So, I just wanted to say again how fucking lovely you people are and I've never actually ever finished a story before and a good portion of the reason this one is has to do with your reviews and follows and interest in it and being so wonderful and I wanted to say thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you all enjoy this last chapter and cheers for being so stupidly amazing. *tinks glass* also, this chapter really is just a continuation of the last one, I just have OCD and didn't want the last chapter to be almost 7,000 words while the others were around 2,000 - 3,000.

"You're a child."

Emma's head knocks into the shelf above her, a yelp echoing around in the refrigerator and she staggers backward, hand coming up to massage at her scalp.

And Regina's in her kitchen. She had walked away from her not ten minutes ago and here she was, looking like a drowned rat. A stupidly attractive drowned rat and Emma shakes her head, mind too confounded to even process that Regina had just insulted her, to be angry at her for lying to her (the act of omission does count, no matter how many times she's told otherwise), for showing up in her kitchen unannounced, for giving her what's probably going to be a pretty sizable bump on the back of her head.

"Jesus, Regina, you – "

"No," Regina cuts her off, voice gruff, eyes intense. She's angry. She looks fucking pissed, actually.

Emma's mind is still stuck on her clothes, dripping a slowly growing puddle at her boot-clad feet.

Had it started to rain? Was that even in the forecast for today? Was there even a weather channel for Storybrooke? Had she been here for four years and is only just now realizing this?

"You're a child," Regina repeats, bringing Emma back to the conversation. She rolls her eyes and shuts the door of the fridge behind her with her foot, arms crossing over her chest, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting.

"You're impatient and stubborn and obtuse and idiotic and annoying and you think bear claws constitute as breakfast and you wear gaudy leather jackets and too tight jeans and are apparently under the impression that the word 'fuck' is essential to everyday conversation and I want to strangle you more times than I don't and I'm hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you."

The last twelve syllables are said breathlessly and Emma's arms uncross, swallowing. She wasn't expecting that tirade to end on those words.

"You – you're – "

"I'm not finished." Regina takes a step forward, a squeaky little noise against the linoleum of Emma's kitchen floor. "I didn't tell you I was no longer with Robin because I didn't want you to think that I did it just for you. Because I didn't, Emma. I did it for me." Her hand comes up to her heart. "I didn't want you to think that I could end a relationship with someone and immediately assume that meant you and I could be together. I was trying to not be selfish, Emma. You asked me to leave you be and I did. I was trying to respect your – "

"Two months, Regina. Two fucking months. I was almost over you!" Complete and total lie.

One which Regina sees right through.

"You asked me to leave you alone! What would you have had me do?"

"Fucking tell me!"

Regina gives her a hard look. Something exasperated and strained.

"You can't ask for something and then get angry with me when I comply, Emma. You can't."

Emma wants to shake her. She wants to continue screaming at her. She wants to pour all of her rage into her and watch all the emotions of it flicker across her always so expressive, beautiful, beautiful face.

But Regina's right. Emma feels the denial bubble up and fizz on her tongue.

"I meant to stay away from me because you were with Robin! Because you asked me to kiss you, told me you loved me but that you weren't going to leave him. That you couldn't. Obviously, if you broke up with him I'd want to know about it!"

Emma hadn't wanted to say that. Because she knows it's childish and yeah, it was a little selfish too, and on top of that now she's totally a colossal hypocrite because she'd been the selfish one this entire time.

Regina makes a noise of disgust and it tears through Emma. Makes her stomach twist.

"And you accused me of being selfish," she wipes a few strands of matted, starting to curl hair off of her forehead.

The conversation has somehow turned; it's been shifted so that now Emma is the one who feels guilty. Feels like she has no right to be angry. Feels like she should apologize.

You had four years, Emma.

And maybe she should, but she's not the only one at fault here. And it seemed like Regina had showed up ready for all cards to be laid on the table.

Well, alright then.

"You told my mother." Emma says just as Regina had made to turn and leave.

She finds Emma's eyes again.

"Your mother," her face contorts into contempt at the word, "has a habit of showing up in places where she doesn't belong." She takes a deep breath, eyes skirting the kitchen counters. "She saw me with Robin that day. Or rather, heard me."

Her eyes turn soft, expression sincere.

"I didn't tell her, Emma. I wouldn't betray your trust like that."

And Emma had figured something like that had gone down. Her mother was a perpetual snoop and though she loved her with all her heart, there were certain parts she didn't really love much at all. She was just angry and wanted to accuse; be absolved of all the blame that felt suddenly crushing on her shoulders.

"I know you wouldn't," Emma says quietly, eyes downcast.

She feels embarrassment sweep through her unexpectedly, feels silly now. Awkward.

She clears her throat and scuffs her socked foot against linoleum, completely at a loss for words. She'd had so many.

"So, uh…"

"Yes." She hears Regina say and she looks up to see Regina fidgeting, eyes over Emma's right shoulder.

And she feels the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, feels comfort in knowing that her chagrin isn't one-sided.

"Did you walk all the way here in the rain?" Her smile widens into something lopsided and resembling more of a smirk than anything.

Regina's eyes snap to her body, her hands unclasping, surprised; as if she had forgotten she was drenched from head to toe.

"Oh," she runs her hands down the front of her skirt, almost bashful, "I just – I was so angry with you that – "

"You forgot you had magic and decided to break into my apartment to insult me?"

Definitely a smirk now. Because this was easy. Even when there was still so much that needed to be said, even when Emma knows that this is only the prologue to a very long, long story, banter with Regina had always been a reflex. Had always been something that was there. That was theirs.

"Your door was unlocked," she says through a glare. She sniffs then, making rain sodden clothes look almost regal and Emma kind of hates her a little bit for looking so fucking sexy all the time. "You really should invest in an alarm system, dear."

"Why, so you can poof in here and give me one of those patented eye brow arches and matching smirk the next time we fight and I walk away from you?"

She chuckles but then stops when she sees Regina pale, wry turning into the working of a throat against a swallow, the downturn of bare lips.

Emma frowns as well, brow furrowing.

"Is that how you intend to react every time we have a disagreement?"

Emma feels distinctly like she's being led into a trap.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily call this a disa – "

"Are you going to just up and leave one day because you've realized you can't handle this?" Regina barrels right through her words, voice becoming shaky, angry again.

Emma doesn't know what's happening.

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you even truly love me or is this because someone had something you didn't and you decided that wasn't okay for you?"

Emma's head jerks back on her neck, eyeing Regina incredulously. Dark brown eyes are piercing her through with effervescent fury. She looks off balance though and Emma can see the pain beneath her iciness.

"You know that's not what this is," Emma says evenly, trying to keep her anger in check. Both of them throwing laden insecurities at each other wasn't going to solve anything. And they'd done enough hurting. Had been through enough hurting.

"Do I?" Because she's Regina and she's difficult and she's five years old and Emma snorts internally because yeah, pot meet kettle.

She closes her eyes briefly, reminding herself that Regina is very much akin to an injured animal when she feels vulnerable and she's just lashing out, claws and teeth and venom and all.

"Regina," she starts, taking a step forward.

"Tell me why you love me."

Emma's head tilts on an angle, thrown off by the question.

"I – what?"

"No, actually," she shakes her head, "tell me when you knew."

And Emma can't think of anything past that red dress, russet eyes dancing with almost girlish glee. She'd seemed so real, so human that day and the first thing Emma had felt was awe. She'd even smiled.

And then her mother had said something about looking smitten and Emma's stomach had dropped. She'd been so enthralled by the beauty of Happy Regina Mills that she hadn't even stopped to wonder why she was like that.

But Emma thinks that's just when she first felt jealousy. When the first whispers of I could make you happier started to root themselves into her subconscious until they grew and twined and overtook the better part of her conscious mind.

The very first time she knew was when she'd found out that Regina had let Henry go. When her and David had been up late that night after the party. After no, wait, I'm sorry and Henry wanted it.

She'd kind of wanted it too. Regina'd saved their lives, she deserved to be invited to that goddamned party. She'd been so angry (and still kind of is now that she's thinking about it) at how everyone had treated her that night. How she'd walked out even before the cake. She'd understood their resentment, yes, but that didn't mean she couldn't be unhappy about it.

Then Regina had snapped at her and Emma had wished she hadn't invited her.

But then she had apologized immediately and Emma was thrown. Had conceded that she was trying.

And then later that night, long after Snow and Henry had gone to bed, David mentioned that she let Henry stay with him, had heard her tell him she didn't know how to love very well and Emma had felt something at the words.

Something very small and very new in relation to how she felt toward Regina, but it had raced through her. Had warmed the muscles around her sides. Had her speechless for a few seconds. It may have been much too early for it to have been categorized as falling in love with Regina but it's what had resonated with her.

It's what comes to her now.

"That night you saved us from the death curse."

Regina looks floored for a moment, mouth parting and then closing once, twice.

"Why?" she whispers finally, nearly inaudible.

"Because I saw the way Henry hugged you. Saw the way you held him. I see you, Regina. I've always seen you."

Regina looks taken aback by her words, looks increasingly softer, more real, more human. Less like the Regina who cuts people with her callous words. Less like the Regina who had once been a queen. Less like the Regina who was and still is a mayor. Less like cold and ice and straight shoulders and lifted chins.

She looks so much younger now, looks small, looks like someone who needs. Her walls are down and Emma's never seen so much of what she keeps hidden behind them before.

"It's just that night…I saw how much you love Henry. I saw how you love Henry."

"How do I love him?" Her voice is soft, soft, soft. Everything about her is soft in this moment.

And Emma smiles then.

"With everything you have, Regina. You love our son with every single part of you."

Regina lets out a breath at that, eyes closing and lips turning up at the corners. Soft.

Emma wants to kiss her.

"You're so beautiful," she finds herself whispering.

Regina's eyes open then and they're so unguarded, so soft, that Emma's breath catches. She's never seen so much of her before and it's slowly unraveling her. Everything that makes her her unwinding, being replaced with Regina. She feels her weaving through her veins, finding home in them. And Emma finds that she feels more because of it. She feels grounded, feels that word bounce around in her head like something plausible. Something other than Storybrooke and her parents and Henry. It's more like rainwater and apples and bare feet and hands in her hair. It's your comebacks against Mom are weak, it's I'm hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you, it's Regina.

Home is Regina.

Home is her parents and Storybrooke and Granny's and Henry and Regina.

Home is them.

"I'm so sorry," Emma breathes just as Regina whispers "I love you so much".

Their foreheads come together as Emma's hands find purchase in Regina's hair and Regina's grip at her waist.

Home is that scar above her lip that she's always wanted to run her tongue across.

Home is the mansion she moves into six months later.

Home is fights with Regina that don't end with her walking away but with heated kisses and clutching hands and I'm never going to leave you.

Home is tender touches and warm plates of leftovers in the microwave after late nights at the station.

Home is family dinners every Friday night.

Home is their bed. Their bed and their pillows and their toothbrushes and their dresser.

Home is forgiving her mother and feeling whole in her embrace afterward.

Home is her father's strong arms and unwavering love.

Home is tickle fights and three stockings and spit up after babysitting her baby brother.

Home is Regina laughing, eyes bright and open and free.

Home is her lips.

Home, Emma thinks, is something that doesn't elicit anger, doesn't elicit dread or panic or emptiness.

No, home for Emma is Regina and Henry and Snow and David and baby Neal.

Home is happiness.

"I think you've ruined my kitchen floor," Emma murmurs against Regina's lips.

She gets a laugh out of it, something tinkering and full and pure and her heart feels close to bursting at the sound.

"Perhaps you should get me out of these clothes then."

It's said into her ear, all deep and gravelly and jesus christ and Emma shudders even as she bends a little, wrapping her arms around the backs of Regina's thighs, her hoisery coarse and wet and ruined. Emma drags the damp fabric of her skirt up with her fingers, it bunching so Regina can wrap her legs around Emma's torso.

And Regina squeals as her arms circle Emma's neck and she buries her face in her hair, chuckling.

"I can carry you up the stairs and everything because, you know, muscles, but I think it'd be quicker if you – "

And they're gone in a cloud of deep purple then, laughter spilling out into the kitchen, a puddle on the linoleum, a glass of milk on the counter, and the scent of rainwater and lavender lingering in the air.