A/N: Apologies for the long delay in concluding this tale. I don't anticipate a sequel, but I do consider this to be potentially a new beginning for both of the lovely ladies.

I want to thank you for all of your kind words of support along the way, and I hope that this conclusion - though definitely quite talky - is satisfactory. Again, thank you for all the reviews and follows. They are appreciated.

Mild note: there is some salty language within, but nothing you haven't heard before, I promise.

True Love's Kiss is truly an amazing piece of magic.

It's so much more than that, though. It and it alone has the power to bring back a soul that has been lost to black magic (as long as the person isn't actually dead-dead, of course). It and it alone can reshape entire worlds and destroy curses. All with a force no stronger than that of the gentlest of kisses.

What it doesn't have the power to do, however, is heal a human body that has been badly damaged by dark magic. Experienced healers and those deeply gifted in the magics can do so, but not True Love's Kiss. This agonizing reality (and that of the fact that aside from her and Rumple – and Blue if the little winged twit can access her fairy dust, which she likely cannot – there are no true magic wielders in this realm) hits Regina far harder than she'd like when she attempts to sit up in her bed – no, Emma's bed, her mind corrects with a bit of a wry chuckle – after almost three straight days of restless and feverish slumber.

"Hey, there you are. Finally. Whoa, whoa. Hey, go slow, okay?" she hears as she winces, nearly doubles over, and then almost groans as agony cuts through her. Tears sparkle for a brief moment in her bloodshot eyes, but thankfully, refuse to fall. She tries to localize the pain, but quickly stops when she realizes that the hurt is coming from well…everywhere. The worst of it is in the middle of her ribcage, but she can feel sharp shooting darts stabbing her from just about every region of her lithe frame. She bites her lip for a moment, breathing deeply.

"Miss Swan," she grits out after a moment, her words tight and low. She can feel her throat rumble and ache beneath the effort used to eject any sound.

"I'm right here," the blonde answers, her tone sounding infuriatingly relieved. Like she actually cares. It's enough to put Regina on edge. "Good to have you back."

"I doubt that's true," Regina replies almost automatically. She blinks then, and with some reluctance, looks up and into the worried green eyes of Emma Swan.

"No, really. You scared the shit out of us," Emma tells her with a small shrug.

"Us being?" the brunette asks, all the while desperately trying to move the conversation away from the blatant concern that the irritating blonde woman is throwing her way. That much benevolent emotion is disconcerting for the former queen. She doesn't know what to make of it or what to do with it.

"Me and Henry."

"So I didn't imagine what happened then?"

"Are you asking me if he brought you back to life with a kiss?" Emma queries with a rather infuriating smirk. A thought – a rather violent one at that – goes through Regina's mind, but considering all that the blonde has done for her lately, it seems bad form to inflict pain upon her just for the sport and amusement of it.

"Yes," Regina grits out. "I suppose I am."

"Then, yes, Regina, I suppose he did."

"Must you always be so damned difficult?" the cranky brunette snaps out as she tries to shift her body so as to find a more comfortable position. Her memory of what had occurred a few days earlier is still fairly foggy, but she recalls enough to know that her mother had wounded her badly. So badly, in fact, that she'd lost consciousness several times. And then she'd done so several more times thanks to having pulled an almost ridiculous amount of magic into herself. Twice.

"Must you?" Emma challenges with a lift of her chin and an even almost obnoxiously White Knight like gaze. It's all terribly patronizing, but before Regina can say anything about it, the blonde sheriff follows up with, "Jesus, Regina, what the hell were you thinking? There had to be another way to open the portal."

"There wasn't. And to answer your question, Sheriff, I was thinking about my son," Regina answers, swallowing hard against the uncomfortable knot that has suddenly formed in the middle of her throat. "That's all I think about these days."

"And I get that, but…did you really think he'd want you to die to prove yourself?"

"I think," Regina starts, and then abruptly stops. For a moment, Emma wonders if the former queen is in too much pain to continue. Her suddenly closed eyes and the slight tremor of her hands certainly seem to suggest such, but then, finally the older woman continues with a soft almost whispered, "I think that after all the hideous things that I've done, I owed my son more proof than a simple apology."

"Death isn't much of an apology. It's a cop-out."

Regina's eyes snap open, and then she really does groan when she moves too quickly in the bed. She hadn't actually been intending to go anywhere, but she's suddenly quite anxious lying here, vulnerable and painfully exposed.

Unable to prevent herself from being judged. It's strange how much of her life has been about the avoidance of such. Even now when it seems that the time for judgment has finally arrived. Perhaps it's finally time to face the jury.

And yet she can't because doing so would mean actually admitting to everything.

So instead, with a hiss and darkened eyes, she replies with, "You think what I endured over there was copping-out, Miss Swan? Because let me be the first to assure you, my dear, most cop-outs are not quite so painful nor horrifying."

"Oh, I believe you. I watched every bit of it," Emma shoots back. Her jaw is set and her shoulders squared. It's clear that even though Regina is tired, hurt and not really up for this argument, Emma plans to have it.

It's also quite clear that the blonde Savior is pissed.

An oddly attractive look for the woman, Regina muses for the briefest of moments. And then she snaps back to the present, lets her lips curl into a sneer, and answers with, "Then I would think that you of all people, Miss Swan, would agree that I did not take the cowards' way out as you are so foolishly insinuating."

"And what I think is that you've called me 'Miss Swan' three times within the last few minutes, which means that you're in your defensive posture." Emma holds up her hand to stop the former mayor from responding. "I also think that you – of all people – probably considered the pain a small price to pay for a quick exit stage left from everything else. Including your responsibility for what you did."

It's a bit galling how well the blonde Savior knows her, Regina thinks, but of course, she has no intention of admitting that. With a quick breath, she pours ice into her voice and coldly answers, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"In the course of two days, you tried to die no less than three times."

"Clearly, my attempts at what you believe to be suicide were about as effective as my attempts to get you out of my life were." This, too, is delivered without emotion. It's meant to sound indifferent, like she's discussing dinner plans.

If only Emma would just play along for once and go the hell away. She won't.

"Clearly," Emma repeats dryly. "But that doesn't change the fact that you had a death wish. It doesn't change the fact that you thought dying to save my mother and I would make Henry forgive you for the things you've done." She tilts her head then. "But then again, it kind of worked, didn't it? He did forgive you."

Regina snorts in disgust. "I think the dye you use to keep your hand blonde is going to your brain, dear, if that's really what you believe I was doing. Is it?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot," Regina hisses. She could say so much more right now, but frankly, her anger at even the thought of what Emma thinks she did is rendering her just about mute. It's utterly preposterous, and were she in charge of her senses, Regina is certain that she'd have flash-fried the blonde by now.

At least with her mouth since she's guessing that magic is lost to her again.

Emma laughs at the insult. It's an odd sound that startles Regina more than she cares to admit. She blames the weakness of her body for how jumpy and anxious she is. She tells herself that were she stronger, she'd be her usual wall of steel.

Problem is, it's been awhile since she's been that wall of steel.

Not since Emma had shown up in Storybrooke, anyway.

"I've been told that," Emma admits. "But I'm not the one who decided to mainline enough magic to kill a normal person, and then, severely weakened, did it again."

"I had no choice. Why is that so damned difficult for you to understand?"

"It's not difficult at all. I just… it's always this way with you isn't it, Regina?"

"Miss Swan, I'm extremely tired and sore, and right now, I would just about kill anyone – including you - for a handful of painkillers or maybe an entire bottle of whiskey so please, get to your point before I do exactly that."

"Fine, my point is that life isn't a zero sum game. It's not always about the big gestures. Henry knew that you were trying to be a better person. He was proud of you already just for trying." She pauses for a moment to allow her words to sink in. "If you had died three days trying to prove that to him, he never would have forgiven himself for it. He would have had to live with that his entire life."

"That's not what I wanted," Regina says softly. Her dark eyes meet Emma's green ones, frantic and urgent. "That's not what I wanted," she repeats.

"I know," Emma tells her. She stands up then and leaves the room, causing Regina's eyebrows to jump up into her hairline. It's such an odd way to leave a conversation. A moment later, though, the blonde re-enters with a glass of water and two white pills in her palm. She offers them to Regina. "You need sleep."

"Why do you continue to protect me?" the brunette asks. "Just for Henry?"

"Maybe or maybe I think somewhere along the way, you got a pretty fucked deal, and I think that even though you have a lot of making up to do, you deserve the chance to do exactly that. Maybe I think you have a right to be better than her."

"My mother."

"Yeah. You know I thought you were crazy…"

"Yes. She certainly owns that assessment," Regina answers, her voice just a little bit cold once again. She shudders then as she remembers the feel of her ribs cracking and the fear of being pulled back into her mothers' web of hatred. And then abruptly, she pales, her eyed widening. "Henry."

"What? What's wrong?" Emma asks, her eyebrows knitting together in worry.

"My mother…Emma, she told me that if I broke the deal, she'd come for him. She told me that she'd take his heart and…" Panic is practically surging through her words, and suddenly she's struggling to stand up and get out of the bed.

All of which is stopped by a light, but firm hand settling on her shoulder, and pushing her back down. "Hey, relax. Everything is okay."

"You don't know that. You don't know her…"

"You're right; I don't. Not really, but I do know two things. First, your mother thinks that you're dead. We did, too, until we got back here."

"And second? Because she will eventually figure out that I'm alive. And even if she doesn't, she'll come for you if she thinks you caused my death. She will blame you for taking me from you." She laughs then, a horrible pained humorless sound that makes Emma think of surrender and cold foster homes. "She loves me that much," the former queen finishes, stamping hard on the word "love".

"That's warped, you do know that, right, Regina? That's not love."

"It was her idea of it, and I'm afraid I didn't do much better," Regina answers.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all. Even you believe I tried to manipulate my son through death," the former queen grouses. The sound is almost petulant, which makes it clear to Emma that the pain the older woman is in right now is fairly severe.

"Not really," Emma shrugs. "I just needed you to give me an honest reaction instead of your Ice Queen bullshit."

"Charming. No pun intended. So I take it that means Henry hasn't forgiven me?"

"I don't know, but I know he wants to and is willing to if you allow him the opportunity to. He loves you, Regina. That's why the kiss worked. Because in spite of everything else, you are still his mother, and he loves you."

Emma pretends not to see the tears forming in Regina's eyes, even if she thinks for a moment that mentioning them would force the former queen to have to deal with her emotions for once. There will be time for that later. And so she waits.

Finally, thickly, "Thank you." Emma simply nods her head. Then, clearing her throat, and roughly wiping at her eyes, Regina says, "Give me the pills, Sheriff."

"Sick of me already?" Emma grins.

"Gods, yes." She takes the pills from Emma's cupped palm, downs them and then chases them with water. "Now, what was the second thing you 'know'?"

"The second thing is I'm not letting anyone hurt Henry. Ever," Emma promises her with a shrug that seems to be suggesting that the answer should have been obvious to even Regina. "Hell will freeze before I do. You have my word."

"Irritating White Knight that you are, I suppose I'll have to put my faith in you," Regina replies, her voice a bit of a drawl now. It's not the drugs yet; it's the emotional exhaustion of the conversation meeting the physical pain of her body.

"Yes, I guess you will. Get some rest, Your Majesty. Henry will be likely be dropping by here after school, and he's going to want to see you and talk to you. I'd really prefer you not be wincing in pain when he does."

"You know," Regina chuckles, the sound low and throaty. "I told your father that I rather liked the sound of him calling me that. I think I like you doing it more."

"Yeah? What'd he tell you when you said that?"

"Not to get used to it."

Emma shrugs her shoulders again, but there's a wry smile lifting the corners of her lips. "Have to call you something besides Madame Mayor now, right?"

"My name won't suffice?"

"Not when you piss me off. It's kind of like you calling me 'Miss Swan',"

"Mm. Go away, Miss Swan."

Emma chuckles. "Sleep well," she says, and then exits the room, closing the door behind her. It occurs to Regina then that this is Emma's room, which means that for the last several days, the sheriff has been displaced, sleeping elsewhere.

It's a simple gesture that means nothing, and yet Regina can't help but feel a tightening sensation in the middle of her chest because as insignificant as Emma surely perceives the hospitality and caretaking to be, those acts are far more than anyone else has ever done for the former queen.

They're acts of simple human kindness.

She swallows thickly, lays her head back on the pillow, and tries to block out the emotions sweeping through her. She blames the pain she's in for the complex feelings – the immense gratitude she feels for the woman who'd turned her life upside down – that she's experiencing. That has to be it, she thinks.

Because anything else – actually really feeling such - means she's exposed. And exposed means vulnerable. Better to close down as she always has.

Weird then, she thinks, that that's the last thing she actually wants to do.

As the drugs finally pull her down, she wonders if that would actually be so bad. If for once, it wouldn't be nice to allow herself to feel again. To love and be loved.

It's a nice thought.

The next person she sees when she wakes up in Snow. The woman is watching her from the doorway, an odd expression on her often overly emotive face.

"You look like you're thinking entirely too hard," Regina says, and it's probably entirely wrong to antagonize the person who'd helped to save your life, and is now allowing you to recuperate in their house, but old habits die incredibly hard.

"I am," Snow admits. She takes half a step into the room, and then stops.

Regina sits herself up in the bed. The pain is still blindingly present, but she supposes that she's adapted to it enough not to outwardly show its effects on her. She lifts her chin up and stares right at her former stepdaughter. "Is this the point when you tell me how very truly disappointed you are in me?"

"No. I think we're well past that point," Snow replies, meeting Regina's stare head-on. This isn't Mary Margaret for sure. "I'm trying to see what my daughter sees in you. Why she thinks you might actually be redeemable. And I'm trying to figure out why my husband believes that you're worth giving another chance to."

"And what, pray tell, do you see?"

"I don't know."

"Well that's not terribly heroic," Regina presses. "Aren't you Charmings supposed to always see the good in everyone. Even a monster like me."

"We will never make peace between us, will we?" Snow asks. And it's such a painfully honest question that for once, Regina can find no sarcasm within her.

"No, dear," she answers as truthfully as she can. "I think as you said that we are well beyond that point. There are some things that can't be forgiven." She tilts her head in an unusual display of acceptance of her own actions. "On both sides."

"So the best we can hope for is tolerance, then," Snow offers.

"What does that mean to you?"

"It means we end our war with each other. It means that for once, we let each other live in peace. It means that neither my husband nor I push for any further punishment beyond what has already been extended to you."

"You mean beyond me losing my position as mayor and becoming the town pariah?" Regina asks with a lifted eyebrow.

"Yes. And it means that I don't stand in the way of your relationship with Henry."

"As if you could," the former queen sneers.

"Please, Regina? Please, let me finish?"

Regina backs down slightly, then gestures with an impatient wave for the younger woman to continue.

"It means I don't stand in the way of you trying to make amends. Emma believes in you, she really thinks that you still have good in you. Henry does, too."

"Henry is the good in me, Snow," Regina says plainly. "I think we both know that."

"Then agree to my terms."

"You've only told me what you will do for me. In any truce, there are concessions on both sides. What is it that you want me to do for you?"

"I want you to make me a promise, and I want you to actually swear it on the thing you love the most," Snow answers, eyes blazing. She, of all people, knows exactly what she's saying. She knows what Regina had previously sacrificed to enact the curse, what she had given up to make it happen.

"And the promise is?"

"That you will protect my daughter and Henry."

"Your daughter?" Regina replies warily, a muscle in her cheek suddenly jumping around anxiously. "You make it sound like we're in a relationship."

"Sometimes I think the two of you are," Snow admits with something that resembles sadness and perhaps a bit of disgust. While there is no actual current romantic relationship between her daughter and the former queen, just the thought of them having a connection to each other makes Snow's heart ache.

"Mm," the brunette murmurs, but doesn't elaborate. "Did I not already prove that I would protect both to the death? Do you actually want me to again promise to do so on the life on my son? Isn't that...counterintuitive?"

"I don't really care what it is. I need to know that if your mother does find her way over here that you'll lay down your life again for them."

"Have you discussed these terms with your daughter?" Regina asks. "Because she threw a bit of a tantrum earlier about me doing exactly that."

"This is between you and me. And these are my terms. Do you accept them?"

Regina only hesitates for effect, but her decision had been made up far earlier in the conversation. Still, she allows for a brief staring contest before nodding, "I accept, and I swear it on the life of the thing – the person – I love the most that I will die before any harm comes to your daughter or my son. Good enough?"

"It'll have to be." She turns to leave, but it pulled back by the rumbling sound of her name being called out. She turns to look at the older woman.

"Tell me," Regina says, "Would you have preferred I'd died over there?"

"Yes," Snow answers quietly and almost immediately. A flicker of self-loathing and disgust falls over her face at the admission, but it's gone just as quickly.

Regina nods her head, appreciative of the honesty. "As would I have, dear. It would have been easier for everyone, I think."

They stare at each other for a long moment, as if actually seeing and understanding each other for the first time in a very long time. Finally, "Not everyone. You have an actual second chance now, Regina. You have people – my daughter specifically - who believe in you and will fight for your chance for redemption. Maybe it's time you start fighting for that, too."

And with that, she's gone.

Regina thinks that she's starting to get really tired of these super fun super intense bedside conversations. A glance up at the clock and she knows that there's still one more to go. And this one, well this one will be the hardest one of all.

By the time Henry arrives with Emma, it's close to four in the afternoon, and the drugs the blonde had provided her with earlier in the afternoon have pretty much fled her system. Still, though the pain she's in severe, she manages to smile throughout the entire conversation with Henry.

A conversation, which basically consists of her nearly eleven-year-old son treating her like she's a recovering drug addict. She supposes that the upside to the whole sorry affair is that at the end of the discussion (it's a fairly one-sided one, actually), Henry takes her hand, squeezes it, and assures her that she has support. He promises her that he'll be there to help her conquer her demons.

She doesn't tell him just how numbered her demons really are.

She just smiles and holds him when he puts himself in her arms. And she fights like hell not to cry when he tells her he loves her, and that he's glad the kiss worked. In that moment, he's so painfully young and innocent and it hurts.

It hurts because she wonders if she'll ever be worthy of that.

Still, she holds him and lets him hold her. She's grateful when Emma leaves the room and it's just the two of them, and Henry doesn't seem to want to break the embrace. She's thankful when he seems to understand just how much she needs to hear the words "I love you, Mom" over and over again.

When he finally leaves – he's been staying with Granny while she recuperates and until the housing situation is figured out – it takes everything she has not to beg him to come back. Perhaps it's her pride that stills her tongue.

Most likely, though, it's fear of rejection.

In any case, once he's gone, she takes a couple more pills and sleeps.

It's much later, close to ten at night, when Emma enters the room with a soft knock. She holds up a water bag to the former mayor who is sitting up in the bed, her head rested against several thick pillows. "Figured you might be hungry."

"Depends. Is that something you would eat?"

"Are you asking me if this is fast food?"

"Yes. I've seen what you eat, Miss Swan, and deliriously sick or not, I am not putting that garbage into my system." All said in a wonderfully haughty tone.

Which just seems to amuse the blonde sheriff much to Regina's annoyance.

"No junk food," Emma assures her." She wiggles the bag again. "Apparently it's your Tuesday night usual. Courtesy of Granny."

"You sure it's not poisoned?" Regina queries with a lifted eyebrow. "Granny has never exactly been what one might call subtle."

"Says the woman who used to prance around Fairytale Land wearing tight leather and corsets," Emma chuckles as she hands the bag over.

"First, we didn't actually call it Fairytale Land, and second, I did not prance," Regina retorts, but her eyes are already on the food in the bag. It smells heavenly, and for a moment, she doesn't actually care if it is poisoned.

"Funny, because I heard you did."

"You heard wrong."

"Mm. Maybe. Mary Margaret told me that you two talked."

Regina stiffens at this. "Did she now?"

"Yep. She said that the two of you came to an understanding, but she was oddly vague about the details."

"Ah."

"Is that your ever-so-queenly way of telling me that you plan to be just as vague?" It's quite clear that the blonde is deeply annoyed by this.

Annoyed enough that Regina actually considers playing with her food (proverbially speaking, of course) for a bit. But sighing, "You've heard the phrase, I'm sure. Loose lips sink ships. Considering all that has occurred between your mother and I, it's in both of our interests to keep our understanding to ourselves."

"If you say so."

"Don't be petulant, dear, it'll cause lines."

"Hilarious. How are you about the conversation with Henry?"

Regina sighs once more. Right now, she'd prefer far less talking and much more eating, but the blonde sheriff seems intent on babbling in her ear. "You're starting to remind me quite a bit of Dr. Hopper," she growls out.

"I'm sorry, I just…I saw the look on your face when he stared talking about addictions. Do you really not see magic as one?"

Regina pulls her hand from the bag, and then looks up at Emma with a curiously thoughtful expression. "I imagine that depends. It's only an addiction for me, I think, because I've never used it in any way that wasn't completely self-serving."

"You've never healed anyone?"

"Of course, I have. Someone I needed for something."

"Right. So do you think you could use magic without becoming Anakin again?"

"Who the hell is Anakin?"

"Have you really deprived our son of Star Wars?"

Regina thinks for a moment. "Oh wait a minute. Is that the cheesy movie with the heavily breathing man in the creepy black mask?"

"Yes. Darth Vader, and you are…more disturbing than I ever realized."

"Probably," Regina answers with a low chuckle. "But in answer to your question, I don't know, but I until I do, absolute abstinence from magic seems appropriate."

"Fair enough."

"Indeed. So, Miss Swan, what comes next? I assume once I'm able to stand up and walk, I'll be allowed to return to my home, yes?"

Emma nods her head. "Of course."

"And what about Henry?"

"We need to figure him out, don't we?"

"I want him to come home, but I expect that he wants to stay with you."

Emma laughs at that. "He might not want to once he realizes that we're sharing a two bedroom loft with his grandparents. I'm not sure I want to. I need to find me another place, but it might take me a couple of weeks because honestly, there's not a lot of vacancy around this town. It's kind of weird, actually."

"By design," Regina admits. And then, suddenly, she lets out a loud sigh.

"What?" Emma prompts.

"I think I'm high."

"Excuse me?" Emma asks. Then, frowning and turning around to look for the little brown bottle, "How many of the painkillers have you taken today?"

"Only four. Two from you and two after Henry was here."

"And you're still high? That was six hours ago."

"Clearly, I must be, because I'm about to invite you into my home."

"Your home?"

"Look, Sheriff, we both want to be around Henry. You need a short-term place to stay, and I need…I need my son. It's terrible, and I know that it's wrong to lean so much on him, but I need him." She looks right at Emma, and for a moment, the blonde sees the same honesty that she'd seen months earlier at the mines. She sees the desperate humanity that she'd seen just a few days earlier when Regina had tried to lay down her life in order to send everyone home.

"It'd only be temporary. Until I can find a place of my own. And then…"

"Then we can talk again," Regina offers.

"Why are you doing this?" Emma prompts. "I know that you don't want me in your home. You don't want me near Henry. So be honest for once, why?"

"As you said, the days of you not being in his life are over. I'd have saved us all a lot of time and pain had I listened to you then and not…reacted."

"Trying to put me to sleep with a poisoned turnover is your idea of a reaction?"

"It's actually quite a bit nicer than some of the other ideas I had," the brunette admits with a bit of a lazy smile. She should probably sheepish about this, but the shocked look on the blonde's face is enough to deepen her smile into a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind," Emma drawls. "You really think that we can live together without trying to kill each other?"

"Until you find a place of your own, I think we can manage."

"You actually are high, aren't you?"

Regina laughs at that. It's low and rich, and to her surprise, Emma finds that she actually likes the sound. Probably more than she should.

"Sheriff, I'm quite hungry, and quite tired. I'm going to eat this wonderful sandwich that you brought me, and then I'm going to down two more of those even more wonderful pills. You may take your leave, dear."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

"I really do like that."

This time it's Emma's turn to laugh.

"By the way," Regina says as the blonde steps towards the door. "Where are you sleeping these days? Since, I'm here on this impossibly uncomfortable bed."

"Pretending you didn't just insult the hospitality that you're being given, I'm sleeping on the couch. And yes, you do owe me for that."

"Add it to my list."

"Count on it."

Regina hears the door close a moment later. It's been a hell of a day all the way around. Two different truces, two different agreements.

That the agreements stand somewhat in opposition of each other is largely irrelevant. But then, she realizes with a bit of surprise, Snow had never actually needed to make her guarantee Emma and Henry's safety. From the moment Emma had awoken Henry with a light tearful kiss upon his forehead – saving his life in the process – Regina had been indebted to the infuriating blonde woman. Emma having saved her from the wraith had just deepened the debt.

It's a debt that she's not sure she can ever repay just as she's not sure she believes that she can ever really find redemption or make amends.

What she does know, however, is that for the first time in a very long time, she's willing to try. For the first time since magic entered her life, she's willing to entertain thoughts besides those of hatred and vengeance and power.

She looks down at her hand, feels around the palm with her fingers. There's nothing there. The mark of the wraith had truly disappeared with her death.

That true love had finally touched her and brought her back, well apparently unlike her, wraith's don't get a second go at their marks.

They don't get a second chance.

She'd always believed Storybrooke to be hers, but now she understands that this – with Henry and Emma's support - is her second chance. Her fresh start.

Here and now.

She closes her once-marked palm slowly, and quietly, with the smallest of smiles, accepts the freedom that has for the first time been afforded her.

It feels good.

She, for once, feels like there even be some good left in her.

And for now – for this night – that's enough.

-Fin