A/N: A season 2 piece that will quickly go AU, but likely run somewhat parallel to the actual season.

Eventually, this will be a Emma/Regina growing friendship piece as I believe that their ever-evolving and complicated relationship is one of the primary bedrocks of the show. It will also feature Regina/Emma/Henry and Charming/Snow/Emma/Regina.

Ultimately, this story is about pain, loss, redemption, forgiveness and new beginnings.

There's likely to be some salty language and a degree of violence along the way. I'm hoping to update a couple times a week, but my work schedule will dictate creative availability.

Please enjoy, and of course, let me know what you think.

She's still marked.

Sitting alone in her suddenly entirely too large and empty kitchen, comforted by only the picture frames around her and the many empty bottles of red wine cluttering the counters, Regina Mills finds herself starring at her hand. There's no symbol there at the moment, but she knows it's still there. It will always be there.

Because some things never go away.

Things such as loneliness.

She's been living with this feeling for more than three decades now – far longer than that perhaps. Henry had helped for quite awhile, but his slow and eventual drift away from her had brought back all the pain. Stronger perhaps than ever.

Because she loves Henry in a way that she has never loved anyone else.

Not even Daniel, and yes, she had loved Daniel dearly, desperately.

She closes her eyes, and lets the almost unbelievable events of the past two days wash over her. Within the last thirty hours, her curse has been broken, her life threatened and her enemies whisked away.

Well, that makes it all sound so very simple. And really, it's anything but.

She's deeply almost unimaginably conflicted, which is hardly new for her, but right now, the confusion and uncertainty weigh heavily on her. Emma and Snow, no one knows where they are. Through the hat somewhere. Sent back presumably to a Fairytale Land that she's not sure still exists. She suspects it does thanks to her ability to draw the poisoned apple from it previously, but she's not absolutely sure.

And if it doesn't, well then she's finally succeeded in destroying both Snow White and the rather obnoxiously troublesome savior Emma Swan.

So why is she so troubled by this? Their losses - perhaps even deaths - should be balm to her ruined soul. They should allow her rest, her need for vengeance finally sated. Right?

Things are never quite so easy.

She takes another sip from the glass (others would have moved to drinking straight from the bottle by now, she's not that far gone just yet), her eyes flickering around the kitchen. They settle on a beautifully framed school picture of Henry, his boyish smile wide and unreserved. He's wearing a red and black flannel shirt in the photo, the collar of it half-flipped up. His hair is messy and typically uncombed, a strand of it flopping over his forehead adorably.

She remembers the first time she'd seen the picture, and the rather unexpected feelings that had surged through her. Unreserved, uncontrolled love.

Things she's never felt before, not even for Daniel. Of course, that had been a different kind of love entirely. A romantic and passionate type. True love.

Turns out – and she wonders why she'd never realized this before – that true love isn't just about romantic love. It can exists between a parent and a child, too.

And maybe – just maybe – between a mother and her son, it can be even more true and pure that way.

At least for her.

Henry, on the other hand, well how could someone so innocent and good ever truly love someone like her? How could he even begin to try? No, that emotion is reserved for the woman he considers to be his real mother.

For his adopted mother, there is only loathing and disgust.

She finishes off the glass and fills it again.

She tries to remind herself of the promise Henry had extracted from Emma – the assurance that the blonde sheriff would keep the former (presumably) mayor safe from harm. That has to mean something, right?

Unless Emma had been lying.

Right now, with her thoughts as dark and hurtful as they are and with her heart as pained and grieving as it is, she actually considers this possibility. Turns it over in her head and examines it.

And then pushes it to the side (though not completely away).

What reason would the ever heroic Emma Swan have to lie? What reason would she have to protect the feelings and emotions of the woman who had tried to kill her and almost ended up killing their son?

None, she realizes.

And yet, because she is who she is, she still can't completely discount that there might have been another reason for Henry's supposed request for safety.

She sighs, the exhaustion and fatigue settling over her like a thick quilt.

Thankfully, this night will be over soon. Yes, tomorrow and the hangover that daybreak brings with it will be horrendous, but at least, tonight – with any luck or mercy - will be silent and empty.

And for once, maybe thanks to all of the alcohol that she has consumed, sleep will be dreamless and perhaps even painless.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

It isn't.

She dreams.

It's more of a nightmare really.

She's in a room – a courtroom – bound at the hands. She's standing in front of everyone in the town, her sins exposed to all. The fury and hatred she feels coming at her blisters her skin.

And then there's Snow and Charming and Emma. They all stand in judgment of her. With nary a word in support of her, they condemn and convict her.

She tries to defend herself, but she's wasting air doing so. She tries to explain that she wasn't always like this, but these words are met by a cold laugh from everyone in the room. She tries to remind Emma that she had helped her save Henry, but the blonde simply stares at her with disgust.

She whispers that they're not so unlike she and Emma, they've both been through hell in their lives. They've both felt unwanted and unloved. The words sound ridiculous even to her own ears because really, they're nothing unlike.

She had turned to evil while Emma, in spite of the nightmare that had been cast upon her thanks to Regina's vengeful actions, had managed to remain good.

She'd remained the Savior, the hero of the story.

The White Knight who would vanquish the great evil. In this case, the Evil Queen.

Only in this nightmare, it doesn't go quite like this. In this one, it's not the furious Emma Swan who lifts up her sword to strike the killing blow. No, here, in this dark hideous world created by Regina's own fears, it's Henry who dispatches her.

It's Henry who executes her.

She wakes up screaming.

When Charming arrives at the Mayor's Mansion at just after ten in the morning, he finds a sight that he would never have expected in a million years; that of the dastardly wicked Evil Queen looking utterly exhausted and completely shattered.

She's reclining (hardly luxuriously, he notes) on the couch in her study, a thin blue blanket drawn up over her legs. She's dressed in a manner no one but Henry has ever seen; simply and like anyone other person – in sweats (albeit somewhat stylish ones).

He blinks when he sees her, his face creasing with an uncertain frown. Something is very wrong here. "Regina," he says.

"I understand that I'm persona non grata, but we just walk right in now, do we, dear?" she asks, looking up at him with eyes rimmed red by exhaustion. Her voice is hoarse and shaky, as though perhaps she's been screaming or yelling.

"I wanted to talk to you about the portal. We need to get it back open."

"I told you already; I have no idea how to reopen it." She looks away from him, loathing herself for doing it. She's tired, though, and not at all interested in a fight.

"I don't believe you."

Her eyes snap up, and for a flicker of a moment, fire crackles in her caramel colored eyes. "Of course you don't."

He shifts anxiously. "Why should I believe you, Regina?" he demands. "You lie about everything."

She nods sharply. "You're right; you shouldn't believe anything I say."

And again, she throws him. Her behavior right now is completely confounding him. Even in the old world, he hadn't known this woman well. Certainly not like Snow had, but the encounters he had had with her had been full of arrogance, fury and bluster. This woman in front of him is showing none of those things.

"What are you up to?" he demands. "What is this?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"This act. This…whatever this is." He wrinkles his nose then, his eyes settling on a glass sitting next to her hand. It looks like orange juice, but he suspects that there is something else in there as well. "Are you drunk?"

"Not nearly. Now, dear, unless you have a specific question for me, I would ask that you leave me to my solitude. You've already taken Henry from me –"

"And you've taken Snow and Emma from me."

She laughs at that, the sound harsh and pained. "Not this time."

"If we hadn't been protecting your pathetic life…"

She looks away, causing him to stop speaking. If he didn't know better, she almost looks…guilty? But that can't be. Because this is a woman who has done remarkable acts of evil without blinking. Why should the fact that his wife and daughter had sacrificed themselves for her bother her?

Thing is, though, even he can clearly see that it does.

After a long moment of silence, Regina quietly, without looking up at the simmering prince standing above her, says, "I will find them."

"What?"

"I will find a way to bring them back. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I promise you that."

He tilts his head. "Why? Why make such a promise? Why do you care?"

"Henry."

"I don't understand."

She sighs. "It's simple really. My son hates me. The only way he might….not…is if I find his…mother." She blinks when she says this, and he's struck with the uncomfortable realization that perhaps she's forcing back tears.

"All right. So what's your plan?"

"I need magic."

"You already have magic. You nearly killed me with it."

She laughs derisively at this. "I have tricks, dear." She lifts up her hand and flicks it, causing a chair to slide across the room and under him. She motions for him to sit. Once he reluctantly does so, she continues. "That's all I have. Cheap worthless parlor tricks that any child with a hint of magic could do." There's disgust in her tone, and he wonders if she's upset about the lack of ability to do magic or the fact that it is she that cannot do it.

"But yesterday, when you opened the portal…"

"Yes, yesterday. It would seem that your dearly beloved daughter has quite the…interesting effect on me," she replies. Her voice is quiet, thoughtful, and he thinks that maybe her statement is a bit loaded, but he's not sure why.

"Again, I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do, either. Not completely anyway. But what I know is that yesterday, when she touched me, I felt…strong. I felt powerful again, like I could control anything and everything. Like I could control every kind of magic there is. It lasted for a few hours after she was gone, but now all I have are my…tricks."

"So no killer vines?" he asks cautiously.

She smiles at that, but it's a haunted one. There's no arrogance in it. When she answers, it's with a throaty humorless chuckle. "No, David, you're safe."

"David," he repeats, rolling the name over in his brain.

She tilts her head. "Would you prefer Charming? Or James? Neither of which are your actual names either?" she reminds him. She knows that right now she shouldn't needle him, but some things, she can't quite resist.

And reminding this man that he isn't quite all the storybooks say he is either seems somehow very important.

"David is…fine," he says after a moment, but he's frowning now because it seems to be occurring to him that he's not completely sure who he is anymore. He has the memories of James and David and somewhere in between, there has to be one man. One person. Who that is, he doesn't know.

Not yet anyway.

She simply nods at this, then reaches for the glass of orange juice and brings it to her lips. She sips as gracefully as she can manage (yes, she's a bit tipsy again, but she has no intentional of allowing him to see her sloppy).

"There is alcohol in that," he says quietly, leaving no room for dispute. And so she doesn't, she simply meets his eyes. He shakes his head. "If you're going to help me – help Emma and Snow and Henry - I need you sober."

"Make no mistake, I will find a way to bring Snow and Ms. Swan back, and I will find a way to get Henry to…forgive me, if that's even possible. If that means working with you, well then so be it. Beyond that, however, I will not willingly allow you rights over me or what I do."

"Being drunk won't help you with any of those things," he tells her, choosing to ignore the statement about rights over her. If they were in the old world, this wouldn't be a question. She wouldn't be on pseudo house arrest as she is now. No, most likely she'd be in a dark wet dungeon somewhere awaiting trial and probable execution for her many hideous crimes.

But they're not in the old world, and her rotting away in a jail cell won't help bring back Snow and Emma. So for now, here she stays. Master of herself.

She stands then, eyes snapping angrily. "I am not drunk." She stamps on each word, over annunciating them to make her point.

He stands, too. "You tell yourself whatever you need to. Just make sure that when the time comes, you're ready to act. You owe both Snow and Emma that."

Regina doesn't deny his words, and again, he's thrown. He knows of her feelings for Snow – everyone does. That she's admitting that she owes Snow anything seems almost unbelievable. He wonders if it's a trick, if she's playing an angle.

She must be.

But what?

After a moment of thought, he changes topics, switches back to the how. "What about magic do you need?"

She nods her head, seemingly pleased at the change as well. "Mine isn't working as it should. Who knows it if ever will work properly in this world."

"That's a bad thing?"

"I suppose that depends on the point of view," she answers. Even through the light alcoholic haze that's draped casually over her, she's beginning to grow annoyed with David. His thought process is too simple, too basic and almost innocent. He sees everything in terms of blacks hats and white saviors. He doesn't seem to understand the complexities of actual inner turmoil and complicated feelings. He doesn't seem to grasp the destructiveness of hurt.

"So are you trying to tell me that you need the same power you had previously to find them?" David queries dubiously. "Because I'm not sure I can let that –"

She shakes her head to stop him, not interested in hearing him tell her how he would try to stand in her way. "No, not that power. Besides, even if I did need it, the power that I once had came from years of practice and emotions that I…well none of that matters right now. The power we need to find in order to open portal, I think maybe we can reproduce with the right spells."

"So we need a spell book?"

"Yes. And I suspect Mr. Gold might have one, but I also suspect that he might not be terribly agreeable to giving it to me."

"What did you do to him to make him want to kill you?"

She laughs. "Everyone wants to kill me. He's hardly unique except in the fact that he and I have tried to kill each other a half dozen at least over the years. And besides, what he wanted to do to me…it was…worse than death,"

"It was like what you did to Snow with the sleeping draft."

"No, dear. What I did to Snow was admittedly truly awful, but her soul wouldn't have been in torment, just her mind. Her dreams would have been plagued and dark, but painless beyond that if you can try to understand what I mean. But when a wraith takes your soul, it consumes it. Little by little, throughout eternity. Every evil that can be committed to a human soul, a wraith calls forth."

At the thought of this, she reaches for the glass again. This time, the sip she takes is far more generous, and he sees the way her hand shakes just a bit.

She's scared, and for reasons he can't quite understand, this unsettles him.

"Fine. I'll go to Gold. You look for a backup option. One that doesn't include more…orange juice." He looks pointedly at the glass.

She simply nods her head in agreement. Her lack of desire to argue with him – even over something as mundane as her sudden coping method – is something he can't quite wrap his mind around so he doesn't even bother to try.

He turns then, heading for the door.

"Henry," she says softly, her voice as shaky as her hands had been.

"What about him?" he asks without turning.

"Is he all right?"

"His mother and his grandmother are missing. What do you think?"

Choosing to ignore the stab of pain that cuts through her at hearing someone else be called Henry's mother (however true it be), she closes her eyes in sorrow at that. "I never meant to hurt him. Never him."

"Then help me fix this for him."

"I will. Whatever it takes. Please…please tell him that."

"Do right by him, and I will."

"Thank you."

He turns back to look at her, intently searching her face for any sign of deceit or trickery. Instead, what he sees is the most honesty he's ever seen from her; she looks utterly broken, completely vulnerable and exposed.

He nods his head, then turns and exits the study.

She watches him go, hears the door click shut behind him. She takes a breath then, reaches for the glass, drinks down the contents, and then stands.

Whatever it takes, she tells herself.

She will bring them home.

She will make Henry proud.

TBC...