Holy shit, an UPDATE at last! I'm so, so sorry this took so long and I hope some of you are still with me?

This is a lead-in to something suggested by Donoterase over at AO3 (thank you!) and I have a final chapter planned to wrap everything up. It might be a little while again since I have exams, but let me know if you'd rather it take the form of a fourth chapter or a short sequel!

A heads up: this is pretty much all plot, and there's a slight focus on Regina and the Charmings fighting to get Emma back. It is still a SQ fic in the end, however.

Warnings: violence, death, swearing, and mentions of sex but nothing explicit.

And a final big thank you because this is my most popular fic to date, and the first of mine to reach over 250 kudos on AO3 :D

Days pass by, and then weeks and months. There are confrontations with Emma – violent fights, and arguments about Henry, family, and darkness you can't come back from – but none are like that first night.

Regina's not sure if she's grateful for that or not, but she supposes at least it gives her time to think.

This time, they're gathered at the docks – the whole Charming family and their pirate puppy dog. There's a glint in Emma's eye, mischievous and utterly chilling, as she draws nearer. The woman's clad in tight, black denim and leather – if it was any other time, Regina might take a moment to appreciate the view, but alas – with silvery hair pulled back into a severe braided bun. Gone is the uncontrolled rage and the wild, tangled golden locks that were a whisper of the strong-hearted saviour, replaced by something far colder and more calculated.

Wild anger and sheer resolve has finally given away to this deeper corruption, steely and unwavering – something Regina recognises and remembers well.

Henry stands at Emma's side, chin held up and shoulders squared bravely despite the hands that tremble at his sides. Even through everything, he still believes his mother is still in there somewhere, but in this moment, with her sharp nails digging into his shoulder possessively, she's very much something to be afraid of.

Because right now, she's entirely the Dark One and he is nothing more to her than a bargaining chip, a way of hurting and manipulating their family.

"Let me have my son, Regina, or I tell them," Emma threatens lowly.

Regina steps forward, muscles tensed and magic just a hand swish away. "He was never purely your son, Miss Swan," she snarls, lips pulled back to reveal bared teeth. The plan had been to remain cool and collected, to not take whatever bait Emma might use, but now her son has been added to the equation, and nothing is going to stop her fighting for him. She'll lay down her life in a heartbeat if it means he'll be safe; that's what mothers do.

"Not true," the blonde retorts calmly. She's thinking of the times Henry had run from Regina at the beginning of all this madness, when he'd known she was the Evil Queen and had hated her for it. (He'd still been their son even then, regardless of how much any of them may have argued otherwise.) Everything's different now, though, the situation somewhat flipped. Somewhere deep inside her, a buried part of the Dark One feels a pang of horrible pain at the thought of being shunned by her son like Regina had been once.

The Dark One quickly suppresses that emotion – it's a weakness, and she won't have any of that – and moves smoothly on. "You think I won't tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Snow pipes up, brows pulled together in confusion as she glances from her daughter to Regina and back again. There's fear in her eyes, like she's expecting the worst.

Regina ignores her and powers on. A black, humorless laugh bubbles up from inside her. "Are you really so stupid as to believe I'd choose my dignity over my son?" she hisses. Her hands clench into fists beside her, tamping down on the urge to summon a fireball and hurl it at the woman before her. As much as she'd like to, it's not going to help them get their Emma back, and she's not going to risk her son getting hurt because she can't keep her anger in check. "If that's the price of saving Henry from you, tell them. I really don't care." Her upper lip is curled with rage, and her eyes are dark and hard.

Apprehension swirls in her stomach as Emma cocks her head and considers it. Then, the blonde's lips curl into a cruel smirk, and she casually flicks her wrist. Henry disappears from her side in a puff of dark smoke, reappearing beside Regina a second later. She pulls him close, one hand settling on his shoulder as she uses her body to shield him from Emma

"What's going on?" Hook asks suspiciously, watching the former queen. His eyes flit over to Emma, softening slightly. "What do you want to tell us, love?"

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he practically melts before her, desperate for love he'll never receive from a woman who cares little for him. Though, he could be useful later – she has no doubt he'll switch sides in a heartbeat to be with her, always the weak-willed pirate with very few loyalties. "Just that your oh-so-scary Evil Queen isn't as dominant or high and mighty as she likes to pretend she is."

The confusion of the group only grows, and the Dark One looks at the brunette in question to see her reaction.

The mayor's hands are clamped over her son's ears, and she's glaring at the concrete as if she's trying to burn a hole in it.

Because this isn't about Emma getting off on telling their family about what Regina likes in bed – Regina couldn't give less shits about that, in the grand scheme of things. No, this is a method of humiliating the former queen, a way to drive a wedge between Regina and the other Charmings and break down the trust that they all depend upon.

Typical divide and conquer.

Regina might not care, but the others might – giving into weakness and fucking the enemy likely won't do anyone any favours.

Emma snorts before continuing because what a typically Regina Mills reaction. "In fact, she makes a very good submissive," she purrs. "If you catch my drift. I'm sure she's got a lot of practice under her belt."

Charming jumps in then, ever the over-protective father. "Regina? What's she talking about?" He pauses to breathe, and then it dawns on him. He looks oddly angry, considering his daughter is in her thirties and the fucking Dark One, and doesn't need parenting like a naive teenager anymore. "Did you and her –"

Snow places a hand on his chest, apparently having understood already. Her face is decidedly no-nonsense, like she understands that this isn't the time for protective parenting, understands what Emma is trying to do. "David," she interrupts flatly. "Not the time."

Apparently one of the Charmings has half a brain.

The former shepherd fumes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glares at Regina, but he shuts up for the moment.

The smaller woman steps in front of him then, and stares right at her daughter. "I know what you're doing, Emma," she says, eyes boring into cold, flat green ones every ounce the defiant bandit she had been all those years ago. "I know you're trying to tear this family apart, but you won't."

Regina's hands slip slowly away from her son's ears, down to rest on his shoulders, because his grandmother is speaking some sense (for once) and she thinks he should hear this, hear how strong their family really is.

"Won't I?" Emma challenges, voice as smooth as silk and completely devoid of any emotion.

"Not on my watch," Snow swears earnestly. "Regina is our friend, and I know that the real you wouldn't want to hurt her."

Something flickers across the blonde's face for a second – something sad and unreadable, followed by rage, and then a fake calm. She opens her mouth to come out with something no doubt along the lines of "this is the real me" but then Snow is continuing, carrying on like a steamroller.

"We love her regardless of her – sexual preferences – and it's going to take a hell of a lot more than that for this family to crumble." The former bandit pauses, and her eyes soften slightly. "I know that when our Emma returns to us, she'll thank us for that."

Regina's chin lifts, and when Emma gives her a glance over, she defiantly makes eye contact.

Emma works her jaw, because god, how sickening can her own mother get? She thinks, though, that sometimes there are times when you can't win a fight, not because of your own faults, but because the opposition is so moronic and stubborn.

This is one of those times.

A disgusted noise from the back of her throat, and then she raises a hand, tense and poised. "Your blind hope will come back and bite you in the end," she growls, and then disappears in a cloud of black smog.

All at once, the mismatched family lets out a collective breath.

"Regina."

The mayor exhales, rolls her eyes, and sets her cup of tea down on the counter a little harder than necessary. "What?"

There's nothing good about the tone of the woman behind her, and conversations with Snow somehow always seem to be difficult and embarrassing, regardless of how far they've come in the last few years.

"We need to talk," Snow says, sitting down beside Regina at the breakfast bar. "About you and Emma."

Of course.

"No, we really don't," Regina deadpans, stirring her already thoroughly mixed tea.

"Regina."

Damn Snow and that stupid, condescending tone of hers.

She sighs, flexes her jaw, and then reluctantly gives in because she hasn't got the energy for a struggle right now – not when Emma could strike at any moment. "What do you want to know?"

It's the younger woman's turn to huff a sigh. "You and her – you…"

"Had sex. Yes," Regina finishes. (She thinks it's funny how a woman can conceive and birth two children of her very own and still be unable to talk about sex, but that's Snow White for you.)

Snow visibly squirms at the brunette's bluntness, but quickly pulls herself together. "Do we need to be worried?" she asks softly. There's concern all over her face, for Regina and for Emma, and for what this might mean for the rest of them. There are so many ways that one night could quickly turn pear-shaped for all of them.

It had been a weakness – it could be used as leverage in any number of ways – and Regina knows now that it had been a mistake.

Regret can't change the past though; she knows that better than anyone.

Regina swallows, because truly? She doesn't know. "Not about me," she answers firmly. It doesn't really answer the question, but it's something. "I won't let Henry get hurt because I made a stupid mistake." The queen pauses. "Or you and your idiot," she grumbles. "No promises about the pirate, though."

The other woman shoots her a disapproving look, but then rolls her eyes, because ultimately, she knows Regina will protect every last one of them if it's what Emma wants – not because of this night they spent together, but because the women were – are – friends, and that's what friends do.

Snow squints at her for a long moment, figuring something out, and then says quietly, "We will get her back, you know."

Regina frowns. "I know."

There's doubt though, because this is so big, bigger than them – they're dealing with the Dark One, for God's sake, the greatest evil ever to have existed. She doesn't know that they'll get their Emma back – they can't possibly know that, not when Emma seems so far gone already – but she says no more.

A week later, they find the first body.

It's Tom Clark – Sneezy, who'd never hurt a soul – strung up above the street on a utility post, the telephone wires warped and twisted with magic to wrap tightly around his wrists and neck, a violent warning for everyone to see. His corpse is mangled and bloody, like Emma had played with him like a cat plays with a mouse, and his face is a sick bluish grey, the wires cutting off his now-cold and thickened blood supply.

And it's only Sneezy, only the pharmacist, only a civilian, but it's a life taken without reason or remorse, a soul ripped away from friends, and it's enough to scare the town into near silence for almost a week.

It's enough, and it's a grim message to the town – I'm not playing around.

A gloom settles over the town from then on as everyone realises that their Saviour truly is gone unless a miracle happens.

Maybe one will.

Their rag-tag family does the only thing they can, and sets about finding a solution.

More bodies pile up, and weeks drag by, spent locked away with dusty books and yellowed scrolls, searching for any way to separate the darkness from the body it inhabits. Hook is not so good at research, it turns out, and no one is particularly surprised. His preferred method is pacing almost constantly and exploding into fits of rage every so often, never really uncovering anything useful.

Regina is surprised he can even read in the first place – not that it matters anyway, since he doesn't bother.

It's becoming clear to her with every childish outburst of his that he hasn't redeemed himself at all – growled threats and the pointed tip of his hook pressed against David's throat during a particularly bad disagreement attest to that – but simply considered Emma his redemption, his happy ending, his saviour.

That's all he sees Emma as – the saviour, his saviour, instead of the person she really is – and anger ignites in Regina's chest at the thought.

Still, finding a way to help Emma is more important than indulgently putting Hook in his place (God, would she like to bruise that deceptively pretty face of his but priorities) so she bites her tongue and focuses on the task in hand.

In the end, it's Belle who uncovers the secret to getting their Emma back. The text is in an ancient language, but the librarian pieces it together, slowly but surely. There's an artifact somewhere (isn't there always?) that is said to be powerful enough to draw out even the darkest of evils and trap it for eternity.

"How do we find it?" Snow wonders with a frown. She's weary; simultaneously caring for a baby and searching for a way to rescue your Dark One daughter will take its toll on a person.

Belle is quiet for a moment, eyes running over the text, checking her translation. Intelligent blue eyes drift up to meet Snow's, and she speaks, disbelief in her voice. "It says the Dark One – uh, pre-Emma, that is – stole it to prevent anyone from capturing him." She pauses. "So I suppose it should be somewhere here in Rumple's shop."

Regina exhales quickly, a breathy laugh escaping her, because is it really going to be this simple? The object they require is simply sitting in their lap. "So let's find it."

It takes a day to rummage through Rumple's dusty collection, equal parts valuable trinkets and apparent junk, but they find it. It's a small urn, no bigger than a palm, blood red and gilded in gold with a lever which allows the top to spring open. It's rather underwhelming, all things considered, but if it will help Emma, then it doesn't matter what they think.

Still, it seems too easy, everything falling into place with almost no effort, no ridiculous quests or battles.

Regina swallows her anxiety, and raises her chin, meeting Snow's eyes. "Let's catch ourselves a Dark One."

She wakes not a minute after she goes down, face pressed against the damp forest floor. There's blood, far too much, sticky and warm against her forehead and temple, plastering dark hair to her skin.

They'd gone in with a plan – a good, strategic one too – but Emma had been prepared – that fucking future vision that is part of the Dark One's armory – and everything had happened so quickly.

She turns her head, winces and exhales a little from the effort, and yeah, Henry is still at Emma's side, fear written all over his face and eyes shiny with tears he refuses to cry (he's their son, after all, and he seems to have inherited their high walls). He's looking right at her, lying prone in the dirt, and he looks as if he thinks she won't wake up.

But then she pushes herself up on shaky arms, ever the fighter, and relief washes over him like a tidal wave, like he thinks that if his mom is alright, then everything will be ok somehow.

Regina wishes his faith in her was justified. Right now, there's a stabbing pain in her head and nausea sitting heavy in the back of her throat, and her vision is swimming, and all she can think is how the fuck is she going to fix this?

Forcing herself to her knees, she sees that Snow and David are unconscious and bound to trees with thick chains – the same sort of magic Emma had used to bind her hands that night – and won't be any help for now. Their heads loll eerily on their necks, and a few feet away lays Hook's mangled and bloody body. His head is at a weird angle (Regina remembers for a split second, a guard all those years ago and the sound of his neck snapping with a sickening crunch), mouth slack and every inch of visible skin mottled with dark bruises.

A chill runs down Regina's spine.

So it's all on her.

"Oh," Emma sighs, noticing her, speaking as if she's nothing more than a mild annoyance. "You're alive."

A grimace spreads itself across Regina's face, fire igniting in her chest as adrenaline well and truly kicks in. She finds the strength to stand up fully, even as her knees tremble. "I'm not that easy to kill," she drawls, eyes flashing.

The Dark One shrugs. "I guess I'll just have to try harder then."

Regina swallows, hands twitching, curling into fists at her sides. "Go ahead," she invites. "But don't bring our son into this."

Emma hesitates for a fraction of a second at our son, but then her hand is raising, ready to lash out if needs be. "Why not?" she asks, and it's evidence of just how much the Dark One is in control right now, because Emma Swan would never bring Henry into one of their fights, not like this, not so cruelly.

"You're not going to gain anything from hurting him," Regina promises. "It's me you want. I'm the one who took him from you. I'm the one who did all those awful things to keep you from taking him back. I forced your parents to give you up," she says, drawing nearer, her face softening. "I'm responsible for everything that went wrong in your life, Emma, and you know it." She doesn't regret any of it, because it got her her son, but Emma is angry and looking for someone to take that anger out on, and this might just work.

This is her way to Emma, the way to get close enough to use the urn and divert the situation away from the mass grave it's hurtling towards.

Cold green eyes suddenly set alight with rage, and Emma slinks forward, away from their teenage son (Regina exhales in relief) and towards Regina. "Yes, you are," she purrs. "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't just kill you right now."

Her fingers are reaching out, now, trailing down Regina's neck and over her silk shirt, hovering over the spot where her heart lays, dark and battered but still beating strong and defiant. There's nothing stopping Emma from plucking Regina's heart from her chest at any moment, and there's blood trickling down the side of her face, drying into a brown crust, and she thinks this is the definition of mortality. Standing on shaking legs in the middle of the dark forest, her allies beaten down and unconscious, seconds away from potential death. Even the moon has hidden behind thick, dark clouds, leaving only a sliver of dim light to see by.

The urn feels heavy in her coat pocket, and she slips her hand inside, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips. It occurs to her that if this doesn't work, then it's quite probably the end for all of them.

"Because you'll regret it, Emma," Regina says earnestly, liquid brown eyes wide, all hostility dropped. She's speaking to the scared, hurt woman who has been invaded by the darkness, and there's no reason for the anger and the venom, because she loves this woman.

She's not sure what the affection in her chest means yet, whether it's entirely platonic or – something else – but she loves Emma. She wants – needs – her safe.

Right now, that requires Regina to put her own life on the line. So she does.

Emma chokes out an angry, strangled laugh, and her fingers settle over Regina's heart, pressing down slightly but not enough to enter her chest. "I'll regret killing the woman who ruined my entire life and took my son away from me?"

Regina thinks she sounds familiar, like the Evil Queen from all those years ago, and the nausea is back with a vengeance, twisting sickeningly in her stomach.

"You overestimate me, Regina," the blonde hisses as the tips of her fingers slip just beneath her skin, but then Regina is pulling the urn out of her pocket and flicking the catch. The lid jumps open with a click, and the air is suddenly thick and choking, vibrating with strong, dark magic.

Regina thinks she's going to be sick as the magic forces its way down her throat and up her nose, suffocating and powerful, but then Emma is dropping to her knees and tensing up. Her body spasms and convulses, her mouth open in a silent cry as ancient darkness forces its way out of her. It sticks to her, pulls at her insides as it's yanked out and funnelled into the urn, and it must hurt terribly.

This is just the beginning though, and Regina knows this pain Emma must be experiencing will be nothing compared to the agony she will be in when she remembers everything she's done in the last few months.

Thick darkness, black and sticky like tar, is slowly sucked into the urn, swirling and screeching and cold, and then the urn's lid flies shut and everything is silent.

Emma is wide-eyed, hands settled on her stomach and fingers clutching at her clothes. She breathes heavily, eyes wet and shocked and confused, and she looks like she's just experienced the trip of her life.

Regina lowers herself to one knee until she's level with her friend, watches her cautiously, as if she thinks she might frighten Emma away if she's too brash. "Emma?"

Green eyes dart about anxiously before meeting deep brown ones, and then recognition blooms in them finally. With it, however, comes dread and regret, winding her as they hit her hard in the stomach, and god, she's going to be sick.

A cracked sob breaks the silence, and Emma curls into herself, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow as her arms encircle herself as if she thinks her body will crumble and the pieces will float away if she doesn't hold herself together.

Regina's sure she can feel her heart break in her chest as the saviour – her friend – makes herself as small as possible, and she finds herself moving closer, pulling Emma into her arms and just holding her as she sobs. She's whispering Emma's name over and over, Emmaemmaemmaemma, maybe because she's trying to remind the blonde that she's not the darkness, maybe because what the hell do you say here?

Maybe you don't have to say anything at all. Maybe simply being is enough.

Still.

Snow and David are waking up now, sprawled on the floor since their bindings had broken when the dark magic had left Emma's body. They help each other stand on unsteady legs, and then Henry's with them, curling into them as the three of them watch but don't intervene.

The pirate is still on the ground, and god, as much as Regina hates him, she also wishes he would miraculously wake up because it will kill Emma to know she's killed the man she thought she loved.

Weeks ago, she'd cracked a dark joke about being unwilling to protect him, but now it's terribly unfunny as he lays on the ground, his broken body cooling rapidly as his lover and murderer sobs until she can't.

But that's for another time, because right now, everything is enough of a mess without adding another body to the equation (Emma's killed four people – five now – and though it's hardly a frantic killing spree, it's more than enough guilt for one person to handle.)

Emma is shaking in her arms and Regina can feel the blood drying on her the side of her face and there's one more dead body than there was before, and all they can do now is try to piece things back together bit by bit.