A/N: A quick fix-it of sorts for QoH. Liked the ep, but disliked the end scene as did many. This little ditty supposes that Regina and Emma were having a not quite relationship last season. It fell apart. The story attempts to stick largely to canon otherwise.

Warning: some mild sexual activity of the f/f variety.

Enjoy!

Even crickets have beautiful dreams.

His are uninteresting by most standards. They contain little beyond lushly rolling hills, massive green trees and bright blue skies full of open air. The freedom to do and be whoever he'd like to be. He's been having this dream for as long as he can remember, but it only recently became something that he understood.

He's Jiminy Cricket. Once a young man trapped in a life he'd never wanted, one that had destroyed his soul more and more with every day. Until the day he had happily sacrificed his human body to get away from it.

He's Doctor Archie Hopper. The middle aged lonely guy who listens. Just listens.

Most days, he's honestly not sure who the hell he is. Cricket or man? He doesn't have a clue, doesn't know who he should be. Or why. Always a good question.

When angry pounding on the front door of his little perfectly kept-up two bedroom house on the edge of town awakens him, however, the answer to this question becomes surprisingly easy for him: he's Archie Hopper - psychiatrist.

The truth of the matter is painfully simple: no one comes to see Jiminy Cricket. Here as in Fairytale Land, Jiminy is just the one that folks tolerate because he'd once sat on the far more trusted and liked Gepetto's shoulder. Back in the old world, he'd been the one telling everyone what they didn't want to hear. He'd been the buzzkill, the cautious worrier. Dismissed by even his own charges.

But here, in Storybrooke, as Archie, he's needed. As Archie, he can help. As Archie, people listen and he can actually make a difference. Right a few wrongs.

He pads to the front room in his pajamas and flannel bathrobe, putting on his glasses as he walks. He opens the door and immediately rethinks his decision to do so when he sees the person standing there. "Madame Mayor? Re-Regina? What…what brings you here at…are you okay?"

The former mayor is clearly not okay. There's a half crazed expression on her face, something between anger and sadness. Misery forces her lips into a sneer.

She laughs then, and he thinks for a moment that she's finally fallen off the edge of sanity. He thinks that maybe she's come to kill him for having the audacity to think of her as in need of help. She is a queen, after all, and queens never need help from underlings. Especially not ones that double as bugs.

"I'm sick of trying," she says and the words come out as a growl of anger. He notices with a bit of shock that her eyes are glowing bright green.

The first absurd thing that comes to his mind is to ask her if she's been drinking.

The answer, of course, is yes. And no.

She's not drunk on whiskey; she's wasted on magic.

"Regina," he says again, lowering his voice, trying to take on his most soothing tone. "Would…would you like to talk?" He thinks to himself that even trying to reason with her right now is the sign of mental illness – and not just within her.

Somehow or another, the former queen has gotten herself completely jacked up on magic, enough so that she's practically vibrating with it. That her emotions seem to be swinging around like an out of control pendulum sure doesn't seem to be helping her keep control of the sparks leaping from her fingers are any and every direction. One hits a flower pot and fizzles, thankfully without lighting.

"No. No more talking," she snaps back. He notices with more than a little surprise that there are tears racing down her cheeks, a few of them pooling to leave wet spots on the vivid blue of her blouse. He thinks that she probably doesn't even realize that she's crying, is probably too lost within her rage. She holds up her trembling hands to him, a sharp bright green glow lighting both them of up. "Tell me, Bug, what's the point? Why bother trying if doing so hurts even worse?"

He considers asking her not to call him "Bug", but chooses not to for the time being. The woman in front of him isn't reasonable or rational right now. She's hurt and angry and that means she's lashing out. That means that right at this very moment, she's as dangerous as she's ever been. And lucky him, he's standing right in her path. Like a bug about to get splattered against a glass windshield.

He takes a deep breath, tries to get his shaky nerves under control, and says, "I don't know what you're upset about, Regina, but…but I think you should come in. I think you should come in, and sit down, and we can…we can work this out."

All in all, he's rather impressed with himself for being able to say that without whimpering or sounding like a frightened child about to throw up.

"No, we can't. There's nothing more to work out." She shakes her head and laughs again, the sound high and nearly hysterical. He's suddenly thrown back several decades, and to another land. He's thrown back to a time when she'd worn all black and her makeup had been pale and icy.

Her next words pull him away from these dark memories, "I should have just let her die. Then maybe she would stop hurting me."

"Who? Who's hurting you?" he asks, eyebrow up.

"The Savior," she laughs, the sound bitter and without humor.

"She's back?" His voice jumps up a bit, and he immediately regrets it because the look she throws him is nothing short of disgusted. "Emma's back?"

"Oh, yes, the great Emma Swan has returned. Thanks to my help, I might add." She holds up her sparking hands, though he's not quite sure why. "She and Snow White are back in Storybrooke, and my son is in her arms."

"Oh."

It all makes sense now. Such terrible sense.

"Regina…"

She's not listening to him, though. She starts pacing back and forth, the sparks that are jumping from her hands becoming disturbingly frequent and bright. "No matter what I try, no matter what I do, he will always hate me."

"He doesn't…"

"He will always prefer her. So why bother? Why bother even trying to be a better person when it feels worse than when I didn't care."

"Because trying is what makes you a better person."

Again, she laughs. This one isn't quite as high; it's more choked and hurt. "Who are you kidding? I'll never be a good person. I'm not a good person." The sparks are practically leaping from her fingers now, and for a moment, he has the ridiculous thought that she's about to burn down his house with him in it. "There's nothing…beautiful about me." She just about spits out the word "beautiful".

"Regina, please," he urges. "Calm down."

"But I tried," she screams at him suddenly, and her eyes light up again, the green turning almost emerald in her fury and pain. Before either one of them realizes what's happening, he's flying back across the room and crashing into his couch. He connects to the back of it with a pained wince and a loud groan.

And then he looks up at her and sees the horrified expression on her face.

He realizes, then, with shocking clarity that she hadn't actually meant to throw him. She'd simply lost control of her emotions. Again.

"Regina," he says, starting to stand, his hand reaching out to try steady his shaky body. As his legs buckle beneath him, his fingers settle over the edge of the couch, clenching as fear cuts through him. This woman in front of him is coming unwound quickly, and he remembers far too well the consequences of such.

Most people would be ducking and covering right about now.

The only reason he isn't? Because after weeks after working with her – talking to her about things he knows that she's never spoken to anyone else about – he knows for a fact that she's not the same woman she was twenty-eight years ago.

This isn't the crazed homicidal lunatic who'd cursed an entire land to Maine.

He's honestly not sure who this person is, but he can see by the horror in her no longer green eyes that she's just as terrified as he is of coming undone. "I'm…I'm sorry…" her voice is so low, so terribly deep with shock. "I didn't mean to…"

"Talk to me," he presses again. "Let me help you get through this…"

"You can't," she says softly, as if she's learned the secret to the universe. "No ne can help me. Not you…not her…"

"Regina…" it occurs to him just many times he's said her name. That she's reacted to not a one of them tells him just how lost in her mind she is.

"I'm sorry," she says again, and then backs away from the door. By the time he gets there, she's gone, just a puff of emerald green smoke hanging in the air.

Emma's sound asleep when the call comes in. For a moment, she's honestly surprised to hear the sound of ringing (well, more like singing) coming out of the cell phone on her nightstand. The damn thing had been in her pocket for weeks while she'd been in Fairytale Land, completely dead, and obviously without reception (Snow hadn't really appreciated her jokes about dropped coverage, but they'd been funny to her. A little at least). Now, freshly plugged in, it's ringing.

With a groan, she rolls over and picks up. "Ungh." Certainly not the most dignified of responses, but it's damned late and she's damned tired.

"Sheriff Swan?" she hears. The title gets her attention, makes her blink a few times to try to clear the cobwebs away from her brain.

"Archie?"

"So you are back then." It's a statement and not a question.

"I am. You don't sound happy about that."

"No, I am. Of course. Welcome back, Emma. I need your help."

Her eyebrow shoots into her hairline. "Way to get to the point. Wait, right now?"

"Right now. Unless you want an Evil Queen destroying the town while you're sleeping," he tells her. It's an oddly sarcastic comment from a very mild man, and perhaps it's the frustrated tone she hears that makes her sit up and really listen.

"What are you talking about? I saw Regina a few hours ago. She was fine."

"Well she wasn't 'fine' a few minutes ago."

"You…wait, you saw her?"

"She came by my house."

Emma's eyebrow lifts. "Why?"

"She's been coming to see me for therapy for a few weeks now," he tells her with hesitance peppering his voice. "I've been trying to help her through some issues."

"Such as?"

"She's my client, Emma, which means what I talk to her about is private," he answers, his tone oddly short. "But because your father already knows, I'll tell you this; part of the reason she came to me in the first place was to prove to Henry that she wanted to change, and that she could. And she was making progress, I think. Whatever happened tonight, she's given up on that."

"I can go out and find her, and try to stop her, but I get the feeling that's not really what you want me to do here, is it?" She's already rising from the bed, already pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and the first hoodie that she can find.

"Something happened between you two, didn't it?" Archie prompts. Emma frowns a bit at this. She's never known this man to be so forthright. He's not a pusher usually, and yet right now, he's clearly trying to make a point.

Right now, he's clearly fighting for Regina.

"You know what happened between us," Emma answers. "She tried to kill me, and almost killed Henry instead."

"Something besides that," he coaxes. "Something no one knows about." She gets the feeling that Archie already knows the answer to the question he's asking. Which is strange because there's no way Regina would talk. Right?

She runs her hand through her hair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine," he tells her, and she thinks she hears disappointment in the tone. "That's your business, but what's mine is trying to protect my patient. I don't know exactly what happened between you two in the past and I don't know at all what happened between you two tonight, but what I saw a few minutes ago was a woman coming completely apart. And that woman is glowing green with magic."

"How is that possible?"

"You tell me. Did she use magic to save you?"

Emma thinks for a moment. After the well and then Gold's shop, the group had all reconvened at Granny's for dinner. They'd talked and ate and all of that, but there'd been really no conversation about how Regina had saved them.

It'd seemed inconvenient to speak about at the time.

She feels a jolt within her, a tightening of her gut as realization strikes her with almost violent force. They'd all been together at Gold's shop and then they'd left her there. Their savior forgotten about as they gleefully celebrated their return.

Jesus.

"Emma?" Archie prompts.

"She must have," the blonde finally answers. "She was on the ground when we came through. Henry said she saved us." She tries to remember, recalls that Gold had been standing there, hand on his cane, watching with a strangely passive look on his face. He and Regina had apparently done something to block off the well so as to kill anyone coming through, and then Regina had done something else to turn the insane power surge off. The what of both actions had been left a bit foggy. A bit of unnecessary detail to the homecoming team.

"So she injured herself in order to bring you and your mother home?"

Her jaw clenches at that. Her eyes flutter closed. "It would seem that way," she finally answers as her fingers trace down to button the fly of her jeans.

"She needs your help, Emma."

"I don't owe her this," the blonde replies, her voice quiet, but oddly unconvincing.

"It's not about owing her. It's about doing the right thing. And it's about helping someone who desperately needs it."

"You're trying to remind me that I'm the Savior," she responds dryly. She thinks to herself that she could get very sick of having that thrown in her face.

"No, I'm trying to remind you that you're a good person. I'm trying to remind that you that whatever happened between you two – before she tried to kill you – before you chose to end it - there was something good in her that you saw, too. And that good thing you saw? It's been growing by leaps and bounds over the last several weeks, Emma. She's been letting it grow. Help her. Please."

"I'm already on my way, Doc."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, just remember that if you're hosing me off the cement tomorrow morning."

"She won't hurt you."

"Because she saved me today?"

"Because she loves you."

The line goes dead.

"Great," she mutters. "Even Jiminy Cricket gets the last word in. Nice." She looks around, finds her red jacket, sniffs at it apprehensively, and then grabs for the blue one instead. She pulls it on, and zips it up over the hoodie.

She steps out into the darkness of the apartment. Her parents are in Snow's room doing…stuff. Henry is sound asleep on the couch, exhausted beyond words thanks to the craziness of the day. He's still a ten-year-old boy.

She pens a quick note, says only that she had to step out to take care of a police matter and that she'll see everyone in the morning.

And then she heads out, wondering just what the hell she's thinking.

And wondering as always why she just can't walk away for good.

A Couple Of Months Earlier.

She watches Regina sleep from the chair next to the bed. The mayor is restless, unable to stay still for longer than a few minutes at a time. You can wake her from a dream or a nightmare all you like (and Emma has certainly tried everything she knows – everything aside from actually holding Regina in her arms; the mayor won't allow anyone to connect to her in such a manner – it's too intimate, too intense – more so she thinks than even lovemaking itself), but the moment she tumbles back to the Sandman, the haunting visions return to her.

It's been like this every night that they've spent together. Every evening is disrupted by the ghosts that torment Regina. The skeletons in her closet.

And every night Emma wonders just how terrible they really are.

"You're watching me," she hears, the voice sleepy and thick. There's a guttural quality to her voice when Regina wakes, deep and throaty. It does something to her body, the blonde sheriff knows. But then, everything about the mayor does something to her. Sometimes it's lust, sometimes it's fury.

It's always something.

"Sorry," Emma murmurs. She's not, though. She wants to imprint this visual on her mind, wants to remember it long past the point when she should.

Regina turns slowly, exposing lines and swells of olive colored flesh. Her chest bobs just beneath the edge of the silk sheets, and for a moment, Emma considers ripping the covers away. One for the road, she tries to tell herself.

But no, that would be cruel.

And this is already going to be hard enough.

"Why are you awake so early, Miss Swan?" the mayor queries, and Emma thinks that maybe the brunette already knows why. There's a haunted look in her eyes as she forces out the next question. "Are you leaving so soon?"

"You're beautiful," Emma says simply, choosing to answer none of the previously asked questions. That Regina is beautiful is true; the woman lying naked just a few inches away from her is stunning. Every part of looks like it was hand sculpted by a gifted (but tormented) Renaissance artist. Unfortunately, this is a beauty which doesn't run deep. This work of art is also a cold-blooded killer.

And each moment in bed with Regina, each kiss shared, each moment of torrid lovemaking is carving away at Emma's soul just a little bit more.

She can feel herself breaking, collapsing, losing herself in a way she can't allow.

This has to end.

Now.

"Say what you need to say," Regina whispers suddenly, and then she's backing up, scooting herself up so that she's leaning against the headboard. The sheet is clutched tight against her, like armor. The bare skin from before is covered up.

"I know who you are. I know what you've done. And no matter how many shovels you hide, I know that you killed Katherine," Emma tells her, and she's impressed to hear not a bit of waiver in her tone. "I can't prove it, but I know you did it."

"Do you now?" Regina answers, eyes suddenly very dark and cold. "And knowing this, you still came to my bed tonight." There's scorn dripping from her voice. She thinks to herself that it's a bit funny that Emma thinks she actually knows who the woman she's sharing a bed with is. She has no real idea.

No real idea about the things actually done.

Emma fidgets, her hands climbing into her pockets, and then coming out of them in a rush of awkward nervous fingers. "I wanted…"

"I know what you wanted," Regina snorts, the scorn turning to anger and what sounds a whole lot like hatred. "And you got it in spades, now didn't you? And now that you have, you can wipe your hands of me, and you can pretend to leave this house – leave me - with your conscience free."

"It's not like that."

"Isn't it? You believe I murdered a woman who was my friend. You believed that when you walked into this bedroom and removed your clothes. You believed that when you put your mouth on me." She leans forward then, her lips lifting into a disgusted sneer. "You believed that when you were inside of me. You even believed that when you were screaming my name and begging for more."

"Regina…" Emma tries not to think about the nearly scorching heat moving up and down through her body. She's appalled to realize that she's both horrified by the truth of Regina's words, and turned on by the visuals provided by them.

Visuals that she'd been an active part of just a few short hours prior.

"Too crass, Sheriff? Don't want to hear that you might be as filthy as I am?"

Emma steels herself because this conversation is very quickly going very bad. Not that she should have expected otherwise, but somehow, this is worse than she had imagined. And it's words. It's all just words.

No, that's not right.

It's the look in Regina's eyes. Hollow, defeated and lost. The anger and sudden hatred overwhelm all of that, though. The hatred makes her powerful.

"This has to end," Emma says quietly, desperately. Before she loses her nerve.

"And so it has. You may leave."

Emma feels a shot of red hot rage rush through her at the dismissal. "What do you want from me?" the blonde snaps out. "Pretend I don't know?"

"What a silly question. There's nothing else I want from you. I got what I needed. I took what I needed. Just as you did, dear," Regina answers with a lazy smirk. Her eyes tell a different story, though, and it's the vivid pain that Emma sees lurking there that almost makes her change her mind about all of this.

About walking away from her.

But then she remembers Katherine and a shovel. She remembers Snow and metal cell bars. She remembers a heart in a box.

So she goes back to her safe spot. Law and order. "I can't prove it now," she tells the mayor. "But I will prove what you did to her. Eventually. You know I will."

"Good luck with that, Sheriff," Regina answers, her voice cold and hard. Her eyes have locked down now as well, displaying no emotion at all. "Now I believe you know how to leave my house. Try not to wake my son up as you stumble out."

Emma stands up from the chair. She finishes pulling on her clothes, then casts one look back at the woman on the bed. "You are beautiful," she says.

She doesn't wait for a response, is not even sure she wants to hear one. Without another glance behind her, she climbs out the window, slipping out onto the roof.

She never hears Regina whisper to herself. Never hears her say in a shaking voice that would have shattered her completely, "Only on the outside, dear."

Regina's not terribly hard to find thanks to the energy cackling in the air, but by the time she does locate the former mayor in her old office at City Hall, she's thinking maybe she might need to call in the Fire Department. Or Hazmat.

Or something that might ensure the building doesn't collapse beneath the incredible surges of energy tearing out of the woman as she sits sloppily upon the marbled floor of her old office. She'd look Zen if she didn't look so out of it.

She smiles up at Emma, appearing almost drunk, when the blonde enters.

"I have no job," she laughs.

"I know," Emma answers, walking slowly towards her. The sparks jumping off not just her fingers but her entire body are more than a little concerning, but still, Emma moves to her, hands out to show the brunette that she's no danger to her.

"I have no job and I have no purpose and I have no son."

"You have Henry."

"No, you have Henry. I have the pats on the head he gives me when I remembered to not piddle in the house." The self-loathing rolls off of her, and suddenly a filing cabinet is exploding, metal screeching loudly, horribly as it bends inwards. Emma just barely manages to duck a flying door handle.

She focuses back on Regina. "He's just a little boy. He's confused."

"He's the smartest little boy you've ever met, Miss Swan." There's an odd amount of pride that bursts through as she says these words.

"Even smart kids make mistakes." She takes another step forward. "Even smart kids can be thoughtless jerks. I don't think he had a clue how badly he hurt you tonight. I didn't and I should have. He certainly didn't."

"It's not about tonight. It's…I just want him to love me like he loves you," the brunette tells her in a pained slur, and Emma finds that she can barely tolerate the words because they're so insanely raw. It's like looking an exposed nerve and knowing that it won't take much to cause pain beyond belief. It won't take a lot at all to cause mass devastation to the central nervous system.

"He does love you," Emma tries to reassure her.

Regina looks up at, then lifts her sparking hands. "He told me that it was you and Mary Margaret coming through the portal. He insisted. He asked me to have faith in him. I did. I pulled in all the magic. Do you know what that feels like?"

"No."

"It hurts," Regina growls. "Every part of me is on fire. I'm on fire." She closes her eyes then, and when she speaks, her tone has softened. "He only saw you."

"He's a little boy," Emma says again, and she thinks there are tears in her own eyes now, perhaps even something running down the side of her face.

"Yes, he is. A brilliant beautiful little boy. Who I've already lost." She opens her eyes, "So why bother trying? Why bother fighting to be something I'm not."

"Because it's not about him."

"It's always been about him. The only hope I ever had was him."

"So find new hope."

She laughs coldly. "So love again."

"What?"

"It's so easy for those who don't have to feel the things I do to say those words. Have hope. Find love. Start again. Don't let hate destroy you."

"It's not easy. Love is never easy."

"Really? The moment you stepped into this town, you had Henry's love. I've had ten years with him and I have to prove myself every moment of every day or else he'll turn his back on me. Like everyone else has always done." She looks up and meets Emma's green eyes. "Like you did."

Emma halts her approach for just the briefest of moments. It's getting more and more dangerous in the office by the second. Regina's emotions are jumping all over the grid, and with them, all control over the energy moving within her. This magic, Emma realizes, is utterly alien to the former mayor, which means she doesn't have a feel for it, doesn't know how to own it or harness it.

Which is why it's starting to look a whole lot like Regina's about to bring down the roof on both of them.

Figure that, Emma thinks. Return from several weeks of hell in Fairytale Land only to get squished by City Hall on the first night back.

Awesome.

"I thought you'd killed Katherine," Emma says by way of explanation.

Regina laughs, the sound sad beyond words. Her face has taken on an odd flush, and there's sweat mingling with her tears. The magic inside of her is clearly having a detrimental effect on her body. "I thought I had, too," she answers quietly. That she'd thought Gold had been the killer is irrelevant, the decision to kill a woman who had offered her nothing but friendship had been hers.

"I couldn't be with you like that," Emma tells her. "You would have destroyed me."

"I might have," the brunette admits. "Or maybe…maybe you could have saved me, Emma. Like you save everyone else."

"No one could have saved you then. You let your hatred consume you. All the touching and holding in the world wouldn't have changed that."

"No, I suppose not."

"But I can save you now," Emma tells her, stepping towards her again. She ducks debris that suddenly rushes towards her, the metal edge intent on removing her head from her neck. She might be outraged by it were it not for the fact that Regina clearly can't control what the power leaking out of her is doing.

"Why? Why bother? You don't owe me anything more. You've saved me a handful of times. From an angry mob of morons and from that damned wraith. But that was just you being heroic right? Doing as Henry asked?" Her tone is light, but there's a needy quality to it. Like this is an answer she honestly needs.

"You're right; I don't owe you, but that's not what this has ever been about. I saved you then because I didn't want you to die, Regina. Because even though you piss me off and sometimes I hate you and blame you, I…"

She stops, still can't manage to get the words out, the words that might give away too much. She's been protecting herself for so very long. She'd done so in that bedroom a few months earlier. It's hard not to do so now as well.

"It's all right, dear," Regina tells her. "Don't say anything you don't mean."

"All right, then I'll say something I do mean." Emma kneels down next to her, sitting right in front of the fallen queen, her legs crossed beneath her. "I was right about what I said before; you are beautiful."

In many ways, it's the same as "I love you". In many ways, it means more.

It takes Regina a moment to absorb the words, and to weakly answer with, "You have a funny idea of beauty, Miss Swan. I tried to kill you."

"Poorly," Emma states. "Next time, try a less passive aggressive option. Not that I want to give you of all people ideas, but maybe something like a car?"

"You're telling jokes now?"

"This whole situation is pretty stressful," Emma admits with a smile. "I almost just got raped by that stapler over there. Not sure how I would have explained the birds and bees of that one to Henry. Or to the doctor for that matter."

In spite of herself, in spite of the nearly devastating physical and mental pain that is wracking her body and soul, Regina laughs, and for half a moment, the energy field around her seems to weaken a bit. Seems to lose some of its fury.

"I'm tired," Regina says once the laughter dies away. Her eyes slide shut, but the forcefulness of her raspy breathing shows that she's still awake.

"I know. And I'm going to get you home and into bed, but before I can do that, we need to turn the lights out. We need to…turn you off."

Regina chuckles at that. "I much prefer when you turn me on, Sheriff."

"Uh huh. I'm going to try something, okay?"

The brunette's eyes open. "What?"

"Just…trust me, okay?"

"I don't trust," Regina answers. "It always burns me."

"What else do you have to lose?" Emma presses. "Look around us. If we don't turn off this energy surge, this building is going to come down on both of us."

Regina's eyes snap up, and for the first time, she sees the truth of Emma's words. The building is starting to crumble beneath the weight of the energy she's leaking. It's not yet completely structurally unsound, but it's getting there quickly.

"You need to get out of here," Regina breathes. "Now."

"Not without you."

"I'm not asking."

"And I'm not listening," Emma replies with a shrug of her shoulders. "Not really one of my strong suites, you know?"

"I do. But Henry…"

"Is fine. Don't use him in this." When Regina simply answers this with a pursing of her lips, Emma nods, satisfied. "Now that we've agreed on that, shut up for a minute, okay? I need to see if my super Savior power will do something here."

"Super Savior Power?"

"I'll tell you about it later."

Emma reaches forward then, both of her shaking hands held out. Slowly, she puts her palms over each of Regina's blazing green fists. She feels a surge of intense heat, and then suddenly all the magic from the well is flowing towards her. Only, as it does, it's like it's hitting some kind of crazy force field. It slaps against her and completely crumbles, losing all of its power and energy.

And then, just like that, it's over.

Apparently, turning off the anger turned off the crazy which somewhat controlled the magic enough to allow the Super Savior Power to well, do its thing.

Anyway, that's the story Emma plans to tell anyone who asks. Beyond that, she's just glad that she and the former mayor aren't currently buried beneath fifty feet of steel, cement and glass. That would have been a terrible end to the day.

"You did it," Regina whispers as she watches the sparks dissipate, remembering another time not too long ago when she'd said the same words – right after Emma had woken Henry with a kiss. That moment – that wonderful moment – had begun her downfall.

She wonders what this equally magical moment will bring to her.

"Yeah. I got some crazy mojo in me," Emma quips. Then, standing up and dusting herself off. "Okay, Your Majesty, I think it's time to get you checked out."

"Checked out?"

"You mainlined like a gazillion magical bolts and then you had a complete mental meltdown and went a little bit Jean Grey circa Dark Phoenix era."

"Jean Grey? Dark Phoenix? What the hell are you on about?"

"Comic books. Henry has hundreds of them. You've never read any them?"

"No," Regina says sadly. "I never…I didn't think that was what I was supposed to be doing. I thought…" she stops and shakes her head.

"Well, no more of that then. Priority one during your recovery…"

"My recovery?"

"Yeah. Recovery as in rest and relaxation. Which is what you're going to do after I get you checked out. Now as I was saying, priority one, catch you up to the classic X-Men era. Me and Henry can get you up to speed in no time."

"Really?" There's some dread in her tone, but it's somewhat intrigued, somewhat humoring. She'd spent so much time trying to figure out what a parent was supposed to do, how they were supposed to act. It'd never occurred to her to try to share interests with Henry. Or to try to step into his world a little.

How silly. How naïve.

"Really. Come on, give me your hand."

Wincing a bit, Regina extends her hand towards Emma. The blonde does her one better, though. The moment Regina is up on her feet, she slips an arm around her waist and pulls her as close as possible. It's a bit of a hold, and for a moment, Emma thinks the brunette will resist it as she does almost every other kind of hold (Regina allows for hugs but usually only her terms or from Henry).

She doesn't move away or resist, though. She allows the contact, allows the comfort. Allows Emma to see the weakness even as she fights for strength.

"I think I freaked Dr. Hopper out," Regina jokes as Emma moves them towards the crumbled in door. Yeah, this place is going to need a lot of TLC.

"Just a little," Emma agrees. "But he's the one who sent me after you. He said he didn't know what had happened between us. I think he was lying."

"I didn't say a word."

"I don't think you had to," Emma says with a slight smile. "But just so you know, you've always had him in your corner."

"Silly bug."

"I think he'd prefer you not call him that."

"Mm. You're probably right. Are those sirens I hear?"

"They are. You almost blow up City Hall and someone is bound to notice."

Regina sighs at that. "So much for convincing people I'm not evil."

"Don't worry," Emma assures her. "I'll make them understand."

Turns out that getting them – and them being her parents and many of the other generally grumbling townsfolk – to understand that Regina hadn't tried to destroy City Hall on purpose had been more difficult than she'd expected.

At least up until a very sleepy Henry had shown up so as to confirm the information about Regina sucking in all of the green magic. Suddenly, everyone was asking why that hadn't been noticed back at the wishing well. Why no one had taken a moment to wonder about how Regina had saved them.

"You doing okay?" Archie asks as he approaches the former queen. She's sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket around her and an oxygen mask affixed to her mouth. It's the most she'll allow without being forcibly restrained.

"I am," she answers softly, pulling the mask away and discarding it. Her voice is rough from the smoke and debris that had been filling her old office. A cut above her eye has been sealed with stitches, but is still puffy and red around the edges.

"I heard the paramedic telling Emma that they're about to clear you to go home."

"Good. This day needs to end."

"It's been a long one. If you'd like to talk in the morning, I'll be there," he tells her.

She looks up at him then. "Why? To a degree I understand Emma. She and I…we have things between us. Henry and…feelings. But you and I…"

"We have history."

"No, we don't."

"Not actual history, but we share…" he stops and thinks. The last thing he wants to do is insult her by understating the nightmare that has been her life. "I don't know how much you know about how I became a cricket."

"Not much."

"My parents wanted me to be a conman and a thief. I wanted to be free." He meets her eyes when he says this. "I wanted time to stand on a hill and listen to the crickets and nature and I wanted to smell the air. I just wanted to know who I really was. They wanted me to be…them. Now, I'm who I am."

"And who is that? Jiminy Cricket?"

"No. I'm Archie." He says this with a shrug, as if to suggest that he knows what he's saying is cheesy, but he doesn't much care. It's absurd enough that he's having (and has had) a deep conversation with the Evil Queen. "And maybe," he adds, "Even the curse was a terrible horrible vengeful thing, maybe it helped me."

She thinks about that for a moment. "I'll call you in the morning, Doctor."

"Glad to hear it. Goodnight, Regina." He offers her one more smile, then turns and walks away. She stares after her for a moment, thoughtful about his words.

Thoughtful about the sometimes amazing strength lurking within the smallest and meekest of creatures. Strength she's always been good at pretending to have, but rarely possessed. Strength she is envious of.

"Ready to go home?" Emma says suddenly, cutting into her thoughts. When she comes over, Regina notices for the first time that there's a long gouge down the sleeve of the blonde's blue leather jacket.

"You couldn't have worn the red one?" Regina queries, lifting up an eyebrow and allowing for a sweeping assessment of the sheriff's clothing.

"What?" Emma queries. She looks down at her jacket, gets the joke, and then laughs. "Oh, funny. A little 100% oxygen and suddenly everyone is a joker."

"Mm. Are your parents going to allow you to take me home?"

"Don't really need permission; I am a big girl.

"Yes, you are," Regina says with a grin.

"Yeah, definitely too much oxygen. Come on. Up."

"Wait…is Henry…is he still here."

"Yeah, he's over there. He refused to leave until he saw you."

"Really?"

"He's ten and he's self-absorbed and he's thoughtless, but under all of that, he does love you. And he does believe in you. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"He knows how to show you what he feels."

"I'm the cool mom. You're….mom. He is who he is because of you. One day, he'll realize that. You need to have as much faith in him as he does in you."

"I do. You're alive because of that faith."

"Well that, I appreciate. Now go on, go say goodnight to him. I'll be over there trying to convince my parents to let me take you home." She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively at this, but really, she's just playing around.

It's weird how nice it feels to just goof around. Like there's not a trouble in the world. Like just a few hours ago the world hadn't been caving inwards on the both of them – Emma in the old land and Regina in Storybrooke.

Regina takes a deep breath, holds it, finally exhales and then moves towards Henry, a smile spreading on her face as she nears him.

She should be sleeping.

This is better.

This, of course, shouldn't be happening. The purpose of allowing Emma to help her into her room hadn't been to push for something more. No, her intent had for once been completely innocent and pure. She'd simply needed assistance due to her completely jellied legs being suddenly unwilling to support her weight.

That Emma had ended up accidentally falling upon her when trying to lie her down, well that'd either been a fortunate accident or Emma copping a feel. Either way, it's resulted in the two of them lying together on the bed, Emma atop her slightly, weight shifted away so as not to rest upon weary muscles.

"I don't think your parents would approve of this," Regina gasps between kisses. She feels fingers dancing against her abdomen, counting out a gentle rhythm.

"Don't talk about my parents," the blonde admonishes. "It's creepy, and takes me out of the mood." She says this as she's unbuttoning the blue blouse that Regina is wearing. After a moment of happy inspection (as well as a light kiss to the left cup of the black lacy bra that the brunette has on), she then gracelessly removes her own hoodie. She's bare beneath it, her breasts proudly exposed.

"No bra, dear? Were you expecting something?"

Emma laughs at this. "No. It was past midnight and I figured by the time I found a clean one, you might have managed to blow up the whole town by then."

Regina shrugs at this, can't deny it. She also can't think when a moment later Emma is removing her bra (unlike Emma, she never goes out without one on), and and then following that up by sealing her warm wet mouth over the hardened nipple of her left breast. A hand reaches out to gently palm the right one. She groans loudly at the dual contact and then feels – rather than hears – Emma chuckle out her satisfaction.

She closes her eyes, and lifts a hand up and slides it through messy blonde waves. Her hold is gentle, completely unlike her normally possessive self. If Emma notices the difference in the touch (it's been a few months since the last time they did this so maybe she doesn't), she doesn't say.

Emma doesn't say much of anything.

She doesn't need to.

She's being watched again.

Were it not for last time, this probably wouldn't bother the former queen as much, but the last time does exist. She does remember Emma calling her a murderer and then ending their relationship. That Emma had been right – though not about her killing Katherine, but rather about her true nature – is largely irrelevant now.

Abandonment still hurts no matter the sins committed.

She considers not turning to face the blonde, so terrified is she of hearing what might be said. She's much rather stay settled as she is now, content and warm within the blankets of her bed. She's exhausted – both by the events of the day and the actions of the last couple of hours – but suddenly, her nerves refuse her further sleep. Suddenly, energy and emotion is pounding through her again.

"You're tense," she hears. A hand reaches out to rub at the muscles of her back.

"And you're watching me again," Regina replies. At least this time, she thinks, the blonde is doing her spectating from beside her in the bed instead of in a chair.

"I know."

Reluctantly, Regina turns to face her. "I know my sins, dear. I know who I am, and I know what I deserve and don't deserve."

"I'm not leaving," Emma cuts in, knowing where this train is going. "So stop. I just…I wanted to watch you sleep. I was hoping it'd be peaceful."

"It never is."

"We can try the exhaustion route," Emma offers, sliding her body forward as she says this. One hand reaches out to slide beneath the sheet as she says this.

"If only that ever worked. I don't think I'd ever let you out of bed if it did."

"Damn." She shrugs her shoulders. "Well then I guess we could try something you've never let me try before."

Regina's eye lifts. "Dare I ask what you have in mind, Sheriff?"

"Let me hold you."

Emma feels the sudden tension in the bed. And for a moment, she's dead certain that the former queen will refuse as she has always refused.

But then, softly, almost shyly. "Okay."

Emma doesn't hesitate; she slips forward in the bed, an arm immediately sliding around Regina's lithe frame. She pretends not to notice the slight tremor. Pretends not to know that the former queen is terrified right now.

This is true intimacy. There's nothing being gained here, only comfort, support and love being given and allowed.

Emma pulls her tight, closes her eyes. "You're beautiful," she whispers.

She pretends not to see the tear that makes its way down Regina's face.

She just holds on tighter.

-Fin