A/N: We have finally reached the end of this crazy little tale. I hope you enjoyed the ride, and that the conclusion satisfies. I thank you for all of your kind words along the way.

Word of warning - there's some salty language and sexual situations within (semi-graphic).

Enjoy, and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts. Again, thank you.

By the third time that she's woken up by an elbow in her stomach or a heel to the shin, Emma Swan knows that it's going to be a very long night indeed.

As it turns out, the former mayor doesn't sleep calmly or peacefully even with warm arms wrapped around her disturbingly frail form. Instead, her wounded body twitches and shakes and she makes sounds that alternate from whimpers to outright cries. Every now and again, she gives voice to a desperate plea.

The worst of it, though, is that sometimes, the former queen apologizes and begs for forgiveness in a whispered frightened tone. From whom isn't clear, but there's a childlike desperation to her voice, a shuddering kind of almost frantic urgency.

Not a bit shocking considering all the terrible things that Regina has done and all that Emma has learned about the brunette's troubled upbringing, but the blonde finds herself horrified all the same. She finds herself heartbroken and unable to offer much beyond a tightening of her arms and a soft kiss to overheated skin.

Whether Regina feels the kisses (and there have been many during this long night, all of them chaste), Emma doesn't know. She likes to think that somehow, subconsciously, her former nemesis derives comfort from the simple empathetic human contact, maybe even feels the warmth somewhere down deep.

During the few times when the tossing and turning becomes almost violent and trying to shake the former queen awake fails miserably (Regina comes to for the briefest of moments before passing out again and dropping almost immediately back into the nightmare she'd been momentarily pulled away from) Emma tries whispering words of calm and reassurance into the older woman's ear. She tries telling her that everything is okay now, that everything is going to be just fine.

And then Regina shatters all of that bravado (because in truth, Emma is far from certain that everything will work out here) by calling out for her – by saying her name. It's uttered as a softly whispered, "Emma," and immediately after the word has left Regina's dry cracked lips, Emma feels her heart shatter into a thousand shards, every one of them just as sharp as the ones that had pierced the delicate skin on Regina's back almost a week earlier thanks to the magic mirror.

She sees tears shimmering brightly on the brunette's cheeks, the skin there thin and slightly yellowed by lack of a proper diet, and in those terrible heartbreaking moments, Emma considers jumping from the bed. Though it makes her a coward even to consider doing so, she thinks about running back home to the apartment that she shares with her family. No one – least of all Regina, perhaps – would be surprised if she did do it. It's what she does; it's what she has always done.

Instead, in a feat of courage far beyond that which is required to fight a fire-breathing dragon, the blonde reaches down, and pulls the blankets tighter around their bodies, trying to provide each of them with much needed heat and comfort.

Emma tries to tell herself that she's staying because of the promise she'd made to Regina before the inebriated woman had succumbed to exhaustion. She reminds herself that she'd assured the brunette that she wouldn't be going anywhere. She hates breaking promises. That's all this, she insists to herself.

It's a lie, though, and she knows it. She's here because she wants to be. She's holding this fractured woman in her arms because she wants to. Not leaving Regina to wake up alone? Well that's part promise, part desire and part need.

Which probably explains why the one time Emma does have to leave Regina in the bed alone – to deal with the sudden urgent need to pee – she leaves the door to the bathroom hanging wide open. She chuckles a bit as she does so because she's pretty damned sure that hung-over or otherwise, had Regina seen this, the older woman would have made some smartass comment about the lack of class the sheriff had shown in not properly securing the door behind her.

In the end, though, Emma doesn't care about things like class and decency.

She cares about the promise she'd made.

That it's such more than that, well that's for later, when they can talk and try to work through all of the craziness of the curse and the portal and Soul Door.

For now, a promise is good enough to make her crawl back into the bed.

It's the damned clock that's keeping her awake now. It's a stunning piece of work, expensive and regal, exquisitely hand-carved. The massive numerals on its shiny silver face are majestic and awe-inspiring. That is until the hands move.

Each one with a maddening click.

Probably barely audible to most people, but Emma's heard every minute pass for the last two hours. As the hour hand slaps against the curved number three, Emma opens her weary eyes and stares at the clock, once again relieved at the lack of a chime, but wondering how the hell anyone – especially someone as fussy as Regina - can sleep with the clicking of minutes and hours as they pass.

Then again, until she'd strolled into town, time hadn't passed at all so Emma wonders if maybe it really hadn't been too much of a problem.

The clock clicks eliciting a sigh (probably louder than the clock itself) from the restless blonde. It's a bit funny how it seems like every time she's around Regina these days, there are long nights involved. Nights that seem to stretch for days.

It's only three in the morning.

Wow.

On the upside, Regina has finally gone mostly still. It seems as though – at last - exhaustion has caught up with her completely and she's been pitched into a state where her body is merely recharging, incapable of doing much of anything else.

That's a mercy, Emma thinks. There's only so many times you can relive the same nightmare, only so many ways to cry over the sins you've committed.

Moving ever so slightly (and trying to ignore a sudden spot of tightness in her hip – an injury probably incurred during their brief semi-sexual wrestling match in the shower), Emma laces her right leg slightly around Regina's legs. She knows that she's taking liberties that she's not entitled to, but suddenly, she's struck by the need to be as close to the former mayor as possible. She can't explain the urgent desire to protect the older woman; she just knows that it's there.

The minute hand moves with a click.

Emma closes her eyes, and prays for the same exhaustion that has swept Regina into the world of sleepless dreams to come take her away as well.

It's almost five in the morning before it finally does.

The first thing that Regina Mills becomes aware of once consciousness returns to her is the feeling of a heavy bladder. Movement forward in the bed brings on three new revelations – first, it's incredibly dark in the bedroom. A glance over at the window shows that the heavy blinds have been pulled. Second, her head is pounding like someone is trying to actively break into her skull with a sledgehammer. She's suddenly intensely thankful for – and to – whomever had pulled the drapes because she's quite certain that had they not, her brain would be melting right about now from a combination of sunlight and intense pain.

It's the final revelation that really works its way through her, however. It's the realization that she's not alone in her warm and comfortable bed. Instead, there's someone resting behind her, their arms wrapped loosely around Regina's midsection. There's a leg slung over hers, the contact vaguely possessive.

A moment later, as her senses truly return to her, Regina realizes that there's even more physical contact than that occurring. There's a hand resting lightly against the bare skin of her abdomen, fingers splayed out against her skin.

A glance at the hand – at the fingers – and she knows exactly who is holding her.

"Emma," she whispers, her voice throaty and thick. It's still strange to call the blonde sheriff by her given name. Not at all safe for either of them from an emotion standpoint. But then, perhaps once you've shared several erotic dreams - and spooned - with a person, worrying about safe is already out the window.

On the other hand, Regina thinks with a frown and a pained wince, what in the hell is Emma doing here? And why are they spooning at all?

It's the wince (and the continuous jackhammering in her skull) that probably explains everything. She can vaguely recall another night spent drinking alone, another evening spent trying to drive herself into unconsciousness so as not to think about the emptiness around and within her. Everything after that is a series of hazy flashes and…well, honestly right now there is nothing more than that.

Apparently, though, at some point or another, Emma Swan had once again come to the rescue. Regina knows that despite the benefit of it, she would be annoyed by this constant White Knight routine if she could muster the energy for such.

Slowly, ever so carefully sliding away from the deeply slumbering sheriff (she looks absolutely exhausted, Regina notes with a surprisingly sharp pang of guilt) she pushes herself from the bed, biting back on a harsh groan as she does so.

Her headache increases with each movement, and for half a second, she really does think that she's about to either throw up or pass out again. She bends over then, hands on her knees, eyes tightly shut against the obscene pressure radiating through her skull. Doing so causes the wounds on her back to stretch a bit, but those she can tolerate. Those are nothing compared to this…headache.

She stills her movements almost completely and waits, sucking in massive gasps of air all the while. Finally, after almost a minute of time has slipped past her (which the clicking of the clock on the wall spells out in annoying fashion – how has she never noticed that before, she wonders), her legs solidify beneath her. A few more deep breaths and she's able to straighten up completely. She looks at her reflection in the mirror – the one that she had walked through a week earlier.

She wants to laugh – or cry – at what she sees. The woman she there is neither the regal queen nor the icy mayor. She's not the innocent girl from years earlier, either. This woman looks small and broken. She looks defeated.

And yet curiously enough, this woman is not alone.

She turns back to look at the bed, to study the sleeping blonde lying there. She notices that the clothes Emma has on are not her own; they're actually Regina's.

Odd, and perhaps a bit frightening. She wonders if something had occurred between she and the sheriff, wonders if they'd gone from drifting touches to something more. After a moment, though, she shakes her head at this. Even in her exhausted and tortured state of mind, Regina understands the basics of good and evil. There are things that people like Emma Swan do not do, and taking advantage of a woman who is clearly beyond consent is one of those things.

What the blonde is wearing - silk pajamas – seals the deal. They loudly suggest the absence of any kind of sexual action. Surely, Regina muses as she gazes at the sleeping woman, Emma Swan isn't the type to get modest post-coital. This is, after all, the same woman who months earlier had answered the door of her hotel room wearing little more than a tank and panties. Shyness doesn't really suit her.

Weird, Regina thinks then, how much she finds herself enjoying watching the blonde sleep, how much she enjoys the flashes of skin that she keeps seeing get exposed every time the sheriff turns in the sheets. She'd love to dismiss it as an after-effect of the mirror adventure, but even she knows that it's more than that.

Thankfully, the pounding in her head is intent on not allowing her to think much at all right about now. And really, that's okay with her. Deep thinking has never been a salve for her, has never brought her much beyond more pain and misery.

Why indulge in such torments now?

As quietly as she can manage, Regina slips into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, wincing a bit at the sound the lock makes as it engages. Even that is too loud for her soggy brain right about now.

She turns towards the massive walk-in shower, and that's when she sees the wet clothes scattered all along the floor of the bathroom. That's when she sees Emma's hideous red jacket lying over the sink, unfortunately not ruined by water.

She tries to remember, tries to squeeze her eyes shut to do so, but nothing comes to her. In fact, it isn't until she's standing under the cold water as it warms that she begins to see flashes of the night before. Apparently, despite Emma's best efforts, a few rather interesting things had happened between them.

And right now, she's seeing those things in sharp colorful flashes.

Flashes of her hands on Emma, fingers sliding across sinfully pale skin. She can almost feel her mouth following her hands, tasting salt and sweat and just a hint of something spicy and perhaps even a bit sultry. Like a hidden secret.

As these images assault her brain and her body causing her to shiver in reaction, she realizes with a bit of shock that what had happened between she and Emma in this room hadn't been a dream pushed into her mind thanks to a Soul Door.

What she doesn't know is how far the action with the sheriff had gone. That little memory seems to not be in her mind no matter how hard she searches for it.

Still, the pajamas that both she and Emma had been in suggest that perhaps the activities within the glass walls of the shower had stayed relatively…well certainly not chaste, but perhaps not quite indecent, either.

That's a good thing, she tells herself.

Now if she could only convince herself of that.

An hour later, she's still trying. And still failing.

Emma wakes up to find herself sprawled gracelessly across the massive king-sized bed, a hand and foot resting in each corner of the incredibly comfortable mattress. It's utterly undignified position and yet it's so damned comfortable that she can't find the care to regret the ownership she's taken of the bed she's in.

That is until her brain reminds her that it isn't actually her own bed that she's in.

"Regina," she mutters before rolling herself over on the mattress. Sure enough, the former mayor is nowhere to be seen. The door to the bathroom is standing slightly open, but it's clear that there's no one in there. A soft scented mist hangs in the air, mostly dissipated, but suggestive of a shower in the recent past.

Funny, she thinks to herself with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. This isn't really how she'd expected things to go down. She hadn't figured on being the one to wake up alone. But then maybe, considering the fact that Regina just might be more of a runner than even she is, perhaps she should have expected it.

Emma pushes herself up from the mattress with a groan, her sore hip protesting the change of position. She lifts her shirt up and examines the darkening bruise there. A quick rub of it with her fingers, and she decides that there's nothing wrong with her hip that an ice pack followed up by a heating pad won't help.

She makes her way out of the room and down the stairs. It's when she's halfway down that she smells cinnamon and bacon. She hears the sound of grease popping and can hear the soft shuffle of metal as a frying pan is moved.

She enters the kitchen and for a moment, just stands back and watches the woman in front of the grill move. For a former queen, Regina seems oddly at ease in here, almost calm and at peace. She moves quickly and efficiently, but there's a weird kind of grace to the way she works. It's a dance that she's mastered a thousand times over, a poem that she can recite without thinking.

"Are you hungry, Miss Swan?" Regina says suddenly, pulling Emma from her admittedly indulgent thoughts. She blushes a bit, almost as if she's been caught doing something that she shouldn't be doing. Thankfully, Regina's back is to her.

"A bit," Emma nods, amazed at the roughness of her voice. To her own ears, it sounds like she's a two pack a day smoker. "How long have you been up?"

"Long enough to shower, do a load of laundry and start breakfast."

"So awhile then."

A shrug of the shoulders and then, "About twenty minutes or so."

"Really? Only twenty minutes?" Emma queries, suddenly feeling quite inferior to the woman at the grill. Not exactly a new feeling, but still an unsettling one.

Regina chuckles, a low sound that sends odd vibrations running up through Emma's body. "Give or take, dear. Closer to an hour actually."

Oh, well that's better, Emma thinks with a small grin. Then, the expression morphing into a slight frown, she asks, "Why didn't you wake me?"

Regina turns to face her, and for a moment, Emma is almost surprised by what she sees. The woman is sans makeup for once, and thanks to that, Emma can see the lines that exhaustion and weariness have dug into her still beautiful face.

"Are you okay?" Emma blurts out, almost before she can think about what she's saying. The lack of a filter, well it's pretty much plagued her all of her life.

Thankfully, Regina seems unperturbed by it. "I'm fine," she nods. "And I didn't wake you because you looked peaceful." She smiles then and Emma thinks to herself that it's a beautiful expression on the brunette woman. For once, not malicious, but genuinely amused. "Spread across my bed, corner to corner."

"You have a comfortable bed," Emma answers almost sheepishly.

"Yes, well, some creature comforts are better than others."

"You mean like alcohol?"

Ah, so the serious part of the conversation, then. Even Emma's not quite sure how she'd pulled off that switch without a serious case of whiplash occurring.

Regina sighs, the sound meant to suggest that this is a silly unnecessary conversation that she'll humor. "I may have gotten a bit carried away last night."

"May have?" You were blacked out on your couch when I came in."

"Broke in, I think is what you mean, Sheriff," the brunette answers as she turns back to face the grill. She slides a spatula beneath several pieces of bacon and moves them onto a plate that contains many more slivers of the wonderfully smelling meat. Just about enough to feed an army, Emma thinks to herself.

"I was worried," the blonde admits after several long uncomfortable seconds.

Regina flips off one of the burners, and turns back to face Emma. "Why?" Her expression is neutral, her face completely unreadable. It's more than a little unsettling to see how easily Regina can slide into this unaffected mode.

Especially when it's such a blatant lie.

"Because no one had heard from you in over a week. Even Henry. It's been over twelve days – by his count - since you've spoken to him."

"Ah, so you came over for Henry," Regina says, nodding her head at this like somehow this realization helps her to understand everything.

Emma groans. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

"You know exactly what. Why are you making this difficult?"

Regina actually looks genuinely surprised by this, her back straightening up into a somewhat defensive posture. "I didn't realize that asking questions as to why you're here was making things difficult, Miss Swan. I…"

"Dammit, Regina, Emma," the blonde snaps. "You told me last night that you wanted to fuck me into tomorrow…"

"I did?" Regina asks, paling just a bit. She reaches out for a glass of some light green liquid that is sitting near her hand, and quickly takes two gulps of it. Emma wonders if the drink is alcoholic, but she's guessing that it's actually some kind of super healthy obnoxiously organic bad tasting hangover remedy.

"You did, and considering that and the fact that I held you all last night, I think maybe you can call me by the name I was given."

"I…uh…of course…"

"Are you embarrassed?" Emma asks suddenly, surprise peppering her tone.

"I don't remember…last night," Regina answers, looking down at her hands. She rubs them together as if to clean them, but the motion is unnecessary, more meant to distract her eyes than anything else. "I remember…I think…a few things, but…what…what did happen between us? Did I…"

"Fuck me into tomorrow?" Emma grins. She knows that she shouldn't be approaching this with such levity, but there's something so inherently ridiculous about all of this that it just about demands a degree of gallows' humor.

"Emma…"

Unfortunately, the worried and almost frightened look on Regina's face tells Emma that the brunette doesn't share her desire to laugh this situation off.

She steps towards Regina, coming to within a foot of the brunette woman. "No, relax…nothing happened. You were pretty well hammered and I wouldn't…I wouldn't do that. You know that, right?"

Suddenly it's crucially important to Emma – and she's not all that sure why – that Regina actually believe what she's saying. It suddenly means everything that Regina understands that she wouldn't harm the brunette woman in any way.

"I do," Regina nods, lifting up her dark eyes. She offers a slight smile of acknowledgement. It's awkward, but real. Emma feels relief rush through her.

"Good. Look, I…uh…I think maybe we have a lot to talk about, Regina. I think maybe it's time for us to talk about everything that's happened between us."

"Everything," Regina repeats thoughtfully, nodding her head as she realizes that she hadn't lost quite as much control as she'd feared. She tilts her head then, and in that moment, Emma realizes that the discomfort has shifted from queen to savior. "Tell me, dear, did you want me to?" she asks, her voice a rumbling purr.

"Want you to what?" Emma's playing intentionally dumb here, and they both know it, but honestly, she's not sure what to do with this conversation. It's both uncomfortable and absurdly erotic. It's unsettling and insanely arousing.

And the way it's spinning around, it's as confusing as their overall relationship is.

"Fuck you into tomorrow?" Regina presses, her lip quirking into a small smile. It's amazing, Emma thinks, how deliciously dirty Regina can make a simply curse word sound. From anyone else (including herself), it might sound crude and crass, but from the former mayor, it sounds like an invitation to sin most happily.

"Uh…"

"I see," Regina answers with a curt nod, and Emma gets the distinct impression that the brunette isn't quite sure what to make of the response she'd received. She almost looks upset. Perhaps even a bit embarrassed.

"Regina," she starts, not quite sure what she's about to ask or say. She just knows that she wants the look she sees on the former mayor's face to go away.

Regina cuts her off with a sharp almost dismissive shake of her head "Breakfast will be served in a moment, Sheriff. Why don't you set the table?"

"That's it? That's all we're going to say about last night?"

"For now."

"But just for now, right?" She reaches out and wraps a hand around Regina's right bicep, squeezing it just a little, all the while trying to ignore the surge of feeling and emotion that goes through her as fingers make contact with skin.

"For now," Regina repeats, her eyes drifting down to glance at Emma's hand on her arm. Finally, slipping away from the contact (weird, Emma thinks, how much she suddenly misses the connection), Regina then lifts a hand up and gestures towards the cabinets. "Plates are in that one there. On the left. You can choose whatever pattern you like. Just be careful; they look strong and resilient, but they're actually quite fragile and they break far easier than you might think."

It's the most on the nose metaphor that Emma has ever heard. It's also the most appropriate if not the most heartbreaking.

She considers pushing the metaphor, asking about how hard it would be to put the plate back together if it did break, but the words catch painfully in her throat. She's not a woman meant for poetry and subtly. If they're going to have this conversation, they're going to do so plainly and without mirrors and literature.

After breakfast maybe.

After the plates have been put safely away.

They eat breakfast in silence. Awkward, painful, and uncomfortable silence.

It's Emma who finally breaks things up. Of course. "Why didn't you call him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Henry."

Emma watches as the brunette seems to almost completely stiffen up, her posture going from Regina style relaxed (what most people would call tense) to something that would make a nun jealous. "What would I have said to him?"

"You love him? You miss him?"

"I've said all of those things a hundred times."

"Perhaps if you'd said them a thousand."

Regina tilts her head, her eyes hardening into dark coals. "Is this conversation about to become a referendum on my parenting skills?"

"No. It's a referendum on you," Emma answers, leaning forward.

"Fantastic," Regina bites off as she stands up and reaches for a plate. It takes everything she has not to snatch the one in front of Emma just so that she can throw it down again in disgust. Well, no one has ever accused her of being mature about how she handles her negative feelings.

"Regina, wait, please. Just…let me…let me say what I need to, okay?"

The brunette considers this for a moment, considers the fact that the sheriff has come to her aide repeatedly, and then nods. "Very well. You have two minutes."

"And then what?" Emma throws back. "You'll kick me and return to spending your days alone and your nights with a bottle of wine and your couch?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, we can't all have been so lucky as to have found our long lost family and to have been welcomed home with hugs and kisses." She nearly spits the words out, her face reddening with anger as she says them.

"Do I need to remind you that the only reason they were long lost is because of you?" Emma queries quietly, her green eyes intense.

It's a body blow, and the force of it just about knocks Regina back into her seat.

"No," the brunette answers after a moment. "I suppose you don't."

"Then listen to me. You owe me that much at least."

Regina shifts a bit at this, her jaw grinding. "Fine. Speak."

Emma considers pushing her luck just a bit and getting in one last jibe, but the almost petulant expression on Regina's face convinces her to get on with it. She takes a deep breath and then says, "There's something between us."

"Henry."

"More than Henry, Regina. We both care deeply about him, we both love him, but he couldn't have made that door work like it did for us. Whatever is between us is just between us. It's just about us. You and me."

"You honestly believe we have feelings for each other?" There's a degree of disgust in her voice, like the idea of something so childish is outrageous to her.

"Yes."

"You? Of all people."

"Yes. And I think you know I'm right, but you've spent so much of your life refusing any kind of emotion that even smells like love. Even with Henry."

Regina leans forward and bares her teeth in response. "I love my son."

"I know, but you've never really known how to show him that. You figured wrapping your arms around him and keeping him close was all you had to do."

Regina fidgets at this, but doesn't actually contest the words. How can she even begin to? The fact that Emma Swan is even in her life at all is a testament to the words being spoken aloud. Henry had run from her because of her inability to truly show him how much she loved – and loves – him.

"Sometimes," Emma continues on, voice softening, "You have to say what you're thinking. And sometimes you have to actually show people what you feel."

"What's your point?" Regina demands. She feels the pounding in her head increase as her emotions start to rage through her. A tickle of dark magic purrs somewhere within her, asks for permission to come to the surface and play.

She denies it, focuses on the blonde, blinking back pain and hurt as she does so.

"My point is, right now, you want to deny that there is something going on between us. Something that actually means something. You want to do it because you don't know how to allow yourself to let go and just be happy."

"You really think you and I can ever be happy together?" Regina answers with a short sharp laugh. "Listen to yourself. We're enemies, Miss Swan."

"You might find safety in believing that, but you're wrong. We're not."

"Then what are we?"

"I guess that's up to you."

Regina shakes her head. "This is absolutely beyond absurd. You're no better at relationships than I am, Miss Swan. Perhaps, you're even worse."

"How's that?"

"I was married forty years ago. Since then I've had my share of…lovers, but I haven't so much as gone on a date with anyone. You on the other hand…"

"Have been in a relationship or two," Emma nods, biting back on the sudden urge to scream in frustration at the whole course of this conversation. It's all deflection and avoidance. All attempts by the brunette to push the sheriff away.

"And none of them ended well," Regina reminds her. "Which is why you have always run from commitment of any and every kind. It's why you tried to run away from Henry and this town. Tell me, why stop running now?"

"I'm tired of running." It's a simple answer, but for Emma, it says everything.

"So naturally I become the first project in your new staying around campaign?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Regina," Emma growls. "Enough." And with that, she stands up, walks around the side of the table, and grabs the older woman by the shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft flesh she encounters. "Enough," she says again, right before she presses her lips to Regina's.

She hears a surprised grunt in response, and then suddenly Regina's opening up her lips in answer, parting them enough for Emma to press her tongue through.

It's soft and delicate and oddly exploratory. Especially for these two women.

It somehow feels right for them at this very weird moment in time.

When Emma finally steps back, she says with a smile that's attempting to be a smug smirk, "I had to shut you up." Her green eyes twinkle with just a bit of mischief as she says this. She looks pleased with herself, a bit like a cat.

"Not a bad way to do it," Regina admits, sounding a bit breathless.

"I'm glad we agree. Now can we try to figure this thing out? Please?"

"I'm not a talker, Emma. I'm never going to be someone good at sharing my feelings. At least not in a healthy way. So if that's what you want –"

"I'm not all much better than you are," Emma interrupts as she starts to move in again. "So maybe talking isn't how we go about figuring this out."

Regina slides a hand up, settling it flat against Emma's chest. "I need you to know who I am before we go any further. I'm a greedy and selfish woman who has done horrible things. I can be cruel and I can heartless. I have been and just because you think there's good in me, that doesn't actually mean that there is. You need to understand, when I'm hurt, I react badly. If you hurt me…"

"I won't."

"You can't promise me that. You of all people."

"Because I'm a runner?"

"Partially that, but mostly it's because of who you are. You're Snow's daughter and we hate each other. You might think that those feelings between she and I have nothing to do with you, but as you said earlier, I'm responsible for you having to find your family after so long. It's my fault that you grew up without one.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. My parents made choices, too. They could have chosen to keep me with them. It doesn't really matter anymore. What's done is done. Maybe it's time for everyone to let go of their hate."

"You're too old for such naivety, dear."

"I'm also too old for petty bullshit. I want to be happy, Regina."

"Then you're looking at the wrong person."

"No, I'm not."

"Why are you so sure about this, Emma?" the brunette asks softly, her voice almost gentle, and oddly absent it's typical bite and snap. "Because a magic mirror told us that we have feelings for each other? If it hadn't, would you be here today? Would you have just kissed me if it hadn't brought us together?"

"I don't know," Emma admits. "I think I'd still be here." She shrugs her shoulder. "In case you didn't notice, I've been saving your ass for awhile now."

"An unfortunate habit of yours, I'm sure most of the town would agree." In spite of herself, Regina's smiling just a bit as she says this.

"Screw the town." She holds up her hand. "Wait, forget I said that."

Her only response to that is a smirk of amusement.

"Look, Regina, I don't know why the mirror decided that we were the two broken souls that it needed to bring together, but it did…"

"Do you love me?" Regina interrupts suddenly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Do you love me?"

"Honestly, I don't know, but I'm willing to find out." She lifts her chin up, her jaw setting in defiance and her green eyes gleaming with intent. She's just about daring Regina to follow suit, challenging her to take a chance.

"And if I'm not? If I'd prefer we not go down this road? What then?"

"I think that would be a mistake, but I'll respect your wishes."

"That would be a first."

"I want us to stop fighting. I want us to work together, not against each other."

"As do I, but there are better ways of accomplishing that then falling into bed with each other. Most people simply negotiate a truce."

Emma grins at that. "Well as you said, neither one of us is much for talking."

"True enough." And then as if to prove her point, the former mayor allows for her dark eyes to roam over the pajama-clad body of the sheriff. The clothes are too loose to provide much bodily context, but perhaps it's the anticipation of what's beneath the silk that makes Regina lick her lips in anticipation.

"Like what you see?" Emma challenges, eyebrow up.

"Oh my dear, that's never been the problem between us," Regina lobs back.

"No, I suppose not. All right, Madame Mayor, the ball is in your court now. I'm willing to see what this thing is between us. Question is, are you?"

"You're asking me to feel things I haven't allowed myself to feel in many many years," Regina states, her dark eyes lifting up to meet Emma's green ones. The younger woman is smiling slightly, but Regina finds it reassuring to see just a hint of doubt swimming beneath the surface.

There should be doubt in all of this. It's utter madness, and yet it's a bit like trying to swim upstream. Resisting it feels foolish and cruel. It feels lonely.

She's sick of being lonely.

"That's kind of where this whole thing started," Emma nods. "With you being willing to take a chance on your feelings. All I'm asking is for you to do it again."

"You're asking me to walk through glass again?"

"More metaphorically this time. For what it's worth, though, it wasn't any easier for me to do so than it was for you."

"No, I guess not." Regina sighs then. "All right then. But when this goes bad – and it will go bad, Emma – don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll take my chances," Emma whispers, and then, leaning forward, she presses a soft kiss onto Regina's lips. It's gentle and unassuming. Strong muscular arms come up to wrap around the former mayors' body then, pulling the older woman closer, offering refuge and peace.

Offering the chance to love again.

Regina closes her eyes and falls into it.

It's a bit funny to the both of them that the only thing these two bull-headed women fail to argue about is just how much they both want to move this – whatever this is – back to the bedroom.

They abandon the breakfast dishes on the table, and still wrapped in each other's arms, they make their way up the stairs and back into the master bedroom. It's a struggle, of course, but only because trying to walk and kiss at the same time is never something that goes smoothly or without complication.

Still, it's the moment that they're actually standing a few feet away from each other, in the blacked out room, that everything slows down and stops.

"Are you sure about this?" Regina asks softly, and to Emma, it seems so very wrong for this beautiful woman to be so tentative about something like sex. That she is, is partly because it's been so very long since any kind of sexual activity actually meant something beyond a physical release. With Daniel, there'd been touches and caresses and the deep longing kisses of innocence and passion unfulfilled. They'd never gone beyond that, never consummated their love.

She'd lost her virginity to Leopold on their wedding night, and even the thought of that sends a violent shudder through her body. She can still vividly remember the excruciating pain of that first night with him. She can still clearly recall the feeling of tears on her cheek as he'd loomed above her, his moans echoing in her ears.

Since then, as she'd told Emma, there'd been more than a few lovers to have warmed her bed. As the Queen, she hadn't been shy about looking for the comfort of a few hours of physical release. It'd never been emotional, though. She'd taken what she'd needed, and sent the men or women away afterwards.

She'd viewed her many lovers as Leopold had viewed her: as a means to an end – as a way to achieve sexual release and nothing more.

Now, looking into the lust blown green eyes of Emma Swan, she actually finds herself a bit frightened. A bit shaken. Because this means something.

"I'm sure," Emma tells her. Then, tilting her head, which causes waves of blonde to cascade over her shoulders. "Are you?"

The blonde watches Regina for a reaction, studying the former mayor's facial expressions. There's a kind of fear, she sees there. A lurking painful uncertainty.

And in that moment, Emma gets it. Putting together the pieces of what she knows of Regina's life, she finally understands; Regina's never actually felt the embrace of a lover. She may have called them such for the sake of simplicity, but in truth, they'd been little more than privileged bedmates. They'd been actors playing a physical part, their bodies dancing out a lust-filled step as old as time.

The vulnerability Emma sees in Regina's face as she tries to answer the blonde's echoed question is utterly heartbreaking. It's like she's desperately trying to find the words to explain what she's feeling, but she doesn't know how to say them without showing weakness. Without becoming weak.

So Emma does what she does best; she saves the former queen again.

"Let me make love to you," the blonde whispers, stepping forward to place a hand on either side of Regina's face. She smiles a bit at the soft moan she hears, allows it to grow when Regina tips her cheek towards one of the warm palms.

"I'm not weak," Regina breathes, and it's said more to herself than Emma.

"No, you're not," Emma answers anyway, and then leans forward and crushes her mouth against Regina's, deciding that the time for words has come to an end.

It's the softness of a kiss – and then a gentle bite – on the thumb of her right hand that brings Emma back to the waking world. It takes her a few seconds to realize that she's lying in Regina's bed, in Regina's arms.

Post coital.

Which was…yeah, wow. The images blitz her mind, and for a moment, Emma can barely breathe through the memories of the last few hours.

"Hey," she finally whispers, turning herself so that she can look into the dark eyes of her lover. Regina is smiling slightly, almost lazily. Her brown hair is badly mussed, and she looks a bit on the crazed side. Emma thinks that she's never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment, looking recklessly imperfect.

"Good afternoon," Regina purrs before dipping her head down to pepper several warm wet kisses against the smooth exposed column of the sheriff's neck.

"Really?" Emma laughs as a hand slips around to the front of her and lightly cups one of her bare breasts, fingers coming up to tweak an already hardened nipple.

"I never was good at moderation," the brunette answers with a wry smile, her touch becoming firmer and more insistent even as she grazes teeth over Emma's pulse point, grinning when she hears the blonde whimper in response.

"So I see." The words are followed up by another loud whimper as Regina's fingernails scrape downwards, sliding between the blonde's thighs without pause or hesitation. A nail tickles teasingly over anxious nerves before returning to the relative safe haven of Emma's hipbone. "Regina," she gasps out.

"Are you too tired?" the brunette taunts, the smirk on her face growing. "Because if you are, I'm sure I can find a book to read. Maybe something about gardening."

"Gardening, right. You know, I might believe that if you weren't…oh Jesus…"

Regina makes a tsking noise, the smirk in full force now. "I may not believe in the gods of this world, Emma, but even I know that that was sacrilegious."

"Yeah, well I figure I'm already going to hell so why not make it a fun trip," the blonde grins before suddenly rolling and toppling the former mayor. She looks down from her straddling position, her legs wrapped around Regina's waist. "I could get used to this view," she offers, nodding her head in satisfaction. And why not? From here, she has a perfect glimpse of the mayor's astonishing body. Even made too thin by stress and lack of proper care, Regina is stunning.

"I wouldn't if I were you, dear," Regina chides. "I'm not a bottom."

"Neither am I," Emma answers as she leans down to press her mouth against the smooth olive skin of Regina's abdomen. She open mouth kisses the skin right above and below the brunette's belly button before slowly sliding upwards to claim the former mayor's lips in an almost chaste kiss.

It's Emma's way of trying to assure Regina that this isn't just about sex.

Sex is a great part of it, for sure, but this is about something deeper.

Of course, if Regina doesn't stop moving her hands up and down her like she's working the neck of a guitar, it could be a hard point to make.

She closes her eyes as she feels warm fingers slide into her. The movements start out slow and steady and yet somehow firm and determined. She finds herself barely able to breathe, hardly capable of coherent thought.

"Please," she whispers. "Please."

That's all it takes. Suddenly, the touches become more urgent. Suddenly, the speed of the thrusts increases, growing almost frantic in their intensity. As they do, she feels her hands digging into the soft flesh of the woman beneath her.

She whispers her lover's name.

Again and again and again until she loses the ability to speak behind a wall of bright light and explosive nerves. With an indelicate sigh, she finally collapses forward, her head resting against Regina's warm chest, the sound of a heartbeat echoing through her ears. It's the most beautiful sound that she's ever heard.

"Watching you like this, it's like a drug to me," she hears Regina whisper into her hair. "And I'm not good with addictions." It's a confession, an urgent plea for help.

"Not all addictions are bad," Emma manages, eyes still closed. She's not entirely sure she has the strength to even sit up right now.

"They've always been bad for me."

Emma finally looks up, locks eyes with the brunette. She's startled to see the worry there, pain lurking beneath chocolate depths. Fear, even.

"I won't hurt you," she promises.

"But I can't promise I won't hurt you. It's what I've always done."

"I trust you," Emma says simply, finger dipping to outline a cheekbone.

"You're a fool." There's no malice in the words, just sadness.

"Probably, but I'm here anyway. And unless you make me, I'm not going anywhere. It's your choice if we see where this goes beyond today."

"My choice," the brunette repeats, reflecting for a moment on the many times in her life when it wasn't her choice. The many terrible times when her life was decided for her. Almost always to her detriment.

"So, what's it going to be, Madame Mayor? Will you let me stay in bed with you or do we walk away from this?"

"Well, I would never kick you out of my bed," Regina teases, a hand reaching up to lightly trace over warm pale flesh. She trails a fingernail across a breast, smiling when she sees the way the blonde woman atop her shudders.

"Not really an answer," Emma notes once she's regained control.

"I know. I just…"

"I'll make it simple, Regina. Whatever you choose is okay. No bad feelings between us. We parent Henry together and we work together."

"So then the choice is just about us."

"Right. Do you want me to stay or do you want me to leave?"

There's a moment of pause, a moment of thought as all of her ugly history washes over her. And then she hears Daniel once more.

Then love again.

"Stay. I want you to stay."

Emma exhales a cool breath of air. A smile spreading across her tired features, she leans down and presses a kiss to Regina's lips. "Good," she answers. "Because I'm pretty warm right here and would have hated to have to get up."

"I see how it is."

"Mm hmm. I need sleep."

"There will be time for sleep later."

"There will be time for this later, too," Emma assures her, reaching out her hand to take Regina's and squeeze it. It's a bit weird to realize that she's the more romantic of the pair, the more grounded one.

Regina slowly nods her head. "Fine. I'll let you regain your energy." Emma just smiles in response. She knows that this is Regina's way of saving face, of not letting the moment get too gentle and soft.

Some things take time, some walls take patience to bring down.

For once, though, Emma doesn't pull back from the responsibility.

For once, she doesn't run from the challenge.

"Why, thank you," Emma husks before spinning around to pull Regina into her arms. After a brief moment of hesitation, she feels the brunette relax against her.

It's a few minutes later, right as she's just about to drop back off into the world of sleep that she hears Regina's voice again, the soft rumble of it echoing through her body deliciously. "I do have one question," the woman asks.

"Mm."

"Why the blindfold?"

"Huh?"

"In the first dream that you came to me in. You blindfolded me before you molested me. Why?"

Emma opens her mouth and then snaps it shuts.

"I see," Regina nods. "I expect that there will be time for that later as well, yes?"

"Whatever you'd like, Your Majesty."

The former queen smiles at this, then shifts her body and slides herself even further against the warmth – and yes, love - that Emma is offering her.

It isn't until she glances over into the mirror – the one that had started all of this - that she realizes that what she's seeing now, what's occurring at this very moment, is exactly what she'd seen foretold in her dreams.

She's lying in Emma's arms.

Happy. Secure. Peaceful.

Loved.

She closes her eyes and allows the feelings to wash over her.

It feels like victory.

And for once, victory feels good.

-Fin