Emma Swan is truly, utterly, completely fucking wasted.

Trashed, really.

She knows this because one moment she's in The Rabbit Hole and the next she's knocking, banging really, on a super familiar door, the numbers 108 staring back at her like a warning. One she doesn't heed.

And then her mouth is slurring out a super familiar name and there's this really tiny voice in the back of her mind - it sounds a lot like her own when she's sober - saying 'what the fuck are you doing, Emma?'

Good question, me. I'll get back to you on that.

"Regina!" She yells again, because yes, she had actually yelled it the first time too.

Her fist is still banging against the door and it's super fucking cold outside and the leather of her jacket is real but not at all conducive for holding in heat and jesus christ, woman open the damn door!

And it does. It's ripped open, actually.

Regina's still wearing what she had on earlier that day. One of those obscenely well-fitted pantsuits, except now she's just wearing the white button-down shirt and her feet are bare.

Emma's mouth falls open at the sight of deep plum nails and the light blue of the few veins at the top of her foot.

Emma's never seen Regina Mill's feet before. It's never been a particular desire of hers.

She thinks perhaps it should have been.

But then Regina's voice, thick and rumbling and decidedly pissed off, cuts right through her marveling.

"Miss Swan, what the hell are you doing?"

"Well, I came to see you. Obviously," she hopes all those words sounded as clear as she'd intended them to be. She takes a step forward, seeking the heat of the mansion but Regina's body gets in her way.

She frowns.

"Let me in."

Regina gives her a sneer, which, okay, is ridiculously, unfairly sexy, and scrunches up her nose in what Emma concludes is disgust and gives her a hard shove.

And well, that's just fucking rude.

"You're drunk. You're not coming anywhere near my furniture. Or my hardwood floor."

"Awe, come on, Gina. I walked all the way here and everything. I think I have frostbite."

Dark brown eyes flash at the nickname and Emma smirks and then giggles. Then hiccups.

Emma's never thought Regina cute before. She's not really cute right now. Well, maybe she is a little. In a 'Miss Swan, you have three seconds to get off my porch before I set you on fire' kind of way.

She does have that pulsing forehead vein thing going on too. Emma's always wanted to touch it. Or caress it. Or kiss it.

Hm. Maybe she should have stopped after her seventh shot.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're insanely hot when you're mad?"

And yeah, she definitely should have stopped.

She's expecting the door to be slammed in her face. Or to be slapped.

She doesn't expect the scoff. Or the eye roll.

"Has anyone ever told you you're even more insufferably annoying when you're drunk?"

Emma laughs out loud at that. It's more a bark, maybe even a guffaw and Emma's brow crinkles then because she doesn't even think she knows that word.

"Seriously, it's fucking freezing out here, let me in."

She moves forward again and is stopped by Regina's hand on her breastbone.

"Henry's upstairs. Your banging and shouting didn't wake him up because apparently he's inherited your ability to sleep through a hurricane but you are not coming into my house. And I've barely the patience to deal with you when you're sober let alone while intoxicated."

She gives Emma another shove and this time Emma stumbles backwards at the force.

"Get off my porch."

And then she's turning and Emma's staring at those goddamn numbers again.

And she still hasn't gotten total control over her magic; Regina's magic lessons haven't exactly been at the top of Emma's to-do list lately. Or Regina's, really either.

But she thinks it can't be that hard to teleport. Or poof. Or whatever the fuck that shit's called.

Just picture where you want to be and think yourself there, right?

Wrong.

She ends up crashing right on top of Regina's desk. Which actually, she had been aiming for the study so she gives herself props for at least making it into the correct room.

Now she's just gotta deal with an irate brunette who's just stormed in and is hissing and seething at her and really, Emma thinks she hit her head pretty fucking hard because there's this dull throbbing and she's seeing two Reginas and that's tripping her the fuck out and so she leans into the dark mahogany wood, her eyes screwed shut, her knuckles white.

"Emma! Are you even listening to me?"

And of-fucking-course she isn't because jesus the room is spinning and she feels she's about to retch.

"Regina could you like possibly stop fucking yelling at me for a sec?" She scrubs at her forehead and she feels herself tipping forward, expecting to feel the floor any second.

She feels warm hands at her waist instead, a murmured, concerned, "Emma, how much did you drink tonight?" in her ear.

And fuck, she has no idea; she lost count after her tenth and was cut off shortly after that.

"Dunno," she slurs. She's sitting on the couch now, Regina bent in front of her. She's definitely about to puke.

"R'gina, I'm gonna -" and it happens so fast. There's purple smoke and a bucket and she's pretty sure she loses everything she's ever ingested since childhood and then she's out.

When she wakes again, her head pounding, her mouth grainy and cottony and tasting of something foul, she's not on the couch anymore.

She's not wearing her jeans or her leather jacket anymore either.

She's wearing these super fucking soft, light blue silk pajamas and they smell like rainwater and vanilla and laundry detergent and her stomach drops and flutters and does a fucking backflip because she's wearing Regina's pajamas and she's in one of her guest beds and oh my fucking god did she put these on me herself!?

Her brain doesn't really know how to process the thought of Regina undressing her and then allowing her to wear her own clothes. Willingly.

It takes her a stupid amount of time to actually sit up and stand and make it to the door of the bedroom. And then there's the stairs. And honestly, why is there so much light everywhere?

Shouldn't reformed Evil Queens have dungeons and darkness? Or at least some thicker fucking curtains?

The smell of bacon and coffee informs her to head to the kitchen and when she ambles up to the island, she buries her head in her arms to hide from the almost blinding light shining in through the window above the sink.

She groans into the counter and hears a throaty chuckle in response.

"I feel like I got hit by a bus," Emma croaks into her arms.

She hears the scrape of a plate and her head lifts, moaning at the omelet and bacon, a mug of steaming coffee beside it.

"Oh my god, I think I love you."

And really, that's not at all how she had planned this particular conversation. In truth, she hadn't planned it all. Hence, last night. She was going to wallow and pout and groan and grumble about her newly realized feelings and drink herself into a coma. Then forget about those feelings altogether. Like, forever.

Of course she would realize she was in love with her son's other mother after said mother was already in love with another man.

One she was supposed to be helping to find. One Regina'd known for all of five goddamn minutes.

I made you a promise I intend to keep.

She kind of stops short as the words leave her mouth but Regina just arches a brow and smirks a little, amused, before turning to wash the skillet she'd just used.

Emma slumps onto her elbow and rubs her eyes, thanking God for the fact that Regina knows the relationship Emma has with food is on par with Henry and his comic books and is capable of making her say ridiculous things.

Completely ridiculous things. Things she doesn't mean. Things she doesn't mean but really, really does.

She's about two pieces of bacon in when her brain catches up to the world around it.

"Where's Henry?"

Regina turns to give her a look before going back to scrubbing at the skillet. She's wearing a deep crimson blouse and black slacks today. Her hair perfectly coifed, now much longer than Emma's used to, curling a bit at the ends past her shoulders. She's wearing hosiery. But her feet are still bare of shoes.

"Our son does attend school during the week days, Emma."

And Emma's face scrunches and she squints at the green digits on the microwave. 11:13.

Well, shit.

"Does he know I stayed here last night?"

Regina's hand kind of slips a little and she does this shifting foot thing and Emma's pretty sure that she has no idea what any of that means.

"He does, yes. I told him you came over to do some research for Operation Mongoose and ended up staying a little later than initially planned so I offered for you to sleep in the guest room."

Emma tilts her head because that's an outright lie and Regina would never lie to Henry to cover up a night of self-pity drinking on Emma's behalf. Would she?

"You lied to him for me?" And she hadn't actually meant to voice the question, but hey. Since when does her brain ever coordinate with her mouth?

Regina's eyes find hers again and Emma's stomach does that stupid backflip thing again because Regina's looking at her as if she's seeing her for the first time. Or...maybe not the first time but just like she's actually truly seeing her. Like she understands something Emma doesn't.

"He didn't need to know." Is all she says and Emma's heart stammers in her chest and her hands are all tingly and she feels this really dumb urge to hug Regina but yeah, no, she can't actually do that because hello, that's not who they are to each other.

They may be...like friends (ish?) now (You thought we were friends? Crazy right?) but they certainly didn't hug. Emma wonders if they'll ever be the type of people to hug one another. And that kind of makes Emma's heart hurt because she thinks, knows actually, that Regina's a great hugger.

She also knows she smells good.

She looks down at her - Regina's - pajamas.

"Uh - how'd I get into these?"

And she has to be imagining the blush that spreads across Regina's cheeks. Has to be.

Regina wipes her hands on the towel next to the sink and makes a show of folding it.

"Your clothes wreaked of alcohol. I washed them," she looks at Emma now, blush completely gone, replaced with a teasing smile.

"I didn't dry them though. I'm not sure they'd have still fit if I had. Do you always buy jeans two sizes too small for you?"

Emma shrugs and takes a bite out of the bacon. She thinks she tastes maple syrup and silently praises the gods for blessing Regina with the ability to cook like one.

"No one ever seems to have a problem with it."

And there's that blush again but this time Regina has nothing to do with her hands so she clears her throat and moves to grab her own mug of coffee from beside the stove.

"You didn't exactly answer my question though."

Regina rolls her eyes.

"I didn't undress you myself if that's what you're worried about. I used magic. Just a wave of my hand. I wasn't sure exactly what you wear to bed in your apartment as I've never actually seen your sleepwear so I just put you in some of mine."

She's fidgeting with her coffee mug now, her words becoming increasingly unsure and Regina's not a fidgeter. She's not ever nervous or uncomfortable. But she is right now and Emma finds it incredibly endearing and wants to hug her again.

Wants to kiss her.

Has anyone ever told you that you're insanely hot when you're mad?

Oh god. Had she actually said that? She hopes maybe that was just her dream self that had said that to dream Regina in her very much dream last night. She doesn't remember much of what happened, just that she probably actually did tell Regina how attractive she was while pissed off and well, hey, Emma's been wanting to say that since like day one so she's glad Regina knows it now.

She kind of hopes she doesn't bring it up though.

Emma nods and takes a bite of her omelet, eyes fluttering at the burst of different spices and flavors.

Who knew a fucking egg could taste so good?

"Regina, seriously. This is fucking amazing."

She chuckles, the sound dancing along every inch of Emma's skin, alighting it with goosebumps, and rips off a block of paper towel and hands it over to Emma, miming at her mouth.

"Well, knowing your stomach thinks the same for cheeseburgers and fries from Granny's, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is."

Emma wipes at her mouth and finishes off the omelet.

"My stomach also knows the difference between mediocre food and fucking ambrosia made from the very gods themselves. Or goddess."

Regina's brow arches into her hairline.

"Ambrosia?"

Emma gives a dismissive wave of her hand, taking a greedy gulp of her coffee.

"Yeah, I don't know. Henry gave me a dictionary last week. Something about broadening my vocabulary because 'seriously, Emma, your comebacks against Mom are weak'."

Regina's lips tick up into a proud smirk and she tips her head.

"And he's right. I think you actually called me an asshat the other day."

Emma's cheeks burn. "We were playing scrabble!"

"So naturally asshat is the word you choose to make with those letters," Regina drawls, thoroughly enjoying Emma's embarrassment.

Emma scowls into her coffee.

"Whatever. I still won."

Regina hums into her mug and gives this little crooked smile-smirk thing and Emma wishes she had her dictionary with her to look up the proper word for it because it's lovely and she'd like to know how to describe it.

Then Regina, ever the moment ruiner, decides to well, ruin the goddamn moment.

"Shouldn't you be calling the pirate? Surely he's wondering where you are."

"Hook isn't allowed to wonder where I am anymore."

Regina looks at her, confused.

Emma sighs. Reason number two for getting blind drunk last night. She effectively terminated a relationship with the only person who actually loved her more than she could ever love him. Someone who may not have made her the happiest, or truly happy at all really, but who would have worshipped her. Cherished her. It felt good to be wanted like that.

Just not good enough.

"I ended it with him. Last night."

Realization flashes across Regina's features, a breathy 'oh' leaving her lips almost like an accident.

She clears her throat.

"So that's why..."

"Yep." And it's not a lie really. It was one of the reasons. Just not the main one.

"Right," and Regina looks uncomfortable again but she also looks a little...relieved? Or maybe just less tense, like she's not trying to pull her shoulders up; her grip on her mug isn't as tight anymore.

And Emma and Regina aren't really friends but they kind of are. And Emma and Regina don't usually talk about things like this but then again maybe they do.

Emma's opening her mouth before she can stop it anyway.

"I think it was just a ticking time bomb."

Regina stops fidgeting to look up at Emma with those soft, soft brown eyes.

Emma shrugs and picks at the sleeve of her pajama shirt. Regina's pajama shirt.

"Something was bound to hit the fan at some point. Figured I'd beat it to the punch."

She feels a warm hand covering the one still messing with the hem of her sleeve and her eyes stare at that hand in awe before looking up.

Regina's smiling. And it's gentle and tender and looks a bit too much like affectionate and Emma's only ever seen that sort of look directed at Henry and her heart kind of leaps and her stomach joins in with it and she swallows.

"You deserve so much more than him, Emma."

And Regina's hand's still on hers but now her thumb is kind of rubbing this little circle into the top of one of her knuckles and she doesn't know what possesses her to say it but something inside of her twitches with anger at Regina's words and they tumble out of her before she can reel them back.

"You mean someone like Robin?"

Regina's head jerks back as if the words had been a physical slap and the look of pain mixed in with betrayal makes Emma want to hit herself over the head with a brick because Regina's snatched her hand away and Emma kind of lurches forward a bit at the force and fuck, she didn't mean to say that.

"Your clothes should be dry now. I think it's probably time for you to leave."

And Regina isn't demanding her. She didn't even call her Miss Swan. And that kind of scares Emma more than if she had because at least when she calls her that she knows she's angry.

Angry Regina Emma can deal with.

This. This wounded, soft, vulnerable, creature in front of her now?

It's terrifying.

Emma rushes around the island and wraps her hand around a delicate wrist.

"Wait, Regina, wait. Shit. I'm sorry - I - I didn't mean that, I -"

"Of course you meant it," Regina snaps.

Russet eyes now swirling, tempestuous, angry, glitter up at Emma.

"You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it so don't give me empty placations, Emma."

Emma's jaw clenches. Regina hasn't moved her wrist from Emma's hand yet.

"Okay," she grinds out. "I'm still sorry I said it. It was insensitive."

Emma squeezes at Regina's wrist.

"Regina, I'm sorry," she whispers and she watches as Regina's throat works against a swallow, watches as Regina's eyes flick to somewhere over her shoulder, watches as she nods ever so slightly before gently extracting her wrist.

"Your clothes are hanging up in the laundry room," her voice is soft, soft, soft.

And then she's walking out of the kitchen and Emma's left with this really big feeling of hollowness.

It aches.

She pads her way into the laundry room, after having to search for it a little bit because honestly she didn't even know Regina had one of those.

She's just buttoning up her jeans, Regina's pajama top still on but hanging loosely around her torso, most of the buttons undone, when she hears a scratchy voice behind her.

"Tell me the truth."

And Emma whirls around and Regina's standing in the doorway, eyes glittering with unshed tears, and she looks like she knows. Knows exactly why Emma got shit-faced last night. Knows exactly why she broke up with Hook. Knows exactly why she said those words a few moments ago.

And Emma swallows, her hands still at the zipper of her jeans, and they're shaking now.

She watches as Regina's eyes move downward a bit, watches as they snap back up to once again meet her eyes.

Emma thinks Regina knows. Emma thinks Regina's always known.

Emma thinks Regina might actually pass out if she keeps breathing like that, if she doesn't uncurl her fists.

Emma takes a ragged inhale.

"He wasn't you."

And perhaps that's not what Regina was asking. Emma thinks Regina was asking more about the other reason, that main reason, but it's what had been bouncing around in Emma's head.

It's what had brought Emma to Regina's doorstep last night.

It's what's almost always bouncing around in her head.

He isn't her.

He isn't you.

She watches as Regina takes in a sharp inhale, watches as her mouth parts on an almost inaudible gasp.

Watches as those tears spill over and down olive-toned cheeks.

Watches as Regina's jaw works and her fists clench.

Watches as liquid chocolate pierces her through with a look she can't at all decipher.

She's trying to. She really is. And she thinks she's almost figured it out but then Regina makes a movement with her hand and Emma's completely dressed.

And when she looks back up from her red leather jacket and shirt and buttoned up jeans, Regina's already turning to walk away again.

She stops though. She doesn't turn around.

Emma wonders if maybe Regina isn't going to say anything at all but then a small whisper breaks through the silence.

"Don't fall for me, Emma."

And Emma feels it like a visceral thing. She fucking feels it.

It hurts, it jolts, it races, it burns, it fucking upheaves, and by the time she hears the soft footsteps up above her, Regina now probably in her bedroom, there's just one singular thought in Emma's mind.

Too late.