A/N: Finally, the long promised one (cough, three-part) shot sequel to SAFE.

Here's what you need to know if you haven't read SAFE (which you should have): Post the Miller's Daughter and Cora's death, Emma and Henry kidnapped Regina and took her out of Storybrooke. Together, they worked through many of Regina and Emma's issues and the two ladies fell together and started a romantic relationship. We're now six month since they've returned to town.

Warnings: This will be a fairly dark and intense piece overall, but it's about testing Regina's recovery and Regina and Emma's faith in each other. It's also about building a foundation for Regina and Snow to finally move forward on.

There is some violence and language within.

"Regina," he says softly, because they've been sitting in this room together for almost ten minutes, and she's done little more than smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles on her charcoal colored slacks.

"I know," she says. "I'm paying you handsomely to hear me talk, and I'm not."

"I don't care about the money; I care about you. Did you have another one of your bad dreams last night?" Archie asks, his voice so very calm. They've been doing these sessions for almost six months now, and he's been going out of his way not to repeat the mistakes he'd made the first time that he'd tried to counsel her through her issues. He won't betray her trust this time.

So he waits patiently for her to confirm, and he doesn't push because there are crinkling lines around her eyes and mouth. He watches the way that she anxiously rubs her hands together, her fingers never quite coming together.

He thinks that she may not even be aware that this is one of her tells.

Finally, the former queen nods her head sharply because she probably knows that it would be downright silly to try and pull back and away from this conversation (no matter how unwanted it is) and her feelings now.

After all, she had been the one who had opened the door to this discussion by admitting recurring nightmares to him several weeks earlier. It's probably best to continue down this path now, and try to deal with the dream right here and now. She thinks maybe it's better to resolve it all in her mind in this room rather than do it with Emma's worried eyes gazing back at her.

Emma had known that something had been wrong that morning, but she'd just handed Regina a cup of coffee, and gently reminded her that if she wanted to talk about anything, well then the sheriff was only a call away. It'd been Emma's not nearly as subtle as she might have thought it to be – but still appreciated - way of giving her space while offering her support.

Which, Regina supposes, is what's supposed to occur in adult relationships like the one that she and Emma have been trying to navigate their way through for the last six months. They've been largely successful as long as they manage to find time to spend with each other; when Storybrooke and the needs of others interrupt, things have a bad habit of breaking down.

That's when they fight like the bitter enemies they'd once been because they stop talking and listening. That's when the walls come back up, and Regina starts to feel the woman that she doesn't want to be emerging.

Still, despite those thankfully rare and frightening moments, things have actually been pretty good for the two of them. Sometimes too good for Regina to not get anxious and wonder when the other shoe – or boot - is about to drop; wonder when it's all about to end.

She sighs loudly, looks down at her twisting hands, shoves them both into the pocket of the gray blazer that she's wearing (while she dons more casual clothing around the house these days, she still insists on dressing as well as she is expected to whenever she is out and about town) and says in a voice that's shaky and steady all at once, "Yes, it was something of a nightmare."

"Would you like to tell me about it?" Archie prompts as he removes his glasses, does a quick clean of them with the hem of his shirt (a poor habit, the former queen muses), and then puts them back onto his face.

Regina bites back the impulse to snap at him, because of course she wants to tell him about it. That's why she's here. That's why she's been doing this since she and Emma and Henry had returned to town so many months ago.

The main reason that she doesn't snap at him, though, is because she knows that Archie means well. Just as Emma had simply watched her with knowing green eyes this morning – surely she'd been awoken on several occasions by Regina's restless tossing and turning the previous evening – Archie is being calm and patient, and he's just waiting for her to open up and let him in.

"I dreamt of a young boy," she says, her hands rolling into tight fists inside the pockets of her jacket. "He was someone that I knew only briefly, but what happened to him…what I did to him, I probably destroyed his life."

"Do you regret it?"

"Yes," she confesses, her anxiety spiking as she speaks. "I've spent so much time refusing to have regrets about anything because everything that I have done has brought me to Henry and to a place where I'm so very close to real happiness that it's….well, it's frightening, but what I did to Owen –"

"You remember his name?" he asks, recalling a conversation that he'd had with her from years earlier. Then, it had been about the hole in her heart – though he hadn't understood how literal that actually was back then – and the solution that she'd come up with had been to bring a child into her life because the only time she'd felt less than empty had been with Owen.

"I think I always will. I destroyed his life."

Archie nods slowly, his face passive. "What did you do to him?"

"I killed his father," she replies.

"Why?"

"Because I felt like I had no choice but to kill him," she sighs. "Owen had left Storybrooke, and all I had was a man who had seen too much of a town that I didn't think would ever move forward. I was so very angry and hurt and afraid, and even if I wasn't happy with what the curse had given me, I wasn't about to lose everything because of a man named Kurt Flynn."

"Did you remove his heart?"

"No; I didn't have enough magic for that. I had very little magic left to me at all, actually, but what I did have was enough to force Graham to do whatever I wanted him to do. I told Graham to kill Kurt." She shakes her head in disgust as old memories rush forward. "I don't know what I was expecting him to do exactly, but I guess the world that we're in now had already bled into Graham's psyche, and when I told him to do that, he pulled out his gun and shot Kurt between the eyes."

Archie twitches, and his jaw tightens, but he says nothing, just listens to her.

He really is an actually good man, she thinks. She wonders if he feels dirty after their sessions, if he feels like he's touched something dark and angry.

But then he's smiling slightly at her – gentle compassion and not judgment in his eyes – and she allows herself a breath, and keeps speaking even though every word she says causes something inside of her to hurt. "He was the last person that I killed – had killed - until Emma came to town twenty-eight years later, and I…well you know what happened with Graham."

"It's still difficult for you to talk about him," Archie notes.

Her eyes flicker up to him, but she doesn't deny his words.

"Is it still difficult to speak about him with Emma?" he asks. Because of the joint therapy sessions that she and Emma have been having with Archie since their return from the beach house, he remains the only person in town besides Henry and Neal who knows about their romantic relationship.

He'd been surprised about it, and then he hadn't been.

Instead, he'd just gestured towards the couch and told them both to sit.

Regina figures that he's earned her trust by this point.

Or at least as much trust as she's willing to extend to anyone who isn't Henry or Emma.

"It is," she admits. "But we…we do try to. Every now and again."

"That's good. Have you told her about this dream?"

"Not this one, no."

"Why not?"

"Because dealing with the things that I did to her family in the Enchanted Forest and what I did to Graham has been hard enough for her," Regina allows, her hands once again outside of her pockets and anxiously rubbing together. "She knows who I am better than anyone else, and she knows what I'm capable of because she lost someone that she cared about because of me. She never knew Owen or Kurt Flynn, but I think it's probably easier for her to believe that there was only one life that I took in this world."

"Emma can handle the truth."

"Perhaps she can," Regina allows, her eyes for a moment focusing on a random spot on the far wall. "But I'm not completely sure that I want her to have to."

"Fair enough," Archie says. "So let's talk about something else besides what you did to Graham. Tell me about your nightmare. Was Emma in it?"

"No," Regina replies. "It was just me and Graham and Kurt and Owen. I see Graham putting his gun to Kurt's forehead, and then I notice that Owen is standing there. He's watching us execute his father, and he's begging us not to do this to him. But we do. We still do it. I still tell Graham to kill him."

"Did Owen see what happened in actuality?"

"He didn't; he was already on the opposite side of the town line," Regina replies, her right hand lifting to flick away a stray tear that's caught in her eyelashes. She almost looks angry at herself for daring to be emotional about this, outraged that she's tearing up over one of her greatest sins.

"How long have you been having this specific nightmare?"

"What makes you think that this wasn't the first one?"

For almost anyone else, this dance would be obnoxious, but Archie has learned over time that pulling things out of Regina require a bit of box stepping, and he's even figured out most of the steps along the way. "You told me previously that you've been having bad dreams for awhile, but none of them have seemed to upset you as much as this one has. So, call it an educated guess, but I think this nightmare is particularly unnerving to you."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," she chuckles, the sound dry. "I've had this nightmare or variations of it since day one, but I've been having it far more frequently since we returned to Storybrooke. At first, they were just recaps of what had occurred, but over time, new elements have been added in."

"Such as Owen?"

"Indeed, though he's a fairly new addition. I've had other dreams about him, but never ones where he saw what we did. Never ones where he looked right at me, and promised that one day he'd make me pay for everything."

"Are you afraid that he will?"

She smiles grimly, almost sadly. "Perhaps I'm afraid that he won't."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sure that I do, either, Doctor," Regina admits, her hands in her pockets again. "What I do know is that being with Emma, and having Henry back in my life, and wanting to be there, it's changed things inside of me."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Is it?" she challenges. "Emma believes in me, but I still think that has something to do with the fact that she never saw me as I really was. As I am still capable of being. What if I'm not worthy of her belief in me? What if I can't handle all the changes that are happening, and I try to escape her."

"Interesting choice of words," he observes. "Do you feel trapped with her?"

"Quite the opposite."

"And that's frightening?"

"It's terrifying, and some mornings, I want to destroy everything simply because I know that if…" she shakes her head as if to suggest that even saying such words is too much. It's amazing how much she's opened up in this session, he thinks, but in fairness, she's been getting better there, too.

So many things are changing inside of her, indeed.

He smiles kindly at her. "Regina, what do you think of your relationship with Emma right now? Where would you say that it is? Are things working?"

"I…I think that they are."

"She's living with you, correct?"

"Not officially, though she's certainly there enough to be. And she hung her hideous jacket up in my closet a few days ago so I suppose that means something." She scowls when she says this, but it feels false to even her.

"But you still haven't told anyone else about your relationship, correct?"

"They would never understand. They would look at Emma like she's gone crazy, and they would suspect me of having manipulated her. Or worse."

"What's worse?"

"Casting a spell on her. Forcing her to be with me against her will."

"But surely everyone knows that love can't be forced."

Her eyes widen almost comically, and there's the reaction he was going for.

"Is it safe to assume that you and Emma still haven't expressed your feelings to each other?" he asks, his voice so calm and judgment free. It's enough to make her want to scream because he should think that this whole thing is as absurd as she does. He should think that Emma's gone completely crazy.

She certainly does.

"We're comfortable right now," Regina hedges.

"And are you comfortable staying in that comfort zone long term?"

"As opposed to?"

"Moving forward?"

"And where would that be to?" Regina challenges. "What place could be better than the one where we are now? I get to wake up beside her almost every morning, and I get to see my son for breakfast and dinner, and I can almost convince myself these days that tomorrow will be another day just as lovely and wonderful as the one before it. I can almost even believe it."

"You don't really believe that it will be, do you?" Archie pushes back, his voice never rising and his patience never wavering. "Deep down, you believe that as soon as you start having faith in a future, Emma will wake up to who she is with, and then she'll end things and walk away with Henry."

Regina shakes her head, her lips lifting into a thin humorless smile. "I'm not worried about Henry, actually, and I know that seems unimaginable, but I actually believe her when she says she wouldn't take him from me again."

"But you don't believe her when she says that she won't leave you?"

"We haven't really talked about it. Not since the night we got back here, and I showed her my crypt. I warned her then, but the truth is that if she chose to leave me, there's nothing that I could do to stop her from it."

"Perhaps you should talk to her about this," he suggests.

"No. The last thing I want is for her to make a promise she can't keep, and we both know that no matter what's inside of her heart, she would do that."

"You don't know how she feels. Maybe it wouldn't be the lie you expect."

"It doesn't matter; I know that she cares about me," Regina permits.

"Have you considered that maybe she feels more for you than just that? Have you considered that perhaps you feel more for her than just care?"

Regina looks away, her dark eyes back on that spot on the far wall. "No," she finally answers, her low voice thick and heavy. "No, I haven't."

"Regina –"

"Owen is why I learned to cook."

"Excuse me?"

"That boy. He was in my life so briefly, and I did him so much harm, but he stayed with me. I remembered him. I learned to cook because he hated my food, and because I wasn't good enough for him to want to stay with me."

"Regina, he was a child, and he already had a father."

"I know that," she replies, her voice dull and miserable. "I know it seems crazy to make it all about food, but my whole life has been about not being good enough for anyone. That doesn't change just because I want it to."

"Maybe it does. Maybe you're good enough for her," he suggests as he leans forward so he can meet her eyes. This feels like an important moment right now – she's actually opened up and is talking to him and she clearly wants him to reassure her so he does. "Maybe you're who Emma wants."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me to."

Her hands clench and unclench, and then she jams them roughly back into her pockets, the movements highlighting her clear agitation. "I can't."

"Because you yourself don't actually understand," Archie says, and it's not a question but rather a firm statement that two long years ago he would have been far too intimidated by her to make. Back in those awful cursed days, he would never have dared call out on her self-loathing and lack of faith.

Now, it feels like he'd be shirking his duty to her not to do it.

"No, I don't understand," Regina confirms. "I don't understand why she is still with me. We got together because we connected at the beach house, but now that we're back in the real world…or whatever Storybrooke is, it doesn't make sense for her to choose something so…imperfect. "

"Have you even entertained the idea that she is actually in love with you?"

"Of course not," she replies, her voice flat and firm, like even the mere idea that the Savior could ever love the Evil Queen is pure and absurd fantasy.

"Well, have you entertained the idea that you're in love with her?"

The former queen says nothing, barely moves a muscle, so suddenly still.

"Regina."

"I think our time is up here," she stays, standing up abruptly. She pulls the sides of her blazer tightly around her, like she's fortifying her armor and bringing her walls back up; whatever opening he'd had is long gone now.

He leans back in his chair. "Okay," he says gently. "I'll see you Friday."

"Of course."

"Good. Regina, I'm really glad that you're coming to see me."

She takes two steps towards the door, her heels softly tapping against the thin carpet, and then stops, her back still to him as she mutters, "So am I."

The door closes quietly behind her, and he wonders with a humorless smile why it is that he feels like Pandora's Box has suddenly been torn open.

She's walking out of Archie's office when she sees him. She's been seeing him wandering around town for the last six months, and she thinks that she should probably pay him more attention than she does because he doesn't belong inside of Storybrooke. He should have left and gone home after he'd been released from the hospital, but he'd chosen to stay and immerse himself in Storybrooke, and there hadn't really been a way to force him out.

Not that she would have chosen that path, anyway.

She's just barely the Mayor of Storybrooke again these days. It's truly more ceremonial than anything else, though she certainly gets more than her fair share of paperwork. All the same, she's essentially powerless, and she finds that she lacks the heart or desire for anything resembling a power struggle.

What she wants these days is to get home so that she can hear her son and her lover laughing about something inane. She wants to get back to her no longer empty house so she can hide away with them, and feel so very safe.

"Mr. Mendell," she says coolly because he's looking right at her. Part of her wants to just ignore his existence completely, but well, she is trying here.

Trying so very hard to make Emma and Henry happy, and then hopefully one day, that will be enough for her to believe that she can be happy, too.

"Madam Mayor," he says with something of a knowing smirk. Like they're sharing some kind of wicked secret. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," she agrees with a nod. She forces a smile onto her face, and wonders if it looks as fake as it feels. "So I'll let you return to it, then."

"Of course. Oh, before you go, how's Emma doing?"

Regina cocks her head to the side. "I believe she's doing well. Why?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I was thinking of asking her out on a date."

For a long moment, she just stares back at Greg, like she's trying to figure out why this feels so very strange. It shouldn't be, she thinks. Only Archie, Henry and Neal are aware that the Savior and the Queen are together, and no one else actually knows that Emma really isn't into men these days.

It shouldn't be at all strange because Emma is a beautiful, strong and capable woman. She's also the only daughter of storybook royalty, and even in a town without a monarchy, that still means something to most people.

So, yeah, this shouldn't be confusing and befuddling her so much, but it is because the idea of Emma Swan and Greg Mendell is just preposterous.

Does Emma even know Greg outside of official police business?

Does he know her?

What does it matter, anyway?

She reminds herself that there's no need for jealousy here.

Still, she can't stop herself from saying, "I believe she's seeing someone."

"Is she? Who?"

Regina grits her teeth, and flexes her fingers. She hasn't used magic in over eight months now, and she's not about to fall off the wagon for him.

"I don't know," she lies. "I don't make it my business to be in her life."

"Oh," he says, and she's struck by the understanding that he knows that she had just lied right to his face. He smiles – all teeth – and nods. "Okay, then."

"Yes, okay," she repeats. "Good day, Mr. Mendell."

"Good day, Regina," he replies, and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck going flying up like he'd just told her that he was going to kill her.

She tells herself that she's just off-kilter because of her session with Archie.

Because of his ridiculous question about her feelings for Emma.

She tells herself that it's just old paranoia kicking around within her.

She watches Greg walk down the street, watches him enter the diner, and she lets out a nervous chuckle because she really needs to get a grip. She shoves her hands deep into her pockets, takes what she means to be a steadying breath (it doesn't quite work, but it'll do), and then makes her way to her Benz, and gets inside of it. One more glance back at the diner – back to where Greg Mendell had just been – and she decides that this kind of worry is beneath a woman of her station, and she needs to just let it go.

Let it go, and go home.

To her family.

Emma's eyes are on her from almost the moment she steps inside the house, the green sparking so fiercely and curiously that there's no way for Regina to doubt that her lover has spent most of the day worrying about her. So she steps close to Emma, puts a hand over her bicep, gives it a good hard squeeze and says, "I'm fine, dear. Dr. Hopper was very helpful."

"Yeah?" She sounds doubtful, like she knows that she's being fed the line that she is.

"I did an admirable job in assigning him the position of town therapist."

Emma snorts.

"I did run into someone interesting," Regina continues, not really interested in speaking of Archie or her session with him. She'd be more than happy to not think about their discussion at all, to be honest. "Greg Mendell."

"I wouldn't call him interesting," Emma sighs. "Frankly, I don't trust him."

"Has he done anything to warrant that?"

"Sticking around is enough for that."

Regina chuckles. "Yes, only lunatics do that."

"Exactly," Emma agrees, an impish smile on her lips. She slides herself behind Regina, wraps her arms around her waist, nuzzles into her neck and mumbles, "So, what happened?"

"He told me that he wanted to ask you out on a date?"

"Really?" Emma asks, turning Regina around so that they're face to face.

"Really."

"Is he still alive?"

"He is. Did you suspect otherwise?"

"You don't share your toys," Emma shrugs.

"I would hardly consider you to be one of my toys."

Emma's bright eyes cloud over with something that's not quite definable for the briefest of moments. They're almost soft and wet, but then she blinks, and whatever had been there before is gone, and Emma is smiling widely.

"Aww," she says before she leans in and kisses Regina on the mouth.

Regina rolls her eyes, and pushes the sheriff away from her with a grunt of indignant disgust, but it's all fun and games, and they both know it. "Where's Henry this evening?" she asks as she steps over towards the refrigerator and pulls open the door. Her eyes scan the contents, and she starts to assemble various different potential dinner plates in her mind.

"With my parents tonight. He's teaching David how to play Mario Kart."

"I can't imagine that going well; David can barely handle his own truck."

"Exactly," Emma agrees with a nod of her head before she slides closer again. She has no inclination to spend too much time talking about her parents; since returning to the "real world" that is Storybrooke, there's been a tentative but undeniably uneasy kind of peace between her parents and Regina. Really, it's more of a truce or to be more accurate, it's been an unspoken agreement to try to stay as clear of each other as possible, and to not interfere in Emma spending time with whomever she wants to.

It's been working out so far.

But everyone knows that it can't last forever.

Because Emma doesn't want her family split in two. Eventually, she's going to want to bring the people she cares about as close together as possible.

Right now, though, Emma doesn't want to think about her parents or reconciliations; she wants to focus on the dangerously beautiful woman standing just in front of her. And what she really – really - wants to focus in on is the fact that they have the house to themselves for the whole night.

So with a predatory grin that only Regina could understand, she does.

Regina's back arches up and off the bed, and she cries out, her fingers scrabbling for the silk sheets even as her eyes try to roll into the back of her head. She hears a low chuckle from above her, and feels just a brief moment of annoyance before pale soft lips are claiming hers in a kiss that can only be described as possessive. After that, all coherent thought is just gone.

A hand slides into the one of hers that is clutching the sheet, settling first over her wrist before it turns her palm around and weaves fingers between hers, refusing to let her hold onto anything besides the woman atop her.

When Emma's mouth finally leaves hers – traveling down to roughly nip at the feverishly heated skin of her elegant throat – she gasps out something that might be in English or it might be in Spanish for all she knows.

She can feel the hand that isn't wrapped around her own dancing gently against her bare hipbone, and she has to force herself not to demand that Emma immediately cease her teasing and just get on with it. Not because she doesn't want that – because oh, does she – but because Regina just knows that letting Emma know that she's just barely holding herself together right now will only push the sheriff to slow down even before.

Emma Swan is a bit of an ass like that.

Which isn't to say that Regina wouldn't do exactly the same thing.

Because she would. Oh, she would.

That doesn't make this little game of Emma's right now at all acceptable, however. It doesn't make the rapidly alerting gentle and rough touches permissible in the least; no, this is close to a declaration of war, she thinks.

Not that she could – or would – stop it even if she wanted to.

And she doesn't want to. Not even a little.

"Emma," she whispers as her fingers tangle with the blonde's. The hand that's not being held jumps up and grips at the sheriff's back, her tips pressing into exposed flesh hard enough to leave bruises and welt. "Emma."

The sheriff chuckles again – the sound rumbling up through her throat in a way that makes something warm surge through Regina - and then moves her mouth down to claim a hardened nipple in her mouth, her wet tongue flicking against it even as her hand squeezes Regina's as tightly as possible.

Like she knows exactly what she's doing to the former queen.

She does.

She switches breasts at the same time as she moves her hands from hip to thigh, and then up to where Regina most wants it, and can least handle it.

As so many different feelings and emotions rush through Regina, her feet move up and down like she's trying to run a race, and she wonders when it is that she'd lost the stillness – the calm – that had been trained into her through rage and disastrous discipline. She wonders exactly when it had been that Emma Swan had turned her into a shuddering mess of a woman.

She doesn't have an answer for that, and thankfully, she's allowed to not have to think right now because all she's doing is feeling, and everything feels so very good and wonderful, and so she throws her head back and surrenders to the electric touches and the ferocity of Emma's passion.

Until Emma ruins it all by lifting her mouth away from Regina's breast, and speaking softly into lover's ear even as she gently pushes inside of her.

Until Emma turns everything upside down by saying simply, "I love you," in a voice too quiet and controlled to be doubted even in the middle of this.

Regina sees white lights and stars and all of those foolish romantic things that she's far too jaded to believe in, and her body feels so very good.

Her heart and her mind, though, well those are different matters entirely.

Her heart feels a surge of something that can only be described as fierce perfect emotion – the kind that is so good and wonderful – but her mind feels the fear of wondering if a bridge to nowhere has just been crossed.

She thinks of Archie's curious queries about the nature of Emma's feelings, and wonders why it is that it seems like life always provides an answer to every question even when it's neither needed nor especially desired.

Emma doesn't give her time to think too much, though. Not yet, anyway.

Because she's still kissing the former queen everywhere, still touching and moving and still pressing herself close enough so that Regina can hear the strength of Emma's perfect heart, the way it pounds out a powerful beat.

"Stay with me," Emma whispers, leaning up to kiss Regina's forehead, her eyelids and then her lips, each embrace one so gentle and loving.

"I'm here," Regina murmurs, her head falling to the pillow. Many years ago, she would have called this moment surrender, and perhaps that's exactly what this is now, too. The fear that she feels is rumbling through her insides, and she knows that once she's away from Emma's arms and the sound of her strong heart, the panic will certainly overwhelm her, but for now, she feels a kind of curious calm because she's looking right at Emma, and their eyes are meeting in a way that they've come to understand as being truthful.

"Good," Emma says, and then she leans in and kisses Regina again, all of the emotion that she's feeling – the undeniably ill-advised words that she'd just said – surging to the surface as she presses herself against her lover.

Yes, this is surrender, Regina thinks.

It has never felt so terrifying nor so desperately desired.

And she's never felt so damned nor so blessed.

The former queen is putting the dishes away when a freshly showered and dressed for work Emma comes down the stairs, her footsteps soft thanks to her socked feet. She's in a good mood, almost whistling because she's so completely Prince Charming's little girl, but it evaporates immediately when she sees the unmistakable tension in Regina's shoulders.

"Regina," she says cautiously as she comes up behind her. She puts her hands out and starts rubbing at the former queen's tight muscles. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she snaps back, her voice sharp and terse. She pulls away from Emma and crosses over to the cupboard to put several plates away. The sound she makes is loud and dramatic, which tells Emma all that she really needs to know.

"Right. Because you look okay. You going to tell me what this is about?"

"I had a bad dream," Regina replies. "That's all."

Emma nods her head. "You know what? Normally, I would believe that because I've gotten pretty used to you tossing and turning at night and saying all kinds of weird stuff like 'stop' and 'please, no', but last night, you slept like a baby once you knocked out. So how about you try again."

"Emma."

"Regina."

The former queen turns around, her back pressed to the counter like it's some kind of safety for her. "It's nothing; I just woke up…it's nothing."

"Stop lying to me. Please." Emma steps towards her again. "This is about what I said last night, isn't it? You're freaking out because I said that I –"

"Stop speaking."

"Well that confirms that." Another step and she's right in front of a woman who suddenly looks skittish. "How late were you up thinking about things? I never felt you kick me so I thought maybe you were sleeping well for once, but that's not what happened, is it? You were obsessing over me saying –"

"Don't," Regina hisses.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it."

"I don't?"

"You throw around that word so easily and casually because that's what you Charming fools do. It's so easy to believe in love because you always get it."

"I do?" Emma shakes her head. "That's news to me, and it's bullshit from you. Better than anyone, Regina, you know what I've been through, and you know that I don't fall in love at the drop of a hat. If you want to fight about this because you're scared about what I said, well then fine, we can do that because yeah, it's pretty damned scary, but don't you dare act like saying those words was easy for me because you know otherwise. You know."

Regina closes her eyes, and takes a breath. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Are we all the way back to me asking you to believe in me again?"

"It's not about that. It's…you can't love me, Emma."

"I do."

"No. You said it during sex. You were caught up in the moment."

"I said it while I was watching you be happy."

"Emma –"

"I love you," the sheriff says. "For better or for worse, I'm in love with you."

"That's impossible."

"It's not. You know, Regina, I have never once deluded myself into thinking that this thing between us would be easy whether it was friendship or this because nothing about either one of us is easy. I'm not expecting or even asking you to say it back to me. I think all I'm asking is for you to accept it."

"Accept what? That you've chosen to believe I'm the best you can do?"

"What is going on here?" Emma demands, stepping closer again, near enough so that she can feel Regina's warmth. "Where is this coming from?"

"Where is what coming from?"

"This…hatred of yourself."

"It's never gone away, dear."

"Is this about the nightmares that you've been having?"

Regina pauses for a moment, clearly conflicted about admitting the truth, but finally because they really have come so far, and she really does trust this woman more than anyone in this world or any other, she says, "Yes."

Emma lets out a soft sigh and it might be relief or it might be sadness at having her fears confirmed. Either way, she reaches out for Regina's hands and pulls them into hers, squeezing them in a way that reminds the former queen of their time at the beach house. "Then talk to me. We've been through so much together. There's nothing that you can't tell me, okay?"

"I wish that that were true."

"Regina, please. Please."

"Maybe…maybe we should take a time out," Regina suggests weakly.

"That's not going to happen," Emma replies immediately, fiercely.

"I –"

"I get it, okay? You're panicking because I jumped the gun. You weren't ready, and I should have known that but you have to understand that even after all we've talked about and shared, after all the times you've let me touch you, you still don't always let even me see you when your walls are down, and God, Regina, you are so ridiculously beautiful when you're not fighting the world, and you're just allowing yourself to be happy. So yeah, maybe I shouldn't have said it, but I'm not sorry I did because I meant it."

"I need you to leave," Regina says softly before turning away from Emma and facing the window that opens up to the backyard of the mansion.

"Okay. Okay. But we're going to talk about this later because that's what we do now. If we have to go back to beach house rules, then that's what we do. I'll bring some wine over tonight, and we'll sit out on the porch and we talk and we tell each other stories and figure things out together."

"Emma-"

"'I'm going to go now and give you your space, okay?" Emma says as she leans in and pressing a kiss to Regina's shoulder. "But I will be back. After my shift, we're going to continue this. Henry can crash with my parents for another night, and we are going to come to an understanding about this."

She waits for just a moment – holds in place for an answer she knows isn't coming – and then reluctantly steps away from her lover and turns and walks towards the front room of the mansion. She casts one glance back as she laces up her boots, but then lifts her head high, and pulls the door open.

It's just as she's stepping outside that she hears the sound of Regina's high heels coming towards her, moving rapidly, frantically and almost urgently.

"Wait," she hears, Regina's voice low and throaty. Emma feels a soft hand settle on her forearm, and then she's getting roughly turned around and Regina is kissing her hard, seemingly unaware – or perhaps uncaring - of the fact that they're standing out on the porch in the middle of the morning where anyone who is simply passing by the mansion could see them.

After six months of kissing and making love to Regina, Emma's gotten used to the passion that this woman exhibits when she allows herself to, but there's something explosive about this kiss. It's needy and desperate and completely wanting, and though Regina can't possibly put the jumbled and confusing and frightening things that she might want to say into words, she manages to express those sentiments just fine with her soft lips and hands.

"Promise me you'll come back," Regina whispers once they break apart. It occurs to Emma that even though the kiss has ended, they're still wrapped tightly together, practically holding each other. "Don't give up on me."

"I promise," Emma assures her. "Try not to lose faith in me."

"I promise I'll try."

"Good enough," Emma chuckles and then leans forward and presses her forehead against Regina's. "You're stuck with me," she says, her eyes closing for just a moment before she reluctantly straightens up again.

"Then do as you said you would, dear, and bring wine. Choose well."

"Of course." After a beat, she asks, "Do you need me to stay? I can call in."

"I'm all right for now," Regina assures her. "Go to work. Let me have some time to remember who I've become and who I want to be. Let me have some time to figure out how to tell you a story that you won't want to hear, but I think you need to hear, anyway."

"I can handle it," Emma tells her, her thumb rubbing against the former queen's soft lips. When Regina closes her eyes, she leans in. "I know who you are. And I can handle both sides of you – the Evil Queen and Regina. "

"You're a damned fool," Regina murmurs, her eyes opening and tears glistening.

"Yes. And I still love you. Get used to hearing it, Your Majesty." And with that said, she leans in and gently kisses Regina, trying to say as much to the former queen with this kiss as Regina had managed to say to her with hers.

When she separates from Regina – with a light kiss to her nose – she chuckles and then steps back, motioning to the porch almost lazily. "I like kissing you out here," she comments. "We should do it more often."

"Go pretend you have a job that's useful, Sheriff."

Emma rolls her eyes, offers up one last affectionate smile, and then makes her way down the walk towards her car, feeling both lighter and heavier.

Lighter because she'd managed to crack the ice that'd been forming around Regina's heart once more; she had again managed to push away the darkness that had tried so desperately to feed on the former queen's soul.

But she also feels heavier because that darkness is still hanging over Regina like she's some kind of meal for it, and the more afraid she is, the more she hates herself, the more likely she is to let it in if only for just a little taste.

Emma sets her shoulders and steels her resolve.

Because this crazy love story of theirs? The one about a broken Savior and a fallen Queen tumbling forward together? Well it's damn well going to end with happily ever after.

"Good morning," Snow says, smiling brightly at her daughter when she sees the blonde enter Granny's. Then, slightly scolding. "You're late."

"I know," Emma admits as she sits down. "Kind of a rough morning."

Snow's eyebrow lifts. "Is everything all right?" she asks. What she means to ask is whether or not Regina has fallen off the magical wagon again, but she holds her tongue because this friendship that has formed between Emma and her former stepmother clearly means a lot to her daughter, and the last thing Snow wants to do is create distance that doesn't need to be there.

She wants to reconnect with her daughter so if that means accepting that Regina and Emma are friends, well she thinks that she can do that.

No matter how much she'd prefer Emma to stay far away from Regina.

The reality is, because they share Henry, that's not really possible, anyway.

And for Henry, this friendship of theirs is a good thing. So she smiles as much as she can, and patiently waits for Emma's response.

"Yeah, everything is fine. How as the kid last night?"

"Perfect," Snow answers.

"Cool. Think you can handle one more night with him?"

"Of course, but is there any chance that you will tell me why?"

"Regina needs a friend," Emma answers with a shrug of her shoulders.

Snow nods her head slowly. "You're a good friend."

Emma sighs because sometimes she gets the feeling that Snow is trying to convince herself that that's all she and Regina are. Not that she thinks her mother suspects the truth – she certainly doesn't because Snow wouldn't be able to resist speaking out against it – but she has to know that it's more than just drinking buddies or something casual like that. "So is she."

"I didn't mean –"

"I know," Emma nods. "And, look, I know that this…friendship between me and Regina is all kinds of weird for you, but everything is good, okay?"

"Okay," Snow agrees, though it's clear her doubts remain. "Then how about we order breakfast; your father was saying something about reorganizing your filing system and well, I wouldn't let him do that if I were you."

Emma groans. "Maybe I should get it to go."

"Not a chance," Snow replies with a large warm smile. "You may need to be Regina's friend tonight, but you're my daughter this morning. Okay?"

Emma laughs. "Okay."

She's walking towards the sheriff's station when she sees him. He's standing right at the mouth of the alley she's crossing through, his boots and cuffs wet, and he's staring at her with something that looks a lot like rage.

"Greg," she greets warily, wondering why it is that it seems like he's been waiting for her here. It's no secret that she takes this route to work after her three mornings a week breakfast with her mother, but this is still strange.

She has no relationship with this man, and doesn't really want one.

Especially if he's thinking of asking her out.

Unfortunately, that's not what's on his mind.

"I don't get it," he says, stepping towards her. One of his hands is in his pocket, but he's gesturing at her with the other one. "I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?"

"How you could love her."

"What?"

"How can you love a monster?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Emma replies, her hand reaching behind her back to feel for her service pistol. She curses Regina's refusal to allow the gun in the house with Henry, which means that it's in a drawer at the station instead in her jeans where it might be able to help her now.

"I saw you one the porch with Regina," he hisses at her. "I heard what you said to her. I heard you tell her that you love her. I saw you kissing her."

Emma holds up her hands to try to calm him. "Right. Okay. Look –"

"No, you look. It was one thing when you were just fucking her because I get it; sometimes we like to touch dirty things. You're a lot like me –"

"I'm nothing like you," she retorts, her face reddening with anger.

He ignores her. "We're both orphans who grew up alone and broken. We both got thrown out more than we got brought in." He nods his head when he says this. "And we both ended up that way because of Regina."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do, Emma. I know who Regina really is. I know that she's the Evil Queen. This make-believe little hellhole may have tried to hide itself behind the façade of being a sleepy little coastal town, but I know everything about it. You see, I was here the day that it appeared out of thin air. Do you know what happened to me thanks to that day? Has your lover ever told you?" He spits out the word "lover" likes it's some kind of horrible curse word.

"How do you know that she's my lover?" Emma snaps back.

"That's all you care about?"

"How do you know?"

"I've been watching her. Every moment of every day. Like the song, you know? I see everything that she does. Every time she tries to pretend she's normal by buying peas, I see it. And every time she thinks that she can talk away her sins with Dr. Hopper, I'm aware of it." He smiles when he says this, the expression twisted and so full of hatred and fury that it chills Emma.

"Why? Why do you care –"

"Because she owes me her life for what she took from me, and I mean to take it from her." He takes another step towards her, and Emma tenses like she's preparing for him to suddenly attack her. She figures that though he's somewhat taller than her, she should be able to take him down.

Because he's soft and angry, and those are easy to exploit vulnerabilities.

"What did she take?"

"My father. She killed him and made me an orphan. Just like you."

"I'm not an orphan."

"For twenty-eight years you were. So I'll ask again, how can you love her?"

"I just do, and that's my business and not yours."

"That's where you're wrong, Emma; everything about the Queen is my business." He shakes his head like he can't quite believe that he's having this conversation. "She's an animal who needs to be put down."

"She's not who she was thirty years ago."

"I don't care."

"You don't have to," Emma says. "You have every right to your –"

"Don't patronize me!"

"I'm not," the sheriff assures him. "I'm just…" She stops abruptly, deciding to change her approach. "I'm not going to let you hurt her so if that's what you're planning, you need to walk away and leave Storybrooke because I will defend her to the death, and I'm not going to be the one dying."

"I'm not just planning it," he grins, taking yet another step towards her.

"Greg –"

"Owen. That's my name. Owen Flynn. That's who I used to be, anyway. Before she robbed me of last bit of family. Like she did you only apparently you don't care anymore because you're sharing her bed. How lucky for her."

She hears very little of his rant, though, because yeah, she's heard Regina calling out Owen's name in her sleep more than a few times. Screaming it.

"Owen, you don't want her blood on your hands," she says softly.

"You're wrong; I want to see her blood all over my hands."

"That's not going to happen."

"That's where you're wrong, Emma. I kept thinking that this was just some fling to rebel against mommy and daddy and that you were hate-fucking the queen and so I was waiting, biding my time because I knew eventually you'd leave her, but then I saw you this morning, and she looked happy with you."

"She is happy with me."

"She doesn't have the right to be happy. Not if I don't."

"You do –"

"No! You don't know what I've been through! You don't know how many years I spent trying to find my father and then trying to find her."

"I'm sorry for you, but I'm not going to let you hurt her."

"Because your love for her means more than my hatred for her does?"

"Even if it didn't, I still wouldn't let you hurt her."

"Such the hero," he sneers. "I bet you even think you can save her soul."

"It's not about being a hero, it's about knowing that vengeance only leads to emptiness. That woman that I love, she's exhibits A-Z of that, Owen."

"I'm already empty, and I will make her pay for what she did."

"Not while I'm alive."

"Then I guess you won't be," he snarls. "Just know that when you're taking your last breath, it'll because of your love for a undeserving monster."

She'll think later – when she's able to think again – that she should have seen this coming because one of his hands has been in his pocket the whole time that he's been screaming at her, but she doesn't. Maybe it's the heavy breakfast or maybe it's her underestimating him, but either way, she finds herself completely blindsided by the feel of the Taser getting pushed against her neck when he surges towards her. She lifts up her right hand to try to shove him away, but then there's electricity pouring through her.

She cries out in pain as the surge continues, and her eyes roll back as she tumbles to the dirty ground, but consciousness doesn't steal her away.

No, that would be merciful.

What follows – the rage she feels in Owen's fists and feet – is anything but merciful. She hears him screaming at her, but the words are just sounds.

She can't move, can't fight back, can't resist.

She can only let him end her, hot salty tears running down her cheeks and mixing with her blood as he continues to strike her.

Her last thoughts as everything finally fades away (first into shades of red, and then into black) aren't of the monster that Owen claims Regina to be (she thinks that refusing to let him win that battle is something of a pyrrhic victory) but of the red wine that she'd planned to buy for the night ahead.

Regina had promised her a story.

She wonders if this was to be the story.

Apparently, she knows it already.

TBC…