearfully.

"Okay, look, I'm up and I'm dressed so I'll meet you at the station." She casts a glance to the time – 6:02. "Everyone should be there in about an hour anyway. We'll sort this, okay? We'll find her."

"Okay," he replies quietly, "I'll see you in twenty?"

"See you in twenty," she confirms and then hangs up. She sighs loudly, running her hands over her face in an attempt to wake herself up a little more, then she returns to sit at her vanity, moving a hand to her head, and starts pulling pins out until her blonde hair falls down, messy and curly, past her shoulders. She really shouldn't have slept with it up – but she hadn't nearly had enough presence of mind last night to think about that.

Last night. God, she can't quite believe that last night actually happened. The whole thing had been a train wreck from start to finish – and yet the finish had given her hope she hadn't dared have before. She doesn't know what's going on in Regina's head, and wouldn't presume to, but for once in their lives she actually has a feeling it might not be too dissimilar to what's going on in her own.

If only all this other shit weren't going on then maybe they'd even get to talk about it – there's clearly something there to talk about– but as it is she can't really concentrate on anything except trying to protect people right now. She doesn't know how well she'll be able to protect people, though, if she's spending the whole day worried about Regina's safety - so with that in mind she picks up her cell and pulls it towards her again. Her finger moving naturally to speed dial five.

"Emma? What's wrong?" Regina's slightly-sleepy voice comes from the phone after a couple of rings.

"Okay, look, I don't really know what happened yesterday. But honestly, for now, I don't care. It's the day after the murder and we don't know what might turn up – so I don't plan on letting you out of my sight."

There's silence on the other end of the line for a minute, then the other woman's voice comes again – much more awake this time. "What about Henry?"

"I'm gonna call Blue and ask her to keep all the children there under their protection." She can't be spending the day panicking for her son, either, but she's hardly going to be able to drag him around with her.

There's another long pause. "I suppose there's not really anything I can say that's going to move you on this subject, is there?"

"Absolutely nothing," Emma affirms.

Regina sighs, "Fine, I'll see you at the station."

"Thank you," Emma lets out a breath of relief and then hangs up – she needs to get over there and see Thomas.

.

.

.

She calls Blue on the way over, confirming that she and the other nuns will keep an eye on all the kids. Thomas is frantic when she gets in, and she's just about started to calm him when Lilly arrives – closely followed by David – and having to tell them simply sets him off again. Ruby arrives next, carrying a tray full of coffees and a bag full of pastries.

"Figured we could all use 'em," she explains simply.

Eventually Jefferson pitches up – looking a little the worse for wear – and Regina last, not even trying to hide the sulk on her features at being ordered around.

A tiny part of Emma wonders why no one questions Regina's presence – but she has far more important things to worry about, so she lets it go.

"The best conceivable plan I see," she says, as they all sit around sipping their coffees, "is to split up and patrol town. Everyone knows that the children carried some kind of virus – granted they don't know it was magic and all that, but they know to stay away if they see them again. That said, we still need to keep an eye – so we'll patrol and look for Ashley, whilst also keeping an eye out for children. Sound okay?"

"Shouldn't someone stay here?" her father asks, but she shakes her head.

"We've all got our cells, I figure leaving someone here's a waste of manpower, all things considered."

They all nod in understanding.

"Okay. Lilly, you go with Thomas; Rubes, you go with David. Jefferson and Regina, you guys are with me. Let's make it back here tonight with everyone safe, shall we?"

Everyone makes noises of agreement as they stand, pairing off and heading out. David shoots her a small smile of encouragement which she returns gratefully.

She's scared, hopefully a lot more scared than she's letting on – because she needs to act as the fearless leader right now. Once the others have filed out, guns in hand, Emma turns to the remaining two. Jefferson's got his head in his hands, looking distinctly queasy, and Regina – Regina's staring at her with something that looks suspiciously like pride on her face. Why, Emma can't imagine, though it's not really relevant right now. It's killing her, being so close to her and not being able to talk properly. She just needs to know what's going on in the other woman's head, if they're on the same page.

The tension in the air between them is tangible, though, and she really doesn't see herself managing to go the whole day without this conversation – so they might as well just get it over with.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Emma asks, and Regina's eyebrow lifts.

"We are talking."

"I meant in private," Emma hisses and Jefferson groans from his chair.

"Yes, please take it somewhere else, guys. It's way too early for banter."

Emma rolls her eyes but walks towards the interrogation room, grabbing Regina by the arm and pulling her along with her.

Regina shuts the door behind them and folds her arms across her chest. She opens her mouth to speak – but Emma cuts her off.

"Regina I…" she falters – it might help if she actually knew what she wants to say. "Why did you leave?"

The brunette's expression turns panicked. "Emma now really isn't the best time for –"

"No it is," she insists, "because I'm gonna be going crazy until I know. So why did you leave?"

"You know why I left," she murmurs but the blonde shakes her head.

"I really don't."

"I left to avoid us making a terrible mistake."

"Oh," Emma thinks on that for a minute, chewing it over in her head. "What kind of mistake?"

Regina rolls her eyes, "What kind do you think?"

Emma doesn't think on that, she just moves – darting forward and pushing Regina up against the door, mouth moving to hers.

She doesn't even register what she's doing until she's done it, and then it's too late to take it back. She moves a hand to cup Regina's cheek, tips of her fingers sliding into her hair. The kiss is sweet, sweeter than she would have thought herself capable of considering all the pent up energy inside her.

It certainly proves enough to make Regina melt.

The other woman pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. She feels Regina's teeth pulling at her bottom lip. Nibbling at it until Emma gasps out from the sensation, and then the brunette's tongue is slipping into her mouth.

Emma's hands move down, sliding around Regina's slim waist and holding the woman closer to her, hands splayed across her back.

They kiss hard, like they can't quite taste enough of each other – and yet not quite as fiercely as Emma might have imagined. The amount they're at each other's throats you'd think they were incapable of softness, and yet when Regina pulls away it's not without pulling several more chaste kisses from Emma's now swollen lips.

"That the kind of mistake you were talking about?" Emma breathes, and Regina stares up at her, expression a mixture of amusement and awe.

"That...didn't feel a mistake," she admits – like that in and of itself is a foreign concept.

"Did you really think it would?" the blonde asks.

Regina nods, wordlessly.

"Gee thanks," Emma chuckles softly, "nice to know you have so much faith in me."

"I thought it would feel wrong," the brunette says honestly. "I always thought that kissing you might feel like doing something illegal."

She frowns. "Why?"

The brunette sighs. "Because of who you are. Because of the way our relationship is. Because...because of Henry."

"Somehow I'm not sure this is something Henry would mind," Emma smirks, mind drifting back to the many times lately that Henry has pushed them together.

"Perhaps not," Regina concedes, and the look on her face makes the blonde think that's where Regina's mind went too. "But there's always the possibility it wouldn't work, and then where would we be?"

"Where we are now," Emma shrugs. "A divorced couple."

Regina raises her eyebrows at her.

"Come on, Regina. You can't deny that's basically what our life is. It's all time shares and complicated holiday arrangements and the occasional joint family dinner."

The other woman smirks at that, "You may have a point there."

"Good to know," Emma grins. "Because that was...sorta a mistake I wouldn't mind repeating again sometime."

Regina looks a little dumbstruck, but her smirk doesn't disappear. "Likewise."

The blonde leans forward again, capturing Regina's mouth with her own for a moment. "Maybe after we've stopped creepy children from invading our town though, yeah?"

"That would probably be for the best," Regina agrees.

They move away from the door, pulling it open again. Emma pauses before she walks through it though – casting a glance back to Regina. "Be careful today – promise me?"

"Emma, they're only children, it's not like we're going into battle," she remarks, mouth twitching into a tiny smile.

"Then why does it feel like we are?" the blonde whispers in response, and Regina's face sobers again.

"It'll be okay, we'll do everything we can to make sure you don't lose anyone this time."

Emma nods. "We have to find Ash, too."

The brunette's expression turns swiftly unreadable. "Yes, well," she coughs, "I'm sure she'll turn up."

Her eyes narrow, superpower senses tingling.

"Regina?" she asks, but the woman leans forward quickly and presses another, open-mouth kiss to Emma's lips.

"We should go," Regina says, "there's a lot to do today," and Emma hums in agreement, a little bewildered by the fact that Regina just kissed her of her own accord. Like it was something normal they did every day.

They walk back round to where Jefferson has finally managed to get himself back upright, and apparently to himself enough to be smirking at them.

"Good talk?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

Emma clears her throat. "Yeah, yeah, good talk."

"Good," he nods, smirk widening into a wicked little smile.

"Well, erm, shall we go?" she asks, grabbing her half empty coffee cup. They both nod and Jefferson pushes himself off the desk, his own coffee clutched in his hands.

He strides forward with much more of a spring in his step than he'd had when he first walked in, strolling towards the door.

"Nice lipstick, Emma," he says sweetly as he passes her, and Emma frowns after him in confusion. She's not wearing lipstick today. She turns to Regina, whose head is slightly bowed, bridge of her nose pinched between thumb and forefinger – she says nothing, but from her expression Emma can only guess she's wondering how she holds any affection for such an idiot.

When she looks up again, the look she shoots her confirms it.

.

.

.

Patrolling is boring and somewhat fruitless for the entirety of the morning. They all meet up at the diner for lunch, exchanging reports – all of which are pretty bland. None of them have found even a hint of Ashley's whereabouts, and as for the children, there haven't been any sightings nor any reports of sightings.

"Maybe they're not gonna come," Ruby shrugs, biting down on a fry, "we don't know that it's all connected."

"The evidence is somewhat irrefutable, dear," Regina replies condescendingly, and Ruby shoots her a dirty look.

"All I'm saying is maybe it's a great big coincidence," she shrugs, snagging another fry from Jefferson's plate when he's not looking.

"No such thing," Regina shoots back quickly, "not when it comes to murder."

The waitress rolls her eyes. "You've been watching too many movies."

"No," Emma chimes in. "No, she really hasn't."

"Well, I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?" Ruby snaps.

Emma opens her mouth to answer when there's a scream from outside the diner, and they all simultaneously jump to attention, springing from their seats and running out into the lazily falling snow.

Emma's out in front, but she stops dead when she sees what's out there – throwing her arms out to stop the others and feeling them knock into her.

There's a child standing across the street, outside Archie's place. The door is covered in long scratch marks, the wood splintered as if sharp nails had been dragged repeatedly down it. Inside, Emma sees the curtain twitch and she digs quickly into her pocket for her cell.

She finds Archie's number with fumbling fingers, and he answers after one ring.

"Emma, I seem to have a bit of a situation," he says on picking up.

She gives a tiny nervous chuckle. "I can see that. Look, Archie, we're gonna do what we can – but whatever happens I want you to lock everything and stay inside okay?"

"No problem," he replies, and Emma nods before hanging up again.

The child outside the door let's out another scream, the sound travelling straight to Emma's bones.

"Let me IN!" it wails, scraping its nails down the door again.

"You were saying?" Regina mutters under her breath and Ruby huffs angrily.

"Shut up."

"Guys," Emma warns, "not the time."

They're all stood frozen – unsure as to the best course of action. The child lets out another scream of frustration at the un-opening door and then turns, eyes fixing on them.

"Oh fuck," she breathes as the child starts to walk over. It looks different than the one she saw at Regina's – angrier. Its little fingers are clenched in rage, eyes wild and mad-looking. It looks wrong – the angelic child with such a rabid look on its face.

It's advancing on them quickly, small face set with fury.

Emma doesn't waste any more time thinking – she pulls out her gun and shoots and then the kid disappears in a cloud of black smoke as the bullet hits home.

"What the –"

"Did you kill it?" Jefferson asks.

"No," Regina replies, "I sincerely doubt it."

"So bullets can't kill them," Emma says, looking at her gun with disgust. "Great."

"Looks like they can deter them at least though," Lilly supplies. "That's something."

"They all disappeared after a while last time, didn't they?" Ruby adds. "Maybe if we can just hold them off then everyone will be okay?"

Emma wishes she could be that optimistic, but rolls with it anyway. They don't really have a better plan.

"Okay, everyone back on patrol. Answer your phones, keep your eyes open. Shoot the ones you see. We've just gotta hope we can hold them off."

There's a murmur of agreement and they all split off again. Emma turns to Regina. "Is there anything you can do magic-wise?"

"Not much," she says apologetically, "not without knowing what they are. But I'll do what I can."

Emma nods thoughtfully. "Alright, I think we need to go find another one so you can try – who knows – maybe magic fireballs are more effective against the fuckers."

The other two nod and start moving.

"You know," Regina starts tentatively, "you could always…" she trails off, sounding unsure.

"Always what?"

She doesn't reply so Emma turns to look at her. The brunette's looking at Emma's hands, her own sparking suggestively with magic.

She tightens her jaw. "No way."

"Emma, I understand why you don't want to – you know I do – but it might just be that it's necessary, given the situation," Regina says carefully.

"Regina, I can't – you know I can't."

"I know why you think you can't," she replies, "but for what it's worth, I don't think you need to worry."

Apparently Emma's skepticism is clear on her face because Regina ploughs on, "I'm not going to push you if you really don't want to – all I'm saying is that I think you can handle it. I can help you."

They round the corner and Emma walks straight into Jefferson's back.

"Wanna try that fireball trick you love then?" he asks in Regina's direction, and they both peer round him to see a child approaching, dark curls framing its face, mouth pulled into a sweet smile.

"Will you come play with me?" it asks. "Please, come play with –"

It's cut off by Regina throwing a fireball which consumes it. There's a bitter, shrill scream, and then the flame dissipates and the child's gone.

"Shit, did that – did that kill it?" Emma asks with a grin, and Jefferson steps forward cautiously, inspecting the ground where it stood.

"Well, it's not here," he confirms, "and I didn't see any of that black smoke stuff like when you shot it."

"Now, will you listen to me?" Regina asks smugly, but Emma shakes her head.

"There's nothing you did there that I couldn't do with a nail gun and some butane gas," she scoffs. Regina frowns.

"A flamethrower, Regina," she says, "I could do that with a homemade flamethrower."

"Well, good for you – but my way's much simpler."

"Not the way I see it," Emma grumbles.

"Erm, guys?" Jefferson asks, and both women turn to him.

"I don't care what you use – but you're gonna have to hurry up and decide quickly," he uses his head to point down the street to their right, and they both turn to look.

"Holy fuck," Emma breathes, edging closer to Regina.

The street is crowded, small children wandering up it in their direction – faces set in frightening determination.

"Hide," she spits out, "quick."

The three of them dart round the corner, pressing themselves up against the wall.

"Jefferson, you got your gun?" Emma asks quietly, not taking her eyes off the approaching children.

"Yeah."

"Good, okay," she nods.

"Why?" he asks, sounding like he doesn't want to hear the answer.

"Because you and I are gonna hold them off whilst Regina kills the freaks."

Regina's head snaps to her. "You can't be serious?"

"Well I am. Seriously."

"Emma, there's got to be more than a hundred of them," she whispers incredulously.

"So conjure. A hundred. Fireballs," Emma grits out between her teeth.

"I can't!" Regina hisses, keeping her voice down though she clearly doesn't want to be.

"Why not?"

"Because," Regina snaps, "if you'd actually bothered to learn anything about magic you'd realize that it can seriously tire you out – there's limits to everything Emma, even magic."

"But you conjure those up like it's nothing," she insists.

"One at a time, yes."

"So conjure up a hundred one after the other!" Emma whispers angrily.

"And what do you plan to do with the others? Hmm? Get them to wait in line for their turn? We've got no way of knowing what the others will do when one's attacked!"

Emma lets out a frustrated groan. "Then let's find out."

"Erm, guys," Jefferson cautions, but neither of them take any notice.

"Emma, I know you're an idiot – but surely even you can't be suggesting that we just blunder in and try to take on hundreds of children whose mere touch is deadly, without even knowing how they react when attacked."

The blonde rolls her eyes. "And do you have a better suggestion?"

"Guys."

"Yes," she bites out. "I suggest we get the hell out of here – instead of embarking on a suicide mission."

"It's not a suicide mission it's a good plan!"

"Guys."

"Jefferson and I take out as many as possible shooting and you take out the rest with fireballs – what's wrong with it?"

Regina gives a tiny frustrated scream. "What's wrong is that for all we know, when we attack they'll sprout wings and fly."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Regina, that's ridiculous, they're not gonna –"

"Guys!" Jefferson shouts and they both turn to him.

"What?" they snap in unison.

"Run," he says and Emma frowns.

"What, why?"

He stands incredibly still. "Because," he hisses, "they might not have wings – but that certainly doesn't seem to stop them climbing."

His eyes flicker upwards and both women mirror the movement, freezing where they stand.

There's a child clinging to the gutter on the building next to them, hanging there with an apish agility, eyes fixed hungrily down on them. It tilts its head as it sees them looking at it, mouth pulling into a grin.

"Play with me?" it asks – and then it jumps.

There's a tangled blur of limb as they each try to push each other out of the way. Regina's furthest from where it lands, but Emma and Jefferson are right by it, falling over each other to try and get out of the way – to try and get each other out of the way. They scramble for a second before they both lose their balance and they're falling – right on top of the child.

Emma hears Regina scream her name, but she can't respond, she's completely frozen in panic. She feels her body being pushed, then she's rolling – head smacking the concrete.

She scrambles off the ground, to see Jefferson doing the same.

The child's already back on its feet and Emma reaches for her gun, but it doesn't move towards them – only smiles sweetly. "Thank you," it sing-songs. Then starts skipping away and disappears off into thin air.

She stares after it shell-shocked, then her eyes move to Jefferson.

Regina runs over to her, eyes wide and panicked. "Did it touch you? Emma? Did it touch you?"

She blinks, keeping her gaze on Jefferson, rubbing her head where it hit the ground. "N-no. Don't think so."

"Don't think so?" she demands, voice urgent.

"It didn't," Jefferson says, brushing himself off and coming to stand next to Regina, "she's fine."

There's a sinking feeling making its way down Emma's chest.

"How do you know?" Regina asks, frantic.

"Because it touched him," Emma whispers, not quite processing her own words.

Regina turns to Jefferson, looking startled. "What?"

He his face pulls up into a rueful grin. "Guess you're finally gonna get rid of me, eh?"

They both just stare at him.

"Come on, laugh at the dead man's jokes!"

"I don't think now's really the time. There's still more of them." Regina says flatly.

Emma nods. "We need to get out of here."

The brunette looks around. "Town Hall's not far – we can make it if we run."

Emma hums her agreement, casting a glance upwards. There are children everywhere.

"Run then," she tells them, "now."

They move off in unison, and Emma hardly notices that Regina's slipped her hand around hers until they're all barreling into the Town Hall and she moves to barricade to door, only to realize that her hand is firmly clasped in someone else's.

"Erm, Regina?" she asks, and the brunette casts a glance down before snaking her hand back, cheeks coloring slightly.

"Jefferson, you should sit down," she instructs, turning her attention away from Emma.

"What's that gonna help?" he replies sarcastically, "I don't think weird spirit-y viruses go away with a little R and R."
Regina rolls her eyes. "Suit yourself."

Emma ignores them, pulling out her phone and dialing David's number quickly.

"Emma, we've kinda got a situation over here," he says as he answers, sounding stressed.

"Yeah," Emma laughs, feeling a little incredulous at the predicament, "us too. We've barricaded ourselves in town hall, might have to try wait them out. You guys get inside too – all of you. Get everyone inside. I think fire kills them, so if you can make any then try."

"You got it," David replies, "Lilly and Tom are with us – we'll do what we can."

"Stay safe," she says, then hangs up and turns immediately to Regina.

"I need to know what you can do," she says bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"A hundred simultaneous fireballs is out the question, got it, but what alternatives do you have?"

Regina frowns. "In the fire department – not much really. Fire is fire – you'd do just as well creating your own with matches."

"Okay," Emma nods, "well hey we did that once here before."

Regina looks up at her at the memory. They both know the importance of that day now, and Emma can see it on Regina's face.

"You nearly died for me that day," the brunette whispers.

"Well, I've done all the dying for her today, so hopefully she'll be fine," Jefferson pipes up snarkily.

"You're not gonna die, Jefferson," Emma snaps, "don't be a baby."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you discover a magic cure you haven't been sharing – or did Santa bring you one for Christmas?"

Regina chokes down a chuckle and Emma glares at her. "Honestly, did you two go to sass school together or something?"

They both share a look, something passing between them that Emma is completely lost by – but she's sort of used to everyone in this town having history with everyone else.

"He dropped out early," Regina replies, turning back to Emma, "I was always a much better student."

"That's because I wasn't there for all the lessons," Jefferson shrugs and Emma frowns.

"Okay, what the hell are you two on about?"

Regina smirks. "Don't worry about it."

Emma opens her mouth, ready to push it further, but then shakes her head – thinking better of it. Priorities, and all.

"Anyway," she says pointedly, "there's alcohol here right?"

"Really, Emma, now?"

"Not to drink! I was thinking we could use the alcohol as makeshift bombs and light the fuckers up."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Eloquent as always, dear," she sighs.

"It's a good plan," Emma shrugs in response. Regina crosses her arms, looking pensive.

"I suppose it's the best we've got. I'll do what I can magic wise – but it really depends on how many of them there are – and if, God forbid, they have their own magic. It's one thing turning your father into a squirrel, and a whole other trying to fight an entire battle by myself."

Emma nods. "Okay, anything you can do will help."

"What d'you want me to do?" Jefferson asks.

"Sit there and stay out of trouble," she snaps at him.

He rolls his eyes. "What good's that going to do? If someone's going out there it should be me and Regina."

"Agreed," Regina says quickly.

"Whoa, no way – I'm going out there."

"Emma, I'm a dead man walking – and Regina has the magic juice. Might as well give one of us a fighting chance, shame it has to be you – but dead men can't be choosers," he smirks.

The blonde has to fight down the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she just glares.

"How about we all just go out together?" she asks.

"Whatever her majesty wishes."
"She's a highness not a majesty," Regina points out and Emma raises her eyebrows at her in question.

"You're a princess, not a queen. Only kings and queens get referred to as 'your majesty' everyone else is simply 'your highness'."

Emma just stares at her. "How was that at all relevant?" she asks incredulously.

"Just helping to further your education," she shrugs.

"Right now?"

"Well you might not be alive much longer – I figured I should educate you while I can."

Emma's moved forward, encroaching on Regina's personal space. "If I'm gonna die I'm sure there are better things you could be educating me on."

Regina raises an eyebrow, opening her mouth to reply, but Jefferson lets out an exasperated laugh.

"Jesus Christ, would you two just fuck each other already?"

They both turn to him, looking a little scandalized. "What?" Emma asks.

Jefferson rolls his eyes again. "What?" he shrugs, "The tension is killing me over here."

Emma starts replying but Jefferson cuts her off. "Oh shut your pretty little mouth, Swan, I'm tired of pretending I don't know exactly how you idiots feel about each other. I need to make sure that Grace isn't going to end up in the custody of a house exploding with UST. It's really not healthy for a child."

"And Grace is coming to live with us because…"

"Dying, remember?" He waves his hands in the air. "It's really the least you can do for me, all things considered."

Emma blinks. "Wait, what?"

Regina, however, seems to be following much better. "You bastard," she breathes, and he grins at her.

The blonde looks from one to the other. "Okay, seriously I am so lost."

"You bastard," Regina says again, staring at him.

"Regina?" Emma asks, "Care to explain?"

"He knew."

"Knew what?"

"Knew you wouldn't both get out of the way in time. The idiot sacrificed himself for you deliberately."

Emma's gaze snaps to Jefferson. "What? Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because," he lets out a long sigh, expression turning a little defeated, "Okay Emma look you're…you're kinda like my little sister, okay?" he admits, looking strangely shy at the confession.

"You annoy the fuck out of me, don't get me wrong – but then everyone annoys the fuck out of me so…" he shrugs, "but even if you weren't kinda family – I owed it to Regina, anyway."

She frowns. "You what?"

Jefferson turns to meet Regina's gaze. "I've spent a lot of my life trying to fuck up yours," he admits with a little smirk, "to be fair you've done the same – but I guess I kinda started it. I'd have saved her anyway – but now at least I know that I've done something that'll help make up for the stuff I've done to you."

Regina's mouth falls open, then without warning she surges forward and her palm is colliding with his cheek. Then she wraps her arms around him.

"Hey there, I might be infectious," he jokes, but it falls a little flat.

"Jefferson…" Regina starts, pulling back again but still staring at him.

"Don't you dare get soppy on me, Regina, or I'll lose all my respect for you."

She rolls her eyes. "I wouldn't dare."

He nods, face turning serious. "You'll take care of Grace?"

"Henry wouldn't let me get away with anything else," she affirms.

He turns his gaze to Emma. "You gonna give the dead man a hug too?"

"You're not dead," she snaps.

"Not yet."

"Not ever. We'll find a way."

"Emma," he tries to reason, but she shakes her head.

"No. Just shut up! No one else is dying, okay? Not you, not Ashley – no one. Got it?" she shouts.

He rolls his eyes, but nods. "Fine, if we get out of here alive we'll find me a magical cure. Now on that note – do we have a plan your highness?"

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Oh my God, Emma, are you okay?" Snow rushes forwards to greet her as she shuffles through the door to her parents' apartment.

"I'm fine," she reassures her, "just a little scorched is all."

Her mother's eyes widen as they take in her appearance – burn marks all over her clothes, some on her skin, and the tiniest bit of singed hair.

"Come here, let me look at you," she says, hurrying forward and taking Emma's hand – the worst affected area – into hers, "oh, Emma, this is awful. Let me get something for it."

Before she can say anything, Snow's back across the room, rifling through the kitchen looking for things.

"Really, Mary Margaret, it's okay. It doesn't even hurt that much."

Her mother slams her hands down on the counter and Emma jumps, shocked by this sudden change in mood.

"Emma, I realize you like to play hero but that doesn't mean you can be so reckless about your health all the time," she scowls, more anger in her tone than Emma thinks she's ever heard before. If it weren't for what the woman just said, then shock would probably have remained her prevalent emotion - considering this whiplash inducing change of tone. As it is though, she can't quite believe her ears.

"Playing hero?" she asks, slamming the door closed behind her and striding over to the kitchen, "Who is it who's been pushing me to step up and take responsibility every goddamn chance she gets?"

Snow huffs angrily, "I wanted you to take responsibility as a leader, not as a martyr, Emma. There's a difference between being a responsible leader and being a reckless one."

"So now I'm reckless for trying to save people's lives?" Emma exclaims, slamming her own hands down onto the counter opposite the other woman. She has no idea why the woman's so angry with her, but she hardly feels it's fair.

"No. You're reckless because you seem to think you're invincible and it's not healthy. Look at you!" she laughs incredulously, waving a hand up and down to indicate Emma's singed form. "You look like someone tried to barbecue you! That hand definitely needs medical attention and yet you won't even let me look at it. Please tell me what part of that is responsible."

"If it bothers me, I'll go to the hospital and get it looked at, it's not a problem," Emma shoots back.

Snow shakes her head. "What's the point of going all the way to the hospital when I'm offering to look at it right here?" she asks, reaching across the counter to try and grab it.

Emma bristles, jerking it away angrily. "I said it's fine!"

Her mother just stares at her. "What is your problem?"

"What's your problem?" she retorts.

"My problem is that you're meant to be a responsible adult and yet you act like a five year old. My problem is that you won't let me help you!"

"I don't need your help!" Emma shouts back, and then silence falls between them.

"Emma –"

"No," she bites out, "stop it. You don't get to do this. You do not get to pick and choose when to mother me. If you want to help me then help me - but help me with what I need."

Snow startles, face taking on a deer-in-headlights expression. "Emma, what are you talking about?"

She lets out a little angry laugh. "Of course you wouldn't know. You don't even notice, do you?"

"I notice that you're being completely unreasonable right now."

Emma groans in utter frustration.

"I also notice that you nearly got yourself killed yet again. I mean honestly, Emma, what about Henry? Forget about leadership, what kind of example are you setting as a mother – what kind of mother are you being when you do this to yourself all the time?" her mother asks, folding her arms across her chest.

The blonde just gapes at her, speechless with fury. "What kind of… what kind of mother am I? Are you serious right now? How dare you fucking lecture me on what kind of a mother I am!"

"I dare because I am your mother, Emma! And it's my prerogative to care about what you do to yourself and my grandson!"

"Don't you even talk about Henry, right now," Emma hisses, seething. "You have no right to talk about how that child is parented."

"Emma," Snow says, taking a deep breath, "I am allowed to be worried for my family. I am allowed to not want to see you kill yourself and orphan that child!"

"He wouldn't be an orphan, he'd have Regina!"

"And you think that's enough for him? You think that's enough for her?"

Emma blinks in surprise. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Her mother just shakes her head, giving a disbelieving laugh. "You're unbelievable," she breathes. "Look, Emma, I know that we've been pushing you to step up but this isn't what we meant. We just want you to –"

"No," Emma interrupts, "no, I'm gonna stop you right there where you admitted to knowing you're pushing me. I'm a grown ass woman, I am not your little girl, and this is my life," she spits out. "You're perfectly happy to boss me around and tell me off for being irresponsible but where the hell are you when I need you to just be mom, hmm? When I needed a shoulder? I've needed a mom these past few months so tell me – where the hell have you been? Why couldn't you just be my mom instead of this fussy bitch who only talks to me to criticize me?"

Snow opens her mouth to reply but Emma throws up a hand to stop her. "No, d'you know what, I don't care about why. I don't care about your excuses anymore, I'm done. I need to go back to the hospital anyway."

With that she turns, marching back across the room and pulling the door open. She casts one quick look back over her shoulder – just long enough to see Snow's shocked and guilt-ridden face – before stomping out and slamming the door shut after her again.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Come here, let me look at it."

Emma shakes her head, leaning it back against the couch. "It's fine. I ran it under cold water."

Regina sighs, "Emma, it's not a little cooking burn – your hand is scorched. Let me look at it."

The blonde bites down on the sarcastic response she wants to give – because okay, yeah, it actually really hurts. She holds her hand petulantly above her head and hears Regina sigh again before coming to kneel on the floor next to her.

"You really should have let Doctor Whale look at this," she mutters as she starts cleaning of the burnt, red skin, "it's a bad burn."

"Well clearly I don't need him if I have you," Emma shoots back quickly.

"That's not really the point, Emma."

She shifts uncomfortably, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than I had to," she mumbles.

The brunette looks up at her, eyes sad.

"Emma, he –"

"Don't say it," she snaps, "he's not dead yet."

"Emma, I know you don't want to talk about it but –"

"No," the blonde says again, firmly, "we're not talking about it."

Regina sighs, pulling Emma's hand to her and starting to clean it gently. "You should take better care of your hands, you know. I'm getting déjà vu."

There's a pregnant pause whilst they both think about the last time Regina sat and fixed Emma's hands up. There's no way Regina's forgotten the circumstances surrounding that particular incident, nor is it likely that the woman's at all ignorant as to how mention of it will make Emma feel. And that only means one thing really – Regina's pushing her deliberately.

The blonde doesn't feel like being baited though. She can play too. "What's the point in taking care of my hands? Not like anyone has any use for them anyway."

Regina's hands still momentarily around hers, before recommencing in their task of wrapping it. "You have plenty of uses for your hands, Emma. Your mouth too."

Emma sits up, slightly more alert. "Oh, yeah?" she asks breathily.

"Yes," the other woman affirms, "talking about things."

She groans. Serves her right for trying to play Regina.

"I don't want to talk about things."

"Well, you need to.. You can't just pretend that everything's fine – it's not healthy. You need to address it. Everything that happened today, it's –"

"It's what?" Emma snaps, "What is it, Regina? Hmm? A disaster?"

She stares the brunette down, eyes wide in anger. "Everything that I set out to do today… I failed. So excuse me if I don't wanna talk about that."

"You didn't fail." Regina smooths her fingers across the back of Emma's gauze covered hand, before gathering everything up and placing it carefully back in her first aid box. It's a pretty extensive kit, honestly, and Emma's sure that it contains much more than it used to. A part of her can't help wondering if she has anything to do with that.

Emma merely laughs, trying to ignore the burn in her throat and growing ache in her heart. "Yeah. Sure."

"Emma," Regina sighs, impatiently, "you didn't fail. Things went wrong, yes, but that doesn't mean you can just shut it out and ignore it. This isn't the time for self-pity, and it certainly isn't the time for denial."

"Self-pity?" Emma asks. "You think that's all this is? You really think I'm that selfish?"

The brunette gives a small half-nod, eyebrows raising in a way that says, yes, that's exactly what she thinks.

Her mouth falls open in shock. "Seriously?"

Regina shrugs. "Jefferson's dying and his best friend won't even look at him because she doesn't want to accept it. Of course you're being selfish. Not to mention childish."

"He's not dying!" Emma shouts back, anger rising within her. "We're gonna fix it, we're gonna find something!"

"And what if he dies in the meantime? You don't know how long he's got. So what if he dies whilst you're refusing to see him, and you never get to? How would that make you feel, Emma, honestly?" Regina throws back at her, and Emma grinds her teeth together.

"Stop it."

"You know he might be an ass, but he did save your life – and I'll bet he's scared right now. Really scared," she continues.

"Regina, stop it," Emma growls. She doesn't want to hear this. Can't hear this. Can't talk about it either. Can't talk about how nothing seems to be going right. She's made no progress on the case, is no closer to finding the culprit – and that means there could be countless more deaths in Storybrooke's future. So of course she doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to get out a magnifying glass and start examining what a failure she's been. She doesn't want to talk about the consequences said failures brought.

"You're being selfish."

"Stop." There's emotion clawing up her throat, choking her. She screws her eyes closed against the feel of it.

"There are things that need doing, Emma. You're no good to anyone if you're just sitting here wallowing."

"Regina, please," her voice takes on a note of begging she's not proud of and yet can't seem to help.

"What if next time it's Henry? Would you refuse to see him too?"

There's fire burning her from the inside out, fire that feels like guilt and failure and loss. The claws of emotion scratch at her, ripping her to shreds from the inside out to leave everything exposed and raw.

Emma crumples – but Regina's there to catch her.

The brunette moves quickly, arm slipping around her shoulder and pulling her shaking body firmly into her side – pulling her head to her shoulder just in time to catch the first racking sob.

"And there it is," Regina exhales into the top of Emma's head, fingers stroking gently against her loose hair.

She can't talk for a minute, she's crying too hard, but when she manages to take a breath – the first thing she chokes out is, "Thank you."

Regina simply shushes her, fingers carding through her now disheveled curls. "You need to let it out."

Emma nods against the other woman's shoulder, watching as the tears she dislodges fall onto the soft blue material of Regina's jacket and create tiny dark patches there. This is one of the problems with being stubborn – sometimes she takes it to points where it's a little psychologically disastrous for her. There'd been so many things bubbling within her, so many emotions. There'd been too much happening in her head for her to process or to sort through. She'd known, deep down, that she'd reached breaking point – and yet she's so stubborn that she wouldn't allow herself to actually break.

Regina though, Regina had known. Regina had seen through her bullshit to the truth of what she was doing to herself and goaded her into this. Regina's letting her break all over her – and there's not a doubt in Emma's troubled mind that the other woman fully intends to help put the pieces back together once she's let it all out.

But she has to let it out first.

"Fifty-four people," she whispers, and Regina pulls her closer into her side in response.

"Fifty-four people are dying because I couldn't save them."

"No," Regina disagrees, voice firm, "fifty-four people are dying. That's all."

"Fifty-four and Jefferson. Jefferson's dying," the last is almost more to herself than the other woman. Trying her best to process.

"Yes, he is," the brunette mutters into her hair, "I'm sorry, Emma."

Emma doesn't respond, merely turns her head completely into Regina's shoulder and bites hard into her lip as another sob shakes her. She reaches out, wrapping her hands around Regina's waist and scrunching them into the material of her jacket. The other woman moves her spare hand to rub reassuringly at the arm around her front.

"We didn't even find Ash."

Emma feels Regina stiffen slightly, momentarily, before relaxing again. "I know."

"God, you should have seen Thomas' face," she cries. "He doesn't know what to do with himself."

"He'll be okay," Regina replies – though this time it's not very reassuring. She doesn't sound at all convinced.

Emma doesn't reply though, instead giving in to her body as a fresh wave of tears takes her. There's no point fighting it at this point – she just needs to let it out. She needs to face everything and accept it, to let her mind process and grieve – both for death and for failure. She just needs to let go for a little while.

So she does, and Regina holds her the whole time.

Long minutes pass where the only sound is that of breathing and Emma's muffled sobs. Regina's hands move across her, stroking, soothing. On her skin they leave a gentle warmth in their wake, but on her mind they're a cool breeze against the fire that was burning her up.

Once the tears finally begin to subside she takes another deep breath and admits, "I had an argument with my mother as well."

"Well that's understandable. She's a very irritating woman."

Emma appreciates the levity, but doesn't quite have it in her to respond to it yet. "She wants me to be this perfect person. To be a wonderful mother and some great leader – only she won't help me with it. She just tells me what to do but won't lend any emotional support. Then she has the nerve to tell me I'm the bad mother."

"You're not a bad mother," Regina responds, "certainly better than her."

Emma sniffs against the tears that are travelling down her face in a glistening trickle. "I just need her to stop fussing me and just be there. Why is that so hard? I know she's good at comforting people because I see it every day. I see her being the kind of mother I used to dream about having. With Henry – hell, sometimes just with kids in her class. Do you have any idea how much that kills me?"

"Does she?" Regina asks pointedly.

"I shouldn't have to tell her. I'm her daughter. She wasn't always like this either, it's just since we got back from that godforsaken island all she does is push me around."

"Well, much as I'm loathe to admit it," Regina starts, "I really think that's something you'll actually have to talk through with her."

"I don't even want to look at her right now," Emma spits out, "let alone speak to her. She called me a bad mother. Her."

"Then wait a while. Wait until you're ready and then you can talk to her. Alright?"

Emma lifts her head up to meet Regina's steady gaze, left just the tiniest bit breathless by the sympathy and care in them. "Okay."

"Good," she replies, reaching out a hand to wipe away a straggling tears from Emma's cheek.

"I'm sorry about this," the blonde mumbles.

Regina gives a half shrug. "You needed to let it out. I wasn't lying about there not being time for you to wallow."

Emma manages an imitation of a laugh. "Subtle, as always."

The brunette smirks. Then, suddenly, her lips are on Emma's, the touch achingly soft.

Emma responds gratefully, pulling the other woman to her. She's all broken apart and, as she suspected, Regina's now trying to put her back together again – without the cement of denial and self-hatred.

She pulls back again for a second, long enough to look the other woman in the eyes.

"If you ever tell anyone I cried this much, I will end you."

Regina smirks. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Her mouth moves immediately back to Emma's – taking, claiming, as her hands move to the blonde's jacket. She slips it off easily, tugging her tank quickly after it to expose the lean flesh beneath.

The blonde feels herself shiver as Regina's fingers start to dance across her skin, pressing herself forwards into the relief of her touch. Regina moves her mouth down Emma's neck. She nips kisses into the flesh there, pulling a soft gasp from Emma, whose hands move to find Regina's own jacket and push it off her. The blonde nudges the other woman's chin back up with a finger, pressing their lips together again and stroking her tongue lightly across her bottom lip. Then her hands fly to Regina's shirt, stumbling over the buttons in a desperate attempt to get it off her without ripping it. Somehow, she doesn't think she'd get much thanks for that.

Once it's open though, the brunette shrugs out of it easily, pulling Emma close enough that their covered breasts are flush against each other as her hands twist into blonde hair. Emma moans as Regina's tongue slips into her mouth, moving skillfully against her own. Her brain's not quite with her on what's happening yet, happy to sit back and let her body respond naturally to the kisses and caresses across her skin. Her hands move impatiently down to Regina's pants, looking for the fastening, but the other woman's hands reach down to stop her.

"Nuh uh," she breaths in admonishment, biting a kiss into Emma's jawline, "not here."

Emma nods, waiting for the other woman to climb off her before standing too. She slips a hand down to lace her fingers with Regina's, pulling her in for another heated kiss, and Regina's hands move hungrily over the exposed flesh of her stomach. She strokes her own fingers up the woman's back, tracing lines up to where her fingers find the clasp of her bra.

"Upstairs," the brunette encourages, starting to pull Emma out of the living room.

The blonde tightens her hold on Regina's fingers, eyes roaming the already exposed flesh. "By all means - lead the way."

SQ*SQ*SQ

Waking up in Regina's bed is a simultaneously strange and wonderful feeling – or it would be – if yet again she weren't being awoken by her phone ringing.

Regina groans from in bed beside her and Emma's distracted from the ringing for a moment by the fact that Regina's in bed beside her. The woman's lying with her back to her, bare skin exposed and looking eminently kissable. Her hands move hesitantly forward, pausing just above her.

"Answer the goddamn phone, Emma," the brunette's voice is muffled by her pillow, but it doesn't carry any less weight.

"Right," Emma nods, retracting her hand and scrambling out of the bed. It's a lot colder than being wrapped up in the sheets with the warmth of Regina's body beside her, and she finds herself shivering. It doesn't help that she doesn't know where any of her clothes are.

She looks around, following the sound of buzzing, until she finds her jeans draped carelessly over a chair. She pulls them off and grabs the cell phone from the pocket, holding the jeans to her in the best attempt at modesty she can muster.

"Sheriff Swan," she answers.

"Sheriff, it's Whale," the doctor's voice greets her. "I was wondering if you could come down to the hospital?"

Emma's heart leaps to her throat. "What – why? God, is it Jefferson? Is he –"

"Jefferson's fine, Sheriff. He's on fluids and we're monitoring him carefully, like all of them. This isn't about that."

"Then what –"

"Ashley Boyd's been found."

She freezes. She doesn't want to ask – but she has to. "Is she –"

"Alive, yes. Though barely – she's in a coma."

Emma's eyes fall shut. It can never just be good news, can it? It has to be mixed blessings.

"Alright, doctor, I'm on my way," she sighs, hanging up. They can talk more when she gets to the hospital.

"Emma?" Regina asks, sounding a little more awake. "Who was it?"

"Doctor Whale. They've found Ashley."
The brunette sits bolt upright. "What?"

Emma tries not to be distracted by the fact the sheets have fallen down to Regina's waist. She fails.

"They found Ashley," she says again, looking around for the rest of her clothes.

"Well, is she… I mean what did they…is she alive?" Regina asks, as inarticulate as Emma's ever heard her.

"She's alive."

Regina looks almost concerned by this.

"But comatose," she adds.

The brunette lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like relief and Emma's frowns at her. "What is it to you?" she asks.

Regina coughs uncomfortably. "Nothing."

That's a lie. That's a real, proper, blatant lie. Emma's lie-detector is screaming.

"Regina?" she presses carefully.

"No." The woman shakes her head. "Nothing, it's just – I know Thomas was worried, and you're fond of Thomas so…" she trails off awkwardly. Emma narrows her gaze at her, it still feels like a lie, but she has to go. They can talk about it later.

She pulls on her panties – which she'd found on the bookcase – and then her jeans, looking around.

"Regina, have you seen my bra?" she asks, confused. The brunette just lifts her gaze upwards, eyebrows mirroring the movement, and Emma follows her line of sight.

Her bra's hanging off the ceiling fan.

"How did you even get it up there?" she asks incredulously and Regina shrugs, smirking.

"I was in a hurry."

Emma grins back at her. "We both were."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Emma's desperately tempted to crawl back onto the bed and capture Regina's mouth with her own. So she does. She walks over and climbs on top of the sheets, hand weaving into Regina's hair and mouth pressing firmly against the other woman's.

The brunette moans into the kiss in a way that makes Emma really sorry she's put her jeans back on, and she pushes Regina's back down against the pillows, shifting so that she can pull the sheet that separates them away and expose the other woman's body to her. She snakes her hands around Regina's legs, just above the knee, and pulls her thighs apart so she can situate herself between them. The brunette's hands move to Emma's jeans, but Emma pulls them away, holding them above Regina's head and moving her mouth to kiss at her neck.

"I thought you were going to the hospital," Regina breathes.

"I am," Emma mumbles into her neck distractedly, "I was… but then you were all naked and alone in here."

"Can't have that, can we?" Regina asks, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Emma lets go of her wrists and moves her hands back to the top of her thighs, pulling at the brunette's legs until they're wrapped around hers, rubbing her jeans against the woman's crotch. Regina gasps, hands moving to Emma's back and pulling her closer against her.

"You tell me." Emma smirks.

She grinds herself against her once more, moving a hand around to scrape her nails teasingly against the top of Regina's inner thigh.

The other woman glares daggers at her, but the way she's flushed and panting wantonly makes it a lot less intimidating than it might be otherwise.

With another wicked smirk, Emma moves off the bed, pulling Regina – still wrapped around her waist – with her.

"Emma, what are you –"

The blonde shuts her up with a kiss as she pushes her against the wall, using it to keep the woman supported in the air.

"Playing out a fantasy," she mumbles, slipping her tongue into Regina's mouth and continuing to grind against her.

She slips a finger down to start stroking Regina's entrance, grinning when the woman's head falls back against the wall. She moves her mouth to the hollow at the brunette's throat and kisses it, darting out her tongue and tracing patterns across the smooth skin there.

"Still want me to go to the hospital?" she grins against her.

Regina shakes her head slightly, breath coming in short gasps as she tries to grind her hips against the finger Emma's teasing her with. "No one's dying right now, are they?"

Emma shakes her head, pressing the finger harder against her and eliciting a moan.

"Then they can wait twenty minutes."

.

.

.

When she finally gets to the hospital she's greeted at the entrance by a Thomas whose brow is set in firm lines. He looks determined, and worried, but the lost look he'd had yesterday is gone – for which Emma is grateful.

"Hey, Tom," she gives him a small smile, "you wanna run it down for me?"

He nods. "Walk with me?"

She nods herself, and falls into step beside him.

"Fred was out jogging along one of the forest paths this morning, said he found her out there just off track. She was out cold."

Emma frowns. "Fred found her?"

"Yep."

Her frown deepens. "Since when does Fred jog?"

Thomas shrugs. "Don't know and don't care. He found my wife. Anyway, he called Whale and they sent a team of EMTs out, brought her back and examined her. Whale says there's nothing he can find medically wrong with her – she hasn't been hurt – she's just in a coma."
Emma bites on her lip as Thomas leads them into an elevator and pushes the button for the third floor. "So we don't know why she's in a coma, then?"

He shakes his head. "Whale says it's most likely exhaustion – that she's not ready to wake up yet but as soon as she is – she will."

The blonde makes a small noise of understanding. "But there's no diagnosis of anything."

"No. He said that the most probable cause that he can think of is somnambulism – whatever that means."

"Sleep walking," Emma tells him. "Didn't you ask?"

He just stares at her, eyes wide and exhausted. "Emma, I'm not really with it – I'm just happy she's back and in one piece. He told me it wasn't much to worry about and that's all I needed to hear right now."

"Fair enough."

He leads her through a ward and into a private room, where Ashley's lying unconscious but clearly unscathed on a hospital bed, chest rising and falling evenly. He moves to sit in the chair by her bedside, eyes casting furtive glances over her – as if he's worried she might disappear again.

"He says we've just gotta wait," he mumbles, keeping his eyes on his wife, "that's all we can do now."
Emma nods absently. "Well, after yesterday we've got a lot to do here anyway. You sit with her, Tom. We'll be around," she tells him softly and he looks up just long enough to shoot her a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

She returns the smile. "No problem – I'm just pleased she's okay."

.

.

.

She spends most of the morning working with Lilly and Whale to make a catalogue of everyone who's reporting being touched. They've cleared a floor and put them all together, all on fluids, so they can be monitored carefully. Emma's determined there has to be something they can do this time.

They compare notes from all the previous victims, but there doesn't seem to be much of a pattern between who died quickest. Some of the last to go were adults verging on old age – some were teenagers, like Hannah. There's a mix of genders as well, so it can't be that.

"There has to be something," Emma says, glaring at the piles of charts in front of her.

Lilly rubs at her temples, brow creased. "But what? Emma, we've looked for every common factor and there isn't one – not age, or sex, or weight, or blood type – there isn't anything."

The blonde bites on her lip, thinking. Eventually it hits her. "What if it's not something in the charts?"

Lilly frowns simply deepens. "What?"

"What if the common factor isn't something that would be written down, what if it's…" she trails off, mind working as she pulls a chart towards her.

"Andrew Peters," she recites, "sixty-eight years old and overweight, but one of the last to die. What do we know about him?"

The redhead leans back in her chair, folding her arms. "Not much – he wasn't really a big player in town. Worked at the school teaching second grade."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "That must be a pretty tiring job, right?"

"Right," Lilly nods with a tiny confused smile, "six to seven year olds can be a complete nightmare."

Emma drums her fingers against her leg, mind working fast. "Okay…" she pulls another of the charts marked in green – the last to die – towards her.

"Andrea Weiss," she winces at the name, guilt flooding through her in the knowledge she'd ignored the other woman's request for help to save Regina. Then again, if she hadn't then Regina would almost certainly be dead by now – and she finds she really can't feel too guilty about that.

"I know her," Lilly nods, "she was one of the people involved in the gassing incident."

Emma bristles – there's that as well. Andrea had been one of the only three surviving members of the group of nineteen that tried to kill Regina by gassing her shortly after their return from Neverland. Thankfully for Regina, the plan had backfired and most of them had ended up dying of carbon monoxide poisoning – but those that had escaped had been quick to swear they'd never go near the ex-mayor again. Emma had never really forgiven any of them though.

"Forty-six," Emma reads from the chart, "no family."

"She works at the gym," Lilly supplies, "I see her in there a lot – she's a trainer."

A theory's beginning to take hold in Emma's brain. "Give me another one," she says eagerly – and Lilly hands her a chart.

"Jake Lambert," she says, and something flashes in Lilly's eyes, Emma saddens too, "twenty eight," she reads quietly.

"Worked as a fisherman," the redhead supplies in a similar tone, "was involved in all sorts of charity work. Happiest guy you'd ever meet."

"Next one," Emma says, and Lilly gladly hands her a chart, "Hannah Montague," she reads sadly. "Sixteen."
"Good kid," Lilly nods, "worked in her dad's bakery, did sailing with me, was on the girls' soccer team."
Emma's mouth pulls into a smile, despite her sadness over Jake and Hannah. "Lil, I think I might be on to something."

Lilly raises an eyebrow in question.

"Okay," Emma starts, feeling excitement that, for once on this goddamn case she might actually be getting somewhere, "so Andrew was kinda old and overweight, right? But he taught young kids – so he must've been a pretty enthusiastic kinda guy. Andrea was a personal trainer – also pretty energetic. Jake was one the most upbeat people I ever met and Hannah – to be doing all the stuff that she did and still be as happy as that kid was she must have run on sunshine – d'you see it?"

Lilly frowns. "I erm…think so?"

"It's energy," Emma grins, sure now she's said it out loud, "not necessarily fitness – but being an energetic person. An animated person. All the one's died last –if they were like Hannah and Jake then they'll have been the ones with the most life in them. The one's that lasted longest were the ones that had the most energy."

She jumps from her chair and runs out of the room.

"Whale?" she shouts as she runs down the hall, a nurse behind the reception desk looks at her like she's crazy, and she turns to her.

"Where's Doctor Whale?" she demands urgently.

"I don't –" the nurse starts and Emma cuts her off

"Page him. Now."

The nurse looks angry but does as she says. "He's on his way," she replies a moment later.

Emma bounces on the balls of her feet, only then noticing that Lilly's caught up to her.

"That was pretty cool," she admits with a smile.

Emma grins. "It makes sense though, right? You agree with me?"

The redhead looks a little pensive, but nods. "It's certainly the only connection we've been able to make."

The blonde takes a deep breath. Lilly might be skeptical – but she's sure. For once, she's really sure she's right on this. Whatever's happening to the people the children touch – it's about energy.

Whale comes round the corner, looking serious. "Sheriff," he greets, "I'm glad you paged."
"Whale!" She runs over to him. "Glucose!" she shouts, and his brow creases.

"Sheriff I'm not sure I –"

"Glucose," she repeats, "Sugar! Give them sugar!"

The doctor's frown deepens. "Who?"

"All the infected people – you need to give them sugar, maybe a large dose of B12. You gotta keep their energy up!"

"What did you find?" he asks, looking to Lilly and back to Emma again.

"Nothing," she says, "there was nothing in the charts – no obvious connections. But we looked at the ones who lasted longest and they were all people who were pretty energetic in life – and I think that's why lasted longer," she tumbles over her words, and he nods, starting to understand.

"So you – what – want me to keep them on a permanent sugar-spike?"

"Yes, no. I don't know," she shakes her head, "I don't think it's even just about physical energy. They might need mental stimulus as well – just, you need to keep their energy levels up, okay?"

He nods again, looking a little skeptical but seemingly on track with her. "Epinephrine," he says thoughtfully, "if anyone starts looking really ill we could try giving them a dose of epinephrine."

Emma grins. "That's what I'm talking about. See? We can do this, we can keep them alive – at least until I find something else."

Whale nods again. "I'll get some nurses on it, maybe if we asked family members to come in and talk to them, play games with them or something. Anything that might help keep their minds awake."

"Perfect," Emma lets out a breath of relief. This could work, this could really work.

Whale gives her a pat on the arm. "Nice work, Sheriff. We'll start straight away and see how it goes. In the meantime though – Ashley's woken up."

The blonde's eyes widen. "What? Why didn't you say so?"

He just stares at her, eyebrows raising.

"Right," she nods, "sorry. Anyway, Ash is awake?"

"Yes," he replies, expression turning serious again, "and she's asking for you."

SQ*SQ*SQ

When she gets upstairs, the curtain in Ashley's room is drawn – and Thomas is standing outside looking furious.

"Tom?" she asks as she approaches. "What's going on?"

He turns on her, looking angrier than she's ever seen him. "She won't talk to me," he grounds out, "only you."

Emma startles. "But –"

"Don't ask," he snaps. "I don't know why – but if there's something wrong, I wanna know what it is so just get in there and help her, would you?"

The blonde's a little shocked by the outburst, but nods, moving to knock tentatively on the door.

"Who is it?" Ashley's voice asks – harsher than Emma's heard it before.

"It's me, Ash, it's Emma."

"Oh. Come in."

Emma shoots Thomas a quick, apologetic look, and then walks in – shutting the door again behind her.

Ashley doesn't really look herself either, sure there's no obvious signs of illness – she's not even pale – but she still looks a little off.

"Heya, Ashley," Emma smiles carefully, coming to stand at the end of her bed, "you know you all had us really worried for a second there."

Ashley smiles softly. "Thanks."

"So," Emma starts, feeling distinctly awkward, "you wanted to see me?"

The girl shifts on the bed, looking about as uncomfortable as Emma feels. There's something so not right about her, though Emma can't put a finger on what it is. All she knows is that she's no longer sure that Ashley didn't come out of whatever happened quite so totally unscathed. "I need to talk to you," she admits.

"Not Thomas?" she ask gently.

Ashley shakes her head aggressively. "I can't… I can't tell him this."

Emma feels her brow start to crease slightly, and she moves to take the seat by Ashley's bed.

"Alright, well, you know you can tell me anything? You're safe," she reassures, putting a hand over Ashley's, careful to avoid the IV.

The girl nods, looking down at her lap.

"Ashley?" Emma asks, cautious. "Does this have anything to do with the murders?"

She shrugs, eyes still fixed on the blanket across her, and Emma sees a tears roll down her cheek. Emma strokes her thumb reassuringly across the back of her hand. "It's okay, you can tell me."

Ashley sniffs. "I don't know if it's anything to do with the murders," she starts, "but I did something… and I don't know why but I did and now I can't face him."

Her eyes flicker to the curtained glass, outside of which Thomas is no doubt standing.

"Okay, Ashley," Emma sighs. "Start from the beginning."

.

.

.

Ashley Boyd's life is pretty perfect. She has a husband who loves her, a beautiful daughter, and a job she loves. So she doesn't know why, one day in the middle of November, she wakes up with a craving. It doesn't make sense – but no matter how she tries, she can't shake it off.

She tries to go about her day as normal – making breakfast for her family and sending them both off to the Sheriff's station, getting dressed and going to work like normal – like her mind isn't elsewhere.

It doesn't get any better though. She keeps telling herself that it'll be fine, that when she gets home and sees her family again everything will go back to normal – but then Thomas calls and says he'll be home late, that Ruby's watching Alex – and she finds herself alone in her house. No distractions, just a craving.

So she goes into her room, she changes, and then she leaves again – driving across town to a house few people drive to and knocking on the door. She finds herself relieved when it opens, and she doesn't stop for pleasantries, simply reaches inside and takes the stunned brunette woman's face in her hands, kissing her.

The other woman is confused, protests, but then Ashley pulls off her woolen hat to let her blonde curls loose, and a look of longing passes over the other woman's features. Her guard goes down and she lets Ashley kiss her again, and again, until she pulls them both into her study and shuts the door firmly behind them.

The next day Ashley isn't disgusted with herself, as she thought she'd be, but proud. The craving's gone and she feels satisfied. If anything, it's the other woman who seems more upset about it. She leaves, a spring in her step, and doesn't look back.

They don't talk about it again – they don't talk at all – and they both seem happy with that arrangement.

She finds herself feeling distant from her family though. She doesn't crave anything new, but neither does she crave them. She feels somewhat alone, like she's drifting, and that's when the sleepwalking starts.

She finds herself waking up in the middle of the forest late at night, running home and showering off all the evidence, crawling back into bed before Thomas even realizes she's gone. He doesn't even notice anything's off – too distracted by the strange murder case that's whipped the town into panic.

She starts to get headaches, blinding pain in her head like someone's sitting inside with a little hammer – trying to get out. On the day of the ball her headache's so bad she can barely move. She waves it off – doesn't want Thomas hanging around her any more than absolutely necessary. Then he's gone and she's alone and she finally manages to get some sleep.

When she wakes up again, it's in a hospital bed, desperate for her husband and her baby girl, ashamed to realize what she's done to them.

.

.

.

Emma sits there, mouth hanging open in shock, stomach twisting violently.

"You see why I can't face him?" Ashley asks, twisting the blanket between her fingers.

Emma shakes her head, feeling a little dazed. "No… no, you should."

Ashley's eyebrows skyrocket. "I can't! I can't tell him, it'll break his heart."

"So don't tell him," Emma replies simply, trying to keep anger out of her tone.

Ashley looks shocked by the suggestion, but Emma ploughs on, "Ash, I don't think you can be blamed. Whatever happened, I don't think it was your fault. I don't think you were in your right mind. That happens, you know? It's called a fugue state – sometimes you can't even remember what happened while in it – but you can't be held responsible."

"But," she frowns, "but I can't lie to him about this."

"Look, did it mean anything to you?" Emma asks – probably a little sharper than she should have.

Ashley shakes her head. "No…I mean, it was fun." Emma's fists clench. "I remember it being fun – oh god, does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," Emma says quickly, blankly. "No, it doesn't."

"And it really didn't mean anything – I didn't even know why I was doing it."

"Then does it matter?"

Ashley frowns a moment longer. "I guess not."

"Exactly," Emma nods. "Talk to your husband, Ash, he's worried about you. I have something I've gotta do – but I'll be back if you need me, okay?"

She looks up, giving her a small smile. "Okay – and, erm, thank you."

Emma tries her best to return the smile. "No problem," she hopes her voice doesn't betray that it is.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"You bitch," Emma spits out as Regina opens the door. She strides in past the stunned woman and waits for her to shut the door behind her before turning on her again.

"You complete and utter bitch."

"What?" Regina's face has fallen, brow furrowed.

"Don't you dare fucking 'what' me. I just spoke to Ashley," she spits out, trying to ignore the way that the stunned, kicked puppy look on Regina's face just makes her want to hug her.

"Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'. Were you ever going to tell me?"

The brunette folds her arms across her chest, collecting herself a little. "It didn't really concern you."

"Didn't… Regina, she is married. To one of my deputies, one of my friends," she yells.

"That still doesn't make it your business," the woman replies defensively.

Emma scoffs. "It does if she wasn't in her right mind!"

"What?" Regina snaps, irritation and confusion twisting her expression.

"She didn't even know what she was doing – way she tells it, she just woke up one morning with a fucking craving. For you."

"Emma, what are you talking about?"

"She's been having headaches and sleepwalking and just generally not been with it this last month or so."

Regina pales. "Headaches?"

Emma sighs in frustration. "Yes, headaches, that's what I said isn't it?"

"What kind of headaches?"

The blonde shakes her head – unsure how that's at all relevant.

"She said it felt like someone was hammering inside her head."

"Oh god," Regina's eyes widen, then she buries her head in her hands. "Oh god."

Emma frowns, feeling certain she's missing something. "What? What is it?"

"She was possessed," Regina mumbles into her hands, "or enchanted." She lifts her head again. "Probably enchanted."

Emma merely stares at her. "Why would someone do that?"

Regina shakes her head absently. "I don't know," she shrugs, "it doesn't make any sense to me."

The blonde stands there, thinking.

She doesn't want to state the obvious, because she doesn't want to face the doubt it's making stir her stomach. But at the same time it is, sort of, the obvious.

"Regina," she starts carefully, "how do you know she was enchanted?"

"I recognized the symptoms," the other woman replies – as if it that should already be apparent.

"How?"

"The same way that I recognize the ingredients of a summoning spell," she retorts, sounding unimpressed, "I know about magic."

"The symptoms I gave you are symptoms of lots of things."

The brunette's brown creases "One of which is enchantment. Emma, I'm not lying to you."

"I know you're not, it's just..."

"Just what?" she asks.

"Well… you got to that conclusion rather fast," Emma states cautiously.

"I…" Regina falters. "Emma, what exactly are you implying?" she asks tightly.

Emma doesn't answer. She doesn't know – all she knows is that facts are starting to resurface in her mind, little snippets of information she'd filed away to not think about. She trusts Regina, she has for a long time now. But through that trust she's somehow started to ignore things, things that she'd never have ignored before.

.

She's talking to Regina in her office, and the woman wants to make absolutely sure Henry knows she's innocent – despite suspicion never being on her in the first place. Emma asks if there's something going on and Regina says no. Emma's lie-detector pings.

.

She's talking to Obie, but he sees someone behind her that frightens him so much he runs away. She turns and sees Regina.

.

She turns to look for Regina again, but the woman's completely disappeared, and then the lights go out and there's a dead body on the floor.

.

She's desperately trying to get Regina away from the child, a child she's sure is bad news. But just as she moves there's a moment when she's positive she sees their hands brush – that she sees the child's small fingers pass across the longer line of the brunette's. Regina doesn't get sick though, not like everyone else – and Emma tells herself she didn't see it after all.

.

She's listing the ingredients of a summoning spell unknowingly – but Regina knows immediately – even though apparently that's not her brand of magic.

.

She's walking out a door Regina walked out of mere minutes before, but the woman's absolutely nowhere to be seen, and then there's another dead body, hanging from a chandelier. This one quite clearly put there by magic.

.

She's standing in the interrogation room, talking about Ashley, and Regina's reaction makes the lie-detector within her flare again. She tries to pursue it but the woman silences her.

.

She says Ashley's found, alive, and Regina looks worried – not happy. The woman hears she's unconscious and she looks relieved. It's that way round, and Emma's lie detector screams for her to see it.

.

"Oh my god," Emma gasps, feeling sick, "oh my god."

"Emma?" Regina asks carefully, moving to step towards her but Emma takes a step back.

"Regina, what were you doing when the murders happened?" she asks, voice quiet and shaky.

The brunette gives a short, incredulous laugh. "Emma, you're not seriously –"

"Where were you?" she asks again, voice stronger this time. Angrier.

"Why?"

"Because I saw you a few minutes before both of them – and then you disappeared right before the lights went out," she says carefully, gaze hard, "so I'm gonna ask again – where were you?"

A strange symphony of emotion plays out on Regina's face – ranging from angry and scandalized to hurt and betrayed. Eventually, after a long moment, the emotion that settles in her dark eyes is confusion, laced with sheer unadulterated terror.

"I don't… Oh my god, I don't know," she whispers.

Emma can't quite breathe. "What?" she hisses out.

Regina shakes her head, eyes wide and panicked. "I don't know, I… I can't remember."

The blonde closes her eyes, fists clenching. This is not happening.

"You don't. Know?" she asks slowly.

"No."

Emma suddenly finds she doesn't believe it, like the curtain's come crashing down to reveal the workings of deception. She feels played.

"You can stop pretending, Regina," she snaps, opening her eyes again to stare furiously at the woman.

Regina stares back, looking even more confused than before. "Emma, I –"

"No!" she shouts, backing away. "Stop it."

She doesn't listen, taking another step forwards instead. "Emma, you can't seriously believe that I –"

"Obie saw you," she chokes out, battling the urge to cry – because the more she thinks about it, the more it makes a horrible kind of sense. "Didn't he? That's why he was so scared – because he saw you and he knew what you were going to do."

"No." Regina shakes her head fiercely, eyes damp and pleading. "Emma, no, you have to trust me, I –"

"Trust you?" she screams, eyes blazing as she stares at her. "How the hell am I supposed to trust you when I know that you slept with Ashley? While she was enchanted."

Regina's face falls. "Emma," she chokes out, "that wasn't… It was a mistake. I didn't know. I was just lonely and she was there, and she wanted me and, god, she looked enough like you that I…" she closes her eyes, trying to control her breathing. "Emma, it was a mistake, and I'm sorry, but that's all it was."

The blonde shakes her head. "Then why don't you remember the murders? How am I supposed to trust you if you can't even tell me where you were?"

"I…" Regina looks lost. "I don't know. Maybe I was drunk, or maybe I just blocked it out I don't know but Emma, I didn't do this."

The other woman has advanced on her, backing her up against the door.

The blonde shakes her head. She's so confused – because her heart, her heart is telling her she couldn't have misjudged Regina that poorly. But her brain is telling her that there's a disconcerting amount of evidence that the woman was at least involved. With Gold away, Regina's the only person she actually knows of in town with the power to do this anyway. Of course she doesn't want to believe it, and there's a part of her that just can't. But the logical, sensible part of her is yelling that evidence doesn't lie.

"Emma," the other woman's looking at her, expression sincere and pleading, "you have to believe that I had nothing to do with this."

She bites her lip, shaking her head. "I…I don't know. Regina, I don't want to think you're behind it –"

"I'm not."

"But even if that's the case – what if you still did it? What if you were enchanted too? What if that's why you can't remember?"

"Then it wouldn't be my fault!" Regina exclaims.

"I know," Emma nods, "I know that but…but, god, you'd still have been the one that did it."

"Emma," Regina takes her face in her hands, forcing her to look at her, "please," she leans forward and kisses her softly, pleadingly.

Emma closes her eyes into the kiss for a second, then jerks her head to the side – breaking the contact.

"Stop," she whispers, "just stop I… I need some space to think about things."

She tries to ignore the way Regina looks like her heart is breaking in her chest. She's allowed to be angry – for all she knows the woman's just playing her. Not that she does know, she's just so confused.

"Emma, I didn't do this," Regina insists again, and the blonde sighs.

"Maybe you didn't. And maybe you did and you've been playing me for a complete fool this whole time," she whispers, meeting her gaze sadly, "but either way, you still slept with Ashley. You've still been lying to me about things. So until I've sorted everything out in my head, I just… I can't be near you."
She reaches behind her and pulls the door open. "I'm gonna go pick up Henry," she says. "Don't come over."

She ignores the devastation on Regina's face, and pretends that she doesn't see tears spilling out of her brown eyes. She's angry, so angry, because a part of her feels certain she's being played. Then there's the other part of her – the part that's convinced she's just been the biggest bitch in the universe.

The problem is that she just doesn't know which part to trust.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Regina does as she's asked. She doesn't contact Emma at all. Doesn't come over, doesn't call, doesn't even text. It's the most respectful the woman's ever been over boundaries, and Emma finds herself constantly wondering if she might have gone too far – if she's truly broken her bridges with her. Then another part of her brain reminds her that it's altogether possible that the woman's still up to murderous habits and has been playing her this whole time.

It's sort of an impossible situation.

"God, stop moping, would you? I thought you were supposed to be keeping me happy."

Emma looks up from her seat on the hard, plastic hospital chair. She gives Jefferson a half smile – as much as she can manage. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just stop doing it. Or at least tell me why you've been walking around looking like a kicked puppy all week."

"I'm just worried about you," Emma lies. She is worried about him, of course, but she also can't stop wondering about Regina. She hasn't told anyone else – knowing that if any possible suspicion got out she'd be done for. A lot of the people in town would jump on the idea of her as perpetrator without a second thought.

"Bullshit, Emma," Jefferson snaps, "tell me what it really is."

"I can't," she whispers, throat feeling tight, "I'm sorry. It's just something I have to figure out on my own. It might be nothing… I hope it's nothing," she adds in a tiny voice.

The man in the hospital bed gives a long sigh. "Okay, that's it. Your visiting time is up today."

The blonde startles, brows pulling together as she looks at him in confusion. "You're kicking me out?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "Because you're boring me. And bringing me down. You're the one that said we need to stay all upbeat and full of energy, weren't you?"

"Well, yes," she admits, still a little confused.

"Well, right now you're a total mood killer, so I either need you to cheer up or leave me alone. Send the monkey in to see me – she's much more fun."

Emma frowns, casting a furtive glance over the man's graying skin, the hollowness of his cheeks. "You sure that's a good idea? You're not looking so hot."

"That's exactly why I need to see her," he sighs. "Either she's going to keep me going and I make it until you figure out how to stop this – or else I'm gonna die anyway, in which case I'd like to spend as much time with my daughter as possible."

Her mouth twitches into a sympathetic smile. "I'll bring her down."

"Thank you," he sighs, and Emma stands to leave.

"Tell her to bring the lightsabers," he adds as she moves off.

"You're meant to stay in bed," she reminds him, unimpressed.

"Then tell her to bring something for us to play that I can play in bed," he frowns, "that sounded a bit weird didn't it?"

Emma can't help a tiny chuckle escaping her throat. "Definitely sounded weird."

"Board games," he says, "tell her to bring board games."

"Will do," she smiles, a little brighter than before.

.

.

.

"I got you two for the price of one." Emma manages a grin as she watches Grace bounce onto her father's bed, Henry not far behind her. "Figured you wouldn't mind – and I need someone to watch him."

"I'm dying and you're passing off your babysitting duties on me?"

"Since the babysitting duties might help delay the dying, I'd think you'd be pleased," she shoots back easily. Seeing Henry has cheered her up at least.

"Touché."

"Lilly's gonna come by and pick them up later. I'm going back to the station – that alright?"

"I'm sure I'll survive," he replies, and she almost smiles. Then their eyes meet and she sees the joke in his features. Emma hates that he's so accepting of this – but then she's stumped as to what else she can do for him, so maybe it's for the best. In some horrible, twisted way.

"Do your best," she replies, a command in her voice that – considering she has nothing else to help him – she probably doesn't have the authority to put there.

Jefferson just shoots her another quick smile, turning back to Grace and Henry and the assortment of things they've brought with them.

Emma can only hope that it's all enough for now.

.

.

.

"How are things at the hospital?" Thomas asks as Emma throws her jacket at a chair. It misses, skidding across her desk instead and dislodging various pieces of paperwork. She stares after in disgust, too tired to do anything about it.

"We've lost three more so far today," she sighs.

"How many does that make it then?"

"Eleven."

"Well, that's…" he trails off, "not as bad as it could be?"

Emma lets out a little incredulous chuckle. "I really hope that's not all we have to look forward to anymore. 'Not as bad as it could be'."

"This won't go on forever, Emma," Thomas reassures her, and she smiles. She's pleased that no harm appears to have come to Ashley – both for the girl herself and her devoted husband. Thomas is a good guy, he deserves happiness.

"I hope you're right. I just wish I knew how to stop it."

"Without knowing who's behind it that's a little difficult." Emma stiffens, guilt swirling in her stomach. She doesn't know who's behind it, because if she did that would mean it was Regina. And it's not Regina. As the week's gone on she's become more determined to believe it. She still feels sick over the idea that the woman might be somehow involved – but behind it? No. She can't be.

"That's why we need to keep working on finding out who is," she tells him, "that's the only way we can put this thing to rest."

"What d'you want to do then?"

"I don't know," Emma groans, "it's hardly like we can interrogate the whole town."

There's a pause, then Thomas opens his mouth. "No, Tom," she shuts him down, "we can't."

He lets out a little harrumph, slumping back in his chair. "I don't see what other options we have."

"Even if we did – which we are not," she adds before he can say anything else, "what would we even ask them? If they're in league with a bunch of creepy children and enjoy the occasional sacrifice in their spare time? Whoever's behind this is clever – they're not going to be caught by an interview."

"Anyone can be caught by an interview if you ask the right questions," Thomas disagrees.

"I don't think they can. Not people like this. They're clever – I mean, for god's sake they've been about five steps ahead of us the whole time."

Thomas's mouth presses together into a firm line, eyes narrowing in apology. "Maybe more like six."

She laughs. It's ridiculous, but it's also true.

"What if it's not even someone living in town?" he asks then. "What if whoever's behind it is in hiding?"

Emma thinks on that for a minute, but then shakes her head. "I doubt it. As I said, they're clever. They probably don't think they need to hide."

"Well, it's hardly like they're strutting around town gloating about it, is it?"

"No," Emma muses, "they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. They just wouldn't actively hide."

"But why does that mean we couldn't catch them in interrogation?" Thomas insists, uneager to let it go.

"Because they're smart. If we arrested them and interrogated them they'd probably just go into surrender mode. They'd come off as innocent and helpful, like solving this is important to them."

"And an innocent person would act like that too, right, got it," Thomas nods, "but can't you use your superpower on them or something?"

Emma bristles. "It's not that reliable."

"I thought you always said –"

"It won't work," she shoots back impatiently, "believe me."

He throws his hands in the air in frustration. "Fine, if you say so. I'm just trying here."

The blonde tries to soften her expression slightly. "I know you are. I'm sorry, Tom."

"It's okay," he shrugs, "we're all stressed."

She shoots him a small smile, and then stands, finally going to retrieve her jacket.

"I think we just need to brain storm. Think of any criteria we're looking for and see if we can't narrow down a suspect pool from it. It's vague, but it might just give us more of an idea of who we're actually looking at – rather than just the kind of person we're looking for."

Thomas hums in agreement. "Sounds like a plan. David coming in today? He might be able to help."

Emma coughs uncomfortably. She's hardy spoken to her father since her argument with Snow – and she hasn't spoken to her at all.

"Not sure," she mutters, "but for now we'll just have to do this ourselves."

SQ*SQ*SQ

Trying to profile the whole town had proven a pretty exhausting task. It had also proven to Emma that she knew pitifully few of Storybrooke's many residents. A couple of names had popped up, which she and Thomas had both agreed might be contenders, but they were only slight possibilities. No one they know really seems the type for ritual murder.

When Emma eventually gets in, it's to find Henry and Grace absolutely slaying Lilly in a lightsaber battle.

"Emma!" the redhead greets in relief as she walks through the door, "I could use a little help over here."

Emma laughs. "Nah, I think you're doing okay on your own."

Lilly's eyes widen in comic betrayal just before she's backed completely into a corner – two plastic lightsabers at her throat.

"Okay, okay – I surrender!" she puts her hands up, letting her own weapon fall to the ground with an echoing crash.

"Yes!" Henry and Grace cry out in unison, high-fiving each other. "Ice cream for dinner!" then they turn and run for the kitchen.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You gambled dinner on the match?"

Lilly nods apologetically. "My mistake – you can tell them no."

Emma smirks, "Nah, a dinner gamble has to be honored no matter what – besides, I don't think it'll do them any harm today."

Lilly frowns. "Not good then?"

Emma shakes her head, expression sobering. "They've lost three more today."

The redhead's own expression darkens. "How's Jefferson?" she asks in a conspiratorial tone.

Emma closes her eyes, trying to dispel images of her friend's graying skin.

"Shit," Lilly breathes, "that bad?"

Emma opens her eyes to look at her again. "Lil, I don't know how much longer he's gonna last," she admits, and the other woman puts a comforting hand on her arm.

"It'll be okay, Emma. We'll find something. I promise you won't have to watch him die."

The blonde runs a hand through her hair despondently. "God, I hope not."

"You won't," she says firmly, and Emma gives her a grateful smile

"Thank you – and thank you for babysitting," she adds.

"Anytime." Lilly smiles, walking across the room and grabbing her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, Em."

"Yeah see you," she calls after her, walking into the kitchen to find Henry and Grace sitting on the floor with a pint pot of mint choc chip and spoons.

Henry looks up at her sheepishly. "Hey, Emma," he mumbles around a mouthful, "I made dinner."
.

.

.

After an incredibly nutritious dinner of ice cream and cookies, Emma turfs both kids into the backroom to watch a movie, falling heavily onto the couch and lying there staring at the ceiling.

She hears the dim hum of the Star Wars theme drift out to her and feels her eyes begin to prick with tears.

This isn't how it's meant to go.

Jefferson isn't meant to die, and she isn't meant to be sitting on her couch crying alone. It's suddenly hit her – these last few days – how disgustingly dependent she is on Regina for comfort. For months now her son's other mother has been the one person to nurse her through all ills – both physical and mental. She's been there to hold her hair back when she's drunk and vomiting (yes, occasionally on her father's shoes), she's cleaned her wounds and fed her vegetables and held her whilst she cried. She's been picking her up off the ground and patching her back together constantly since they got back from Neverland.

She's snarked her way through it, sure. Sassy and infuriating and occasionally downright insulting as ever – but the point is that she's been there, through everything. Right back to helping save her from the Enchanted Forest, really.

Emma's stomach twists painfully – she really is an idiot.

Her head has finally cleared and now she can barely stand to look at herself she feels so awful. If Regina is at all involved in the murders then there's no way it's of her own free will, or she's being framed, or something. She doesn't care about what the evidence says anymore. The evidence doesn't matter. The evidence must be wrong – or she's seeing it wrong. Regina's innocent, or mostly innocent – she has to be – and Emma's been a total asshole.

She jumps up from the couch. She's got to see her – got to apologize – and grabs her phone off the coffee table where she'd dumped it. She's about to press five when she sees she's got a text message.

Frowning, she opens it, and her heart starts to pound as she reads it.

Look in your mailbox

Emma runs outside, shoving her hand into the mailbox and coming out with a small cream envelope. She opens it with shaking fingers, pulling out the piece of card she knows will be inside.

Dear Sheriff, it reads

I'm delighted to invite you to my third, and final murder. Today, 22.00. This one, I'm happy to say, will be a private event – just for you. Come alone, or this won't remain my last murder. Don't be late.

Location: - Storybrooke Clock Tower

Yours

Murderer

Emma's breath hitches in her throat.

"Shit," she mutters, "shit."

She walks quickly back inside, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It's nearly half past nine already – she hardly has any time.

She pulls out her phone and dials Lilly's number. There's no answer – she's probably with Fred. She doesn't really feel comfortable springing surprise babysitting on Ruby right now, not considering the girl hasn't spoken to her on anything other than business since the ball. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and calls her father.

"Emma?"

"Hey, David, sorry," she says, trying to sound collected, "I know this is short notice – but could you and Mary Margaret do me a massive, massive favor?"

.

.

.

Henry and Grace's look of confusion at being bundled hurriedly into the car in their pajamas is only matched by her mother and father's at her urgent demeanor as she hands them over. Snow catches her arm as she turns to leave, brow furrowed in concern.

"Emma what's going on?" she asks, but the blonde just shrugs her off.

"Nothing, don't worry."

Her mother frowns at her but she doesn't hang around long enough to be interrogated, to get into any conversations she doesn't have time for – hurrying down the stairs before the woman can ask anything else.

.

.

.

By the time she gets to the clock tower her heart is racing, breathing shallow. She's got no idea what she's going to find up there – who she's going to find up there. All she's got is her gun.

This is probably a really, really stupid idea. She's a cop – cops aren't meant to go places alone even when they're told to. But then she's also a bounty hunter – and they sort of specialize in alone.

She mounts the stairs slowly, fingers itching on her holster as she reaches the top.

The room there is dark, cast with long black shadows. The only light is that from the moon, and reflection off the snow outside and Emma looks around carefully as she steps inside.

She can't see anyone – but then the room is so full of shadows that there could be any number of people lurking in them.

Eventually, though, someone steps forward so that their face falls under a revealing beam of moonshine – and Emma does a double take, blinking.

"Ashley?" she asks, and the blonde girl stares at her blankly.

"Hello, Emma."

She lets out a little nervous chuckle. "Ash, what're you doing here?"

She makes a movement that might be a shrug – but pretty much everything but her face is in darkness, so it's difficult to tell. "The same as you. I'm here for the murder."

Emma shakes her head, trying to process. "Wait, but you…you're not…"

"Murderer, yes," she states matter-of-factly.

"No, no – but you weren't even at the ball."

"That's what they wanted you to think," she says, face still blank.

Emma's stiffens. "They? Who're 'they'?"

"My masters," she replies evenly. "They're the ones who told me who to kill."

Regina's voice echoes in her head 'She's possessed, or enchanted. Probably enchanted.' and she groans inwardly before taking a careful step forward.

"Who are they, Ash? Who's doing this to you?"

"My masters," she repeats.

Emma takes another step towards her. "Who? Who are your masters?"

Ashley cocks her head to the side, regarding her with calm disinterest. "The grown up children."

"The children?" Emma asks, heart pounding in her ears. "The children are controlling you?"

"No, not all of them."

Emma frowns. "Then which ones?"

"The adult ones," she whispers, eyes widening in something not dissimilar to fear, "hiding in plain sight."

"And they're the ones who tell you who to kill?"

"Sacrifice," Ashley corrects, "they are merely sacrifices."

Emma nods – that's not news to her. "Sacrifices for the summoning, yeah?" she probes, taking another furtive step forward.

"Yes. The summoning requires four sacrifices."

Emma's brow creases further. "Four? But the letter said this was the last murder?"

"Four," Ashley repeats firmly, "three blood sacrifices and the channel – a being through whom the spirits may pour."

The blonde feels a shiver run through her. "And who did they tell you to choose? Milla, Obie – who else?"

She blinks slowly, then speaks again – voice still flat and emotionless. "They gave no names."

"Then how –"

"They gave me four instructions," she interrupts, "of which I have done three."

"And these instructions – they were to do with the sacrifices?"

"They told me who to take."

Emma's head is spinning in confusion, and Ashley's calm demeanor is not helping. She doesn't know where she stands – and that's a feeling she really hates.

"And who were they?" she presses, desperate to get some useful information out of the girl. If she can prevent another murder – and another invasion of the children – then she's goddamn going to.

"My instructions were as follows," Ashley responds, sounding practically robotic. "To kill the orphan boy, to kill the orphan girl, to kill the sinner, and to seduce the broken woman."

Emma's heart stutters.

"Seduce the broken woman?" she asks, the phrase making her distinctly uneasy. "Why?"

"That is not important."

"It's important to me," the blonde growls angrily.

"No," Ashley declares, "it's not. What's important is that I have one more task to complete. I have yet to kill the sinner – but once I do the summoning will be complete, and the rift will be opened."

Emma's beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable. "And what happens then?"

Ashley smiles, and it's disturbing on her emotionless face. "And then the children shall feast."

Emma bites down on her tongue, trying to ignore the erratic beat of her heart. "Who's your next victim, Ashley? Who's the sinner?"

"Murderer," she corrects. "There is no Ashley anymore."

She shakes her head. "That's not true, is it? I think Ashley's still in there – and last week she made it out again for a little while. I think you're still in there, aren't you, Ash?" she ignores the way her voice is shaking, the way her whole body's shaking.

"No."

"Yes. Ash, you're in there, I know you are. That was Ashley in the hospital, and that is Ashley's body. Ashley who loves her husband Thomas, and her baby girl. Her little Alex. That Ashley's still in there."

There's a moment, and then the blankness on the girl's face disappears, replaced with a look of sheer terror

"Emma!" she chokes out. "Emma, you have to look for the gnomes!"

The blonde's about to respond, to move forward to her, but then the girl shakes her head and the blank expression is back. "No." her voice hisses. "There is no more Ashley. All that's left in this girl is a sinner."

Emma's eyes widen in sudden comprehension. "No," she breaths, and runs – but it's too late.

Ashley's jumped.

The blonde hadn't seen the rope around the girl's neck in the darkness, but she hears it slide and pull taught with the girl's weight. She also hears the sickening sound of a neck snap.

She stops short, falling to her knees and peering down into the darkness. In the moonlight she can just about see the blonde head, make out the way it's twisting sickeningly from side to side.

Emma's head drops into her hands, breaths coming in short little gasps that she vaguely notes aren't far from hyperventilation.

She's shaking, and she feels sick – because this isn't happening. She did not just let Ashley die as well.

Her head's spinning, and one phrase starts going round and around 'seduce the broken woman'. That can only have meant Regina, can't it? But that would mean – what would that mean? Ashley had said the last sacrifice wasn't a blood sacrifice but a channel – so did that mean? No. Emma feels panic bubbling in her chest. She has to get to Regina, now.

She scrambles off the ground, hesitating briefly and casting a glance to the dim outline of Ashley's swinging body. There's nothing she can do, she tells herself. Not now. Ashley's dead but Regina – Regina's still alive. She has to still be alive. Ashley didn't say that being the channel involved death.

She races down the steps at a rate so fast it's a wonder that she doesn't break her neck. She doesn't bother with the Bug either, it's far quicker to run. She needs to run.

.

.

.

When she gets to the mansion it's completely dark, but when she tries the door she finds it's open. She races inside, looking around for any sign of life.

"Regina?" she calls, barreling through doors "Regina!"

The office. The kitchen. The sitting room.

"Regina!"

The dining room. Up the stairs to Regina's bedroom. Henry's bedroom. The bathroom.

"Regina!" she screams, sheer terror coursing through her. The other woman isn't here, that's painfully obvious – but she has no idea where else she would be – so at the same time that Emma knows she isn't there, she also has to be.

She can't stop thinking that the last time she saw the woman she was breaking her heart. Can't stop thinking that her own her heart's breaking and that she can't fucking breathe. Her mind has been foggy lately, she's been confused and unable to sort through her emotions. But for one beautiful, terrible moment, standing gasping for air in the darkened foyer of 108 Mifflin Street – her mind clears.

Terror and grief sear their way through everything else and leave a simple truth burning into her brain.

She loves Regina.

Of course she loves her. It's clear as day and she feels like a total idiot for not being able to see it before. She hadn't been sure because she'd been confused and distracted and stressed – because her mind hasn't shut down and had a rest since the 19th of November – but it still isn't an excuse. Because she does. Goddammit, she's so fucking in love with her. And she hasn't had a chance to tell her. She takes a long shuddering breath, resolve hardening. She's going to find her, alive, and she's going to tell her.

Emma rubs aggressively at her eyes – she refuses to cry. She needs to think, needs to work out a way to find the other woman. Problem is, she really has no idea where to start.

She thinks over everything Ashley said, wondering if there had been any clues she'd missed, and suddenly she remembers Ashley – the real Ashley's – desperate final cry.

'Look for the gnomes'

She casts her mind back. To the ball, and to a small garden gnome crushed by her heel. To her house, and a little painted gnome on her doorstep. To her car, and the gnome she'd stepped on right beside it. Most importantly though, to her father's ex-wife, and to frantic, insane cries about gnomes and children.

'You've gotta burn them,' Kathryn's voice echoes around her head 'it's the only way.'

Emma freezes. Kathryn knew. Kathryn knew all this time – had been trying to warn her – and she'd just locked her up in the asylum.

She doesn't wait another moment, sprinting out of the house and back into town, towards the hospital.

When she finally gets there she's breathless, sweating despite the freezing temperatures. She rushes up to the desk

"Kathryn," she chokes out, "Kathryn Nolan – I need to see her."

The nurse frowns up at her. "It's long past visiting hours, all the patients are asleep now."

A noise leaves Emma's mouth that can only really be referred to as a growl. "Then we'll wake her up. But I. Need. To see her."

The nurse continues to stare up at her, unmoved, and she's on the verge of getting out her gun when Whale comes round the corner, speaking intently to a nurse at his side.

"Whale!" she shouts, rounding on him.

"Sheriff?" he startles. "What can I do for you – Jefferson's asleep right now but –"

"I'm not here about Jefferson," she pants, "I'm here about Kathryn – I need to see her."

The doctor frowns. "She's down in the asylum right now."

"I don't care if she's in fucking Narnia, Whale, I need to see her – now," she adds, glaring at him. He looks a little dazed by her aggression, but nods.

"Follow me."

She follows right behind him, walking quickly so he's forced to match her speed lest she run him over. He leads her down a small flight of stairs into a part of the hospital she's never been to. It's gray, and grim, and dark, and she can't quite believe that she's the reason for someone being locked up down here. She feels more than a little awful.

They walk along a row of doors and finally come to a stop, Whale taking out a key and unlocking it. The door swings open and Emma steps cautiously inside.

Kathryn's sitting huddled on her bed, blonde hair hanging limply around her shoulders, swaying with movement as she rocks back and forth.

"Kathryn?" Emma asks gently, and the woman's eyes snap up to her, pleading.

"I'm not mad," she whispers desperately, "I'm not mad. I'm not mad, I'm not mad, I'm not mad."

Emma nods, as encouragingly as she can manage given her frantic state. "I know you're not mad, Kathryn. I know."

The other woman's eyes widen at her. "You do?"

"Yes. You were right – and I didn't listen – and I am so sorry," she steps over and places a careful hand on the other woman's shoulder.

Kathryn's eyes dart to the hand and then up to Emma. "You believe me?" she asks again, incredulous.

"I do," Emma tells her, "you were right – about the children. You have to burn them."

"And the gnomes?" Kathryn asks carefully and Emma crouches down to look her in the eye.

"That's why I'm here, Kathryn, do you know where they're coming from?"

She nods eagerly. "My garden," she whispers, looking relieved at being able to share the information, "they just turned up one day in my garden."

"Your garden?" Emma asks, straightening up. "That's where they all are?"

"Yes, yes, that's where they come through."

"Okay, come on then," she reaches out a hand and Kathryn eyes it suspiciously

"Where are we going?"

Emma smiles at her, wondering to herself how she's ever going to make this up to the poor woman. "I'm taking you home."