A/N: Thanks so much for sticking with me throughout this brief journey. I truly hope this conclusion satisfies. I have one more quick project I want to wrap up and then I will be returning to Concordance in full force. I appreciate your patience in that regard. Again, thanks for the kind words. They have been appreciated.

Timeline: Right after chapter 4 so post season 2ish.

Warnings: Some language and some semi-graphic f/f sexual activity. Oh and random bitchiness.

"You take me in, no questions asked

You strip away the ugliness that surrounds me

Are you an angel?

Am I already that gone?

I only hope that I won't disappoint you when I'm down here on my knees"

-Sweet Surrender, Sarah McLachlan

She panics.

It's not surprising, really; much of her life has been about reacting – usually badly – to this or that, and now is certainly no different. Especially since right at this moment in time, she's coming to her waking senses wrapped up tight in the toned and muscular arms of the woman who had brought about her downfall. That Emma's hold is warm and strong and even comforting is something that only serves to increase the fear that is streaking through her.

She knows that she should be dignified – even thirty years removed from her crown, she is still a queen. She should move slowly and quietly so as not to wake up the slumbering sheriff but her heart is suddenly hammering away in her chest, and yeah, panic is absolutely the right word for what happening here.

Her breaths coming out in short hard gasps, Regina tears forward in the bed, practically leaping from the cool sheets. Her eyes are wide and her hair is wild, and somewhere in the back of her half-crazed mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like her deceased (murdered, that same voice amends) mother is telling her just how undignified this overemotional reaction truly is. She doesn't care, though. All she cares about right now is getting the hell out of this bed.

Out of this bed, out of this room, out of this house…

If she can do that, she thinks with a hint of desperation, maybe she can get somewhere safe and quiet and then she can clear her head and think and…

"Come back to bed," she hears a mumbled voice say suddenly. It comes to her – muffled, groggy and half-formed - from deep within the warm heavy blankets of the bed. The blonde woman is still tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, her face pressed into the thick pillow, her pale hair splayed out in every direction.

"No," Regina answers quickly, shaking her head. She takes a step away from the bed, almost tripping over her own feet in her frantic haste. "No. I need to…"

Maybe it's the raw emotion that she hears in Regina's voice or perhaps it's the less than confident tone, but whatever it is, it's enough to make Emma finally lift up her head from the pillow. "Regina?"

Were Regina in her right mind, the brunette would surely chuckle at the visual that greets her: that of the sheriff looking disheveled, and almost adorably sleepy, squinting as she tries to figure out just what the hell is happening. Instead, the dark haired woman just stares at her now-lover, eyes comically wide.

"What's wrong?" the blonde queries, shifting so that's leaning up on her elbow, her open palm creating a not quite comfortable pillow for her head.

"Nothing…nothing…I just…I need to go…" she trails off, stepping away from the bed, and taking a couple of steps towards the door of the bedroom.

"Regina, are you…are you actually having a panic attack right now?" Emma asks, and without her permission, a slight smile quirks its way across her pink lips. She knows that it's entirely the wrong expression to be displaying right now, and yet she can't help but find herself oddly amused to see this strong woman freaking out like this.

"No! Yes! Why the hell aren't you?" Regina demands, snapping back around to face Emma, her dark eyes flaring with frantic emotion as she steps back towards the bed. "You do realize that you just had sex with your mortal enemy, don't you?"

Emma's eyebrow lifts at this, and the smile grows. "I do realize that, yes, but for what it's worth, we haven't really been mortal enemies for awhile now."

"Fine. By all means, Miss Swan, let's argue semantics, shall we? You just fucked your former mortal enemy," Regina growls out, taking another step towards the bed. It seems that her anger – or fear – is empowering her once again. Making her bold. "Better?"

"Yeah, that's better, but you know, I wouldn't exactly call what we did last night fucking," Emma answers lazily, and now she's just playing around with her volatile lover. It's a decidedly suicidal tactic to take with the brunette right at the moment, but she's having a hell of time understanding exactly why Regina's panicking.

Usually, this is her trick. Usually, she's the one looking for a window to crawl out of, her shirt half unbuttoned and her hair looking like it'd been styled by blender.

"Oh and what would you call it, dear? Making love?" Regina spits out, derision dripping over her words. "You're not nearly that naïve or idealistic. And I'm pretty sure the scratch marks on your mark would support my version of the events as opposed to your...whatever it is."

"No," Emma admits all the while ignoring the comment about the scratch marks (that they exist doesn't in her mind alter what had occurred into something empty and emotionless). "I'm not. And normally, right now I'm right where you are. Normally, I'm the one freaking out like there's no tomorrow, but you know what, Regina? I'm not, and I don't regret what happened last night."

These words, said with warm unwavering certainty, stop Regina cold in her tracks, any other cold angry follow-up swallowed back down deep. Her expression changes to one of confusion mingled with a bit of doubt and distrust.

"You…don't?"

"I don't. And I think the reason you're going all Evil Queen on me right now is because you don't actually regret it, either." Emma reaches up, then, grabs the brunette's hand, and yanks her back down on the bed. "Do you?"

"Emma…"

"My name's a good start," Emma grins before rolling Regina onto her back, and then dipping her head down to pepper kisses along exposed skin. The soft moan that slips from the older woman's slightly parted lips is enough to push her on.

"This is a mistake," Regina breathes just before Emma captures her lips in a kiss that just about makes her brain short out. As she had very well discovered during the rather explosive events of the previous evening, Emma is neither a delicate nor a gentle lover. Everything about her intense and in the moment, and when she kisses, she puts every bit of emotion she has within herself into the kiss.

It's all she knows how to do even if it exposes her completely.

"Maybe but it's a mistake we made twice last night. I see no reason why we shouldn't make it a few more times," Emma chuckles as her hand slides down to dance against the warm tight skin of Regina's toned abdomen. "And if I recall, you promised me that I'd get to test out your lavender soap."

"It's body wash," Regina moans, her hand reaching out to grab at the sheets with one hand, her knuckles whitening as she grips them tightly within her fingers.

"Whatever."

"Emma, wait…no…wait," Regina gasps out, turning her head slightly to the side. She reaches a hand up and lays it flat against Emma's bare chest, her fingers curling in slightly to scrape against the swell of a breast. "Why aren't you?"

"Why aren't I what?" Emma asks as she buries her face into Regina's neck. She swirls her tongue around the hollow there, enjoying the rumble of the older woman swallowing at the contact. She feels more than hears the soft groan that bubbles its way up and out of Regina's mouth. Quite involuntarily, Emma thinks.

"Freaking out," Regina says, finally managing to push Emma upwards and slightly away from her. "Your reputation with relationships is worse than mine."

"Pretty sure that's not true," Emma answers, and it's an echo of a previous conversation between them, but if Regina recognizes it as such, she doesn't show it. Instead, she looks even more frustrated as she rolls away.

"Emma, I'm serious. You've spent most of your life running away everyone and everything. Why aren't you doing that right now? Running away from me – from who I am and what we've done – it would actually make sense for once."

"You're right," Emma nods. "For pretty much the first time in my life, running away would be completely warranted because I mean, you are the Evil Queen."

"Indeed," Regina answers stiffly, sitting up in the bed. Her eyes have darkened, and grown hard and cold. It's almost like she can feel the cold brush of rejection.

"Hey, are you going to let me finish?" Emma prompts, her voice almost soft. She reaches out and catches Regina's hand, this time simply squeezing it.

"Fine," the brunette sighs. "Go ahead."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"I was never especially graceful," Regina counters with the smallest hint of a smile. "And that sounds like something you read in a fantasy book."

"Eh, saw it on TV," Emma confesses, offering up her own smile.

"Of course. Anyway, go on."

Emma dips her head in a show of gratitude, but being who she is, the sincerity of the slightly overdone gesture is somewhat clouded by the mirth dancing through her blue-green eyes. "You're the Evil Queen, Regina, and I'm the long-lost kid of Snow White and Prince Charming. I got impregnated by the world-hopping kleptomaniac son of Rumplestiltskin, and then ended up spending ten months in prison because Pinocchio betrayed me so that I would free a town that you created from scratch from a curse that you enacted because you were pissed."

"That's a rather droll and underwhelming summary of everything that's happened thus far," Regina drawls. "But all right. What's your point?"

"My point is, yes, running away from all of this, but this specifically would make sense for about a hundred different reasons, but it's not what I want."

Regina blinks. "What are you saying?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I just know that right now, I'm okay with this."

"And later today? When you're at dinner with your parents and they're telling you that spending so much time with me is a bad idea?"

"They've been telling me that for weeks," Emma shrugs. "And I'm still an adult fully capable of making my own decisions." She pulls Regina back over to her again. "And right now, I choose to be right here. With you. Doing this."

"You're sure?"

"You asked me that last night, too."

"When people find out –"

"We'll figure all of that out then," Emma assures her. "Look, Regina, I'm having one of my rare emotionally healthy moments. I'm choosing to take a chance on whatever it is that this is. Please shut up and let me enjoy it, okay? Please?"

It takes the former queen a long moment to allow theses almost inconceivable and unbelievable words to rumble through her mind. They don't make sense to her; none of this does. This is as much madness as anything else in her life has ever been, and yet for once, this insanity feels a bit like being grounded.

She inhales, exhales, closes her eyes and then leans in. She settles a hand lightly on each cheek, presses her lips to Emma's and kisses her.

It's three long later when Henry finally asks them – during an unscheduled but certainly exuberantly welcomed breakfast of Belgian waffles with whipped cream and fresh cut strawberries – what's going on with the two of them.

His eyes are wary, but his tone is more curious than judgmental. "Why are you here again?" he asks Emma, his head slightly cocked to the side.

"Sick of seeing me, kid?" she punts between massive bites.

"Never, but…did you spend the night? Again?" You've been doing that a lot."

The two women exchange a look. "Yes," Regina says softly. "She was helping me deal with some issues." There's a slight blush across her skin, but thankfully Henry's neither old enough nor experienced enough to recognize it for what it is: evidence of the erotic memory that is currently flashing through her mind.

"Like what?"

"Henry," Emma says suddenly, leaning in towards him. "Your mom and I, you know that we've become friends, right?"

He looks between them, and there's an unsettling kind of awareness burning in his eyes. "What kind of friends?" he asks, his voice slightly high and excited sounding. "Like Grandma and Ruby friends or Grandma and Grandpa friends?"

"Eww," Emma says instinctively, earning her a snort and then a scolding look from Regina. "Sorry," she follows up with. "Just…they're still my mom and dad."

"And you're my moms," Henry states, drawing their attention back to him and his questions. Quieter then, he adds, "And I'm not blind. Or five."

"What's that mean?" Regina asks softly. Her tone is even and tightly controlled, but Emma can still hear the slight tremor there; the former queen is terrified how Henry will react to finding out about them. They've talked about discussing their situation with him twenty times over, and each time Regina has rejected the idea, scared that Henry will condemn her and insist that they separate because he can't bear the idea of the Savior bedding down with the Evil Queen.

And the truth is that if he does – if he demands that they end this thing between them – Emma knows for damn certain that even though it will break the former queen's heart to do so, she will give into their son's wishes without hesitation. That she means something to the older woman is something that Emma doesn't doubt even a little bit, but even so, Henry and his desires will always come first.

"You care about each other," Henry says after a long moment that seems to stretch out for hours. Then he nods his head as if confirming a thought within his own head. "You care about each other a lot."

"We do," Emma hedges, still not willing to say too much just yet.

He looks up at them, his chin lifted. "Do you love each other?"

Emma doesn't miss the way Regina flinches at this. In all of their discussions – and though neither of them is especially talented with talking, they've had quite a few roundabout conversations about their situation – the word "love" has been carefully avoided. Neither is comfortable with it or nor the implications of it.

"We…care about each other," Emma echoes.

He stares at the both of them for another long moment, this one long enough that Emma has time to shift anxiously from foot to foot (it's not lost on her how still Regina is, her unshakable poise courtesy of her upbringing and her years as a queen). Finally, he says, "Okay." And then just like that, he returns to his waffles.

The women exchange another look, the kind that seems to say that more serious conversations are probably coming their way because if eleven-year-old Henry has noticed the shift in their relationship, then certainly others have as well.

"Can I have more syrup?" Henry asks suddenly.

One more exchanged look – this one involving a raised eyebrow from Regina and a smirk from Emma - and then they're both laughing.

Henry, for his part, just shakes his head and reaches over to grab the syrup.

Fall in a fishing town is a beautiful mixture of fog and crisp cool ocean air that smells like falling leaves and the world turning as the seasons change.

It's been almost six months since Cora's death and generally speaking, aside from a few close calls, the two women have done a damned good job of keeping their relationship to themselves. It's been far from easy, and they're fairly certain that Henry has figured out exactly what it is that they're doing during Emma's frequent stay-overs – as much as an eleven year old can – but so far, there's been little outside interference into their well…whatever the hell it is.

That is until Emma turns thirty years old.

Her parents throw her a birthday party at Granny's (Regina opts not to come because truthfully, she really still can't stand most of the people in this town and they're not too fond of her, either) and though Emma is typically awkward about the attention being uniquely focused on her, she enjoys the outpouring of affection, and even allows for the normality of it all to sweep through her.

And then she notices that Snow is drinking water and avoiding fish. Later in the evening, she's pretty sure she sees her mother settle a hand on her stomach.

She waits until the party is over and they're walking away from Granny's, all of them headed down the same street (she plans to head over to Regina's for a secondary party once they've parted ways, but that's for later – once Henry's asleep in the spare bedroom at David and Snow's).

She watches as Henry and David chatter with each other, babbling about knights and grand adventures that neither Emma nor Regina have any intention of allowing their excitable and eager son to experience for himself anytime soon (not until he's at least thirty, Regina has declared more than a time or two).

"Did you enjoy the party?" Snow asks.

"I did," Emma says, somewhat surprised that she actually means it. "Thank you."

"Not every day my little girl turns thirty."

"No, I guess not," comes the soft reply.

A moment passes, Snow frowns a bit, and then reaching out and clasping Emma's wrist lightly within her hand, she asks, "Emma? Honey? What's wrong?"

They've come to a full stop now, and thanks to David and Henry continuing to walk up ahead, they're pretty much alone. Emma swallows, then forces out in a voice that's humiliatingly raspy and emotional, "Are you pregnant?"

Snow makes a face. "Emma…"

"Right. I guess…uh…congratulations are in order, huh?"

"No, not today. Today is your day."

"My birthday," the blonde nods.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

Emma shakes her head, then, because this is absurd, and she's acting like a jealous silly small child. "No, no…don't be. I'm…happy for you guys. I am."

"But?"

"There's no but. I'm happy for you and David. You deserve this."

"Emma…"

"Really, I'm okay with this. I'm better than okay. I'm going to be a big sister."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Emma answers, and it's a lie that they both recognize, but for the moment, it feels good enough to allow it to drift through the evening air.

"Good," Snow says, slipping her hand into Emma's. "I was going to tell you tomorrow. We really wanted today to be special for you."

"And it is," Emma assures her. "It is. Special. Very."

Snow squeezes her hand and smiles.

Some lies are nice to hear.

She doesn't wait for Regina to speak before she's rushing through the door and grabbing the older woman by the forearms and slamming her against the wall next to the staircase. The gasp that comes from Regina's mouth at the impact is lost on the blonde, so focused on her own fury and confusion is she.

"Emma?" Regina queries, looking at her lover with wide eyes. She's not afraid, exactly; she still has her magic, and could easily call upon it if needed. That said, the expression on Emma's face is frightening because it best resembles that of a terrified and cornered animal. Which considering where she'd come from makes no sense. What in the hell could Snow and David have done to freak her out?

"I can't do this," Emma says, her flat hands pressed up against each of Regina's shoulders. She's holding the brunette to the wall, a knee pressed between her legs. It's an intimate though not at all erotic posture. More frantic than sexual.

"Do what?"

"This. Us. This town. Any of this. I can't do this."

Fear streaks through the older woman. This is not what she'd had in mind when she'd invited the blonde over to celebrate her birthday (and the two year anniversary of them having met). "Emma, what are you talking about?"

"I need to get out of here…" She turns her head, looking around like she's trying to find some kind of escape hatch. The door to the house is still standing wide open, but she looks right past it, and continues moving around, almost in a circle.

This time, it's Regina who makes contact. She reaches up and grab's Emma's hands, squeezing both of them as tightly as she can. "Emma! Look at me!"

The blonde snaps her head around. "What?"

"Talk to me. Please. What's going on? What's wrong?" She slides a hand over Emma's cheek, fingers lightly tapping against smooth pale skin.

"She's pregnant," Emma answers after a beat, her voice dull.

"Who?"

"My mother."

Regina falls away from Emma, and sags back against the wall, her head settling against it. "Oh," she says quietly, almost inaudibly.

Something cold and dark and small and childlike inside of Emma explodes. She laughs, the sound nearly hysterical. "Oh. That's what you have to say? Oh? What? You figure maybe you'll enact another curse and destroy another kid's life? Mine wasn't enough for you? Is that it, Your Majesty?"

Dark eyes that are suddenly shimmering sweep up to meet Emma's now bright green with emotion ones. The blonde sheriff sees pain and hurt reflecting back at her, the vividness of each of these raw emotions sharp and stark. "Actually, no, my dear," Regina snaps out, "I was thinking of you and how you might be feeling right about now. I was under the impression that that was what people who cared about each other did when one is upset, but clearly, assuming that such feelings exist between the two of us was my foolish mistake." Her tone is cold and angry, and for the first time in months, the Evil Queen is in attendance.

It's a bit like getting punched in the gut, and just like that, Emma deflates and falls to her knees, her head dropping to settle into her wide-open hands.

"I'm sorry," Emma says softly, eyes closed against her fingers. "I'm so sorry."

She's crying into her hands, and maybe it's this sound that breaks through the dark cloud of anger that is settling over Regina like poisonous gas. She's seen Emma upset before, but she's never seen her broken down and in tears.

Certainly not like this.

"Emma..."

"I'm sorry," the blonde repeats.

Regina drops to her knees and pulls her close, arms wrapping around the younger woman's shaking body. "Shh. It's okay, it's okay. I've got you."

"I didn't mean it," Emma gasps, sounding so much like a small child.

"I know," Regina tells her, and she's surprised to realize that she actually believes her own words. Just a few minutes earlier, she'd felt all of the familiar hurt and anger surging through her at the perceived rejection. That's all gone now, though, and the feeling that had been there initially – the need to take care of and protect her blonde lover – is back in full force. "It's okay," she says again.

"It's not."

"It is. I…understand."

Emma looks up at her, tears staining her face.

For a moment, she looks so terribly young and innocent and Regina feels aged enough that this whole thing between them is just a little bit creepy, but then Emma frowns and deep ragged lines form around her eyes that speak to all of her life experience and the fact that she truly is an old and kindred soul.

"Why?" Emma queries.

"Because I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning," Regina tells her.

"I'm happy for them," Emma insists.

"No, you're not, and that's okay, too." She runs her fingers through Emma's absurdly tangled blonde locks – wondering absently, not for the first time, just how it is that this woman manages to do this to her hair – and then presses a light kiss against the top of her head. "It's all right," she assures her, "To feel hurt. Just don't do what I do and let the pain destroy you. You're better than that."

"I'm sorry," Emma says again.

Regina simply smiles in response. "Do you think you can stand up?" she asks, offering a hand to help the blonde as she moves back to her feet.

"Yeah," Emma replies, taking the hand. She stands up and chuckles a bit nervously. " Some birthday celebration this turned out to be, huh?" She gestures to herself, motioning towards her ruined mascara and her bright red eyes.

Regina chuckles. "Well, the night is still young, and I'm not going anywhere."

"No, you're not are you?" Emma says, and it's like she's confirming something for herself. She leans in then, and presses her lips to Regina's, the kiss hard and passionate. "I need you," she whispers once they break apart.

Their eyes lock, and there's something deeper being expressed here, but for the moment, neither makes a move to say the words. Not those ones, anyway.

Instead, her voice trembling slightly as she speaks the words that she knows could very well end up in her destruction, Regina whispers, "I'm right here."

"You're sure she's here?" David asks as they quickly stride up the walkway to the white mansion. Snow is leading the way, moving fast, like she's panicked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because this is where she comes when she's upset," Snow answers.

"Why?"

Snow turns to regard her husband for a moment, and then shakes her head. "I don't know, David, but I do know that she's freaked out about the baby. I saw it earlier, and I shouldn't have let her leave with talking it out but I did. I need to…we need to make sure she's okay. That's what we need to do."

He frowns a bit. Snow's been in a fit almost since she got home absent Emma who had expressed the need to get some air. Their daughter had requested that they keep Henry for the evening, and for some reason, that'd set off an alarm in Snow's head. Strange, he thinks, because Henry staying over is hardly a rarity.

He knows better, though, to doubt his wife's instincts or to try and stand in her way when she's like this. Which is why they're racing towards the front door to Regina's mansion. A door he notices which is oddly hanging wide open.

"Snow," he says softly because there's something telling him that walking through that door right now might change everything. He reaches for her arm.

"We need to see her," Snow insists again. "I need to. She needs to understand how much we love her and that she's not being replaced."

"Okay," he answers because he's not sure what else to say at this moment in time. He's a man of action and not emotions and right now, Snow is all emotion.

A moment later, though, his own instincts cut in when he hears a loud scream come from the upstairs window of the house. He exchanges a panicked look with Snow and then races into the house, past the open door and up the stairs.

Her teeth are grit about as hard as she can get them without breaking them, and her head is thrown back. Her fingers are wrapped around the headboard, but it's hardly helping her keep from twitching like she's having a seizure. Her throat is already raw from screaming, but Emma doesn't seem to notice. Or care.

No, that's not quite right; Emma clearly cares about what she's doing because every now and again, she lifts her head up from between the former mayor's legs and grins like a mischievous fool who's just lucked their way into the lottery.

"Emma," she gasps out. She hears a throaty chuckle in response, and then the blonde is rising up through the sheets to press her warm mouth against a breast. Deft fingers reach out to tweak and then palm the opposite one.

"Oh my God," she hears, and it takes her a long moment to realize that the voice belongs to a man and not Emma. She blinks and looks up.

"Dear," she says after a moment as recognition of just whom it is standing in the bedroom comes over her. She quirks an eyebrow at her guests, refusing to feel embarrassed within her own bedroom no matter the nature of the company.

"Tell me that's not who I think it is," Emma whispers in response, eyes wide. She's no longer moving, her body instead holding painfully still above Regina's.

"Emma," Snow whispers. "No." And then there's the sound of two sets of footsteps quickly fleeing the room, one clearly chasing after the other.

"Well," Regina comments after a moment. "At least they didn't see you going down on me." She punctuates the sentence with a lazy unapologetic smile.

"Not helpful," Emma growls in response.

"Probably not," Regina agrees with a slight shrug. "You should go check on them. I doubt they've left the house. That would be too easy for all of us."

"Yeah. Time to face the music," Emma sighs.

Regina reaches up and touches her face, cupping her cheek slightly. "Indeed."

Emma makes her way down to the kitchen first, having pulled on the clothes that she'd been wearing when she'd arrived at the house a few hours earlier. Her parents are standing by the long counter, neither saying a word, both just staring straight ahead like they're stuck in a state of shock.

"Hey," she says as she enters, her steps slow and tentative.

Snow snaps around, eyes blazing. She moves towards Emma, her right hand lifted, and her pointer finger extended upwards. "No," she says commandingly.

"I know this is difficult…"

"No," Snow says again. "This is not happening. You're not…you're not."

"I am."

"No!"

"You can keep saying that, but it doesn't change this," Emma tells her.

"She's evil."

"It's not that easy," Emma tells her. "And she's not who she was. Not anymore."

"I don't understand," Snow whispers. "How? Why? When?"

"That's a lot of questions, and it's a long story."

"We have time," David says quietly. He reaches for Snow's hand and squeezes it, trying to offer his wife some comfort and support.

"After Cora's death, we helped each other through it. One thing led to another."

"That's a pretty short story," Snow comments dryly.

"I guess it is."

"Is this about the new baby?"

"No. Look, I admit, that hit me like…well, it surprised the hell out of me, honestly, but this is about me. And her. And…I don't want to disappoint you. That's the very last thing I want to ever do, but I'm not a child and I…"

"Do you love her?" Snow interrupts, tears streaking down her cheek.

There's a long pause, and then quietly, "Yeah, I think I do."

"Think?" David presses. "Either you do or you don't."

Emma nods her head. "I do."

"Oh my God," Snow whispers before saying again, "This is not happening."

She spins, then, as if feeling another presence. Sure enough, Regina has joined the group and is now standing at the entrance to the room, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. "It wasn't enough that you stole her for twenty-eight years."

Emma starts to respond, starts to step in, but Regina holds up a hand. Instead, she turns her attention to Snow, and speaks directly to her. "I'm not stealing her away now. I have no desire to take her away from that which she loves."

"Well that's new," Snow snaps back.

"It is," Regina agrees with a slight sad smile. "Believe it or not, I am not trying to hurt you, Snow. Not anymore anyway."

"Because of Emma?" David prompts, eyebrow lifted.

"Because I am tired of fighting and I am tired of being alone and unhappy. Hurting the two of you never made any of that better. She makes it better."

"Do you love her?" Snow demands, echoing her previous question to Emma.

Regina doesn't hesitate, doesn't hedge her words. "Yes. And no matter what you think of me, Snow – most of it accurate – you know that I am capable of love."

Snow closes her eyes, not bothering to deny the truth of Regina's words. After a moment, she opens them and turns to David. "I can't…not right now."

"Okay," he says, sliding an arm around her waist. "We can deal with this later." He looks to Emma. "Are you coming home tonight?"

"Not tonight," she says softly. "I think we all need to take a deep breath, and then maybe we can deal with this in the morning with clear heads."

He nods his head in agreement. "Will you meet us for breakfast?"

"Yeah, of course I will."

"Just you," he presses, seeming almost apologetic. "I don't think…"

"It's going to take time," Emma acknowledges. "It's okay."

He smiles at her, and for a moment, she's glad for the strange separation that has always existed between them. He's her father, and he loves her, but he's always acknowledged her for the adult that she is as opposed to the child Snow has somewhat frozen her as. She knows he's no more comfortable with this situation than her mother is, but the distance allows him some perspective.

"Nine good?"

"Nine is perfect. I'll see you then."

He smiles once more, looks at Regina warily, and then starts to move Snow from the kitchen. He's two steps away when Snow snaps back around, escapes his arms and charges towards Regina, stopping just about a full inch from her face.

"If you hurt her –"

"She has more of a chance of hurting me than I do of her," Regina tells her.

The two women stare at each other for a long moment, their shared history jumping between them like a firecracker twisting its way along the ground.

"I won't forgive you," Snow finishes, her voice just barely audible.

"I won't forgive myself," comes the just as quiet response.

Snow turns away, then, casts one last look at Emma, and then leaves the kitchen with David. A few moments later, they hear the front door close behind them.

"Well that went better than I expected it to," Emma chuckles.

"Indeed. I haven't been beheaded," Regina drawls.

"Not funny."

Regina shrugs her shoulders. "Perhaps not. I could use a drink. You?"

"Make it double."

The brunette chuckles. She leads her way towards the study, followed closely by Emma and her shuffling nervous walk. She fills up two tumblers with scotch and offers one to the blonde. "Are you all right?" she asks after a moment.

"Did you mean it?" She doesn't have to clarify what she means by this; they both know which words are playing within both of their minds.

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Loving me isn't easy," Regina cautions, her fingers running against the light cloth of her pants and then curling into a ball against one of the legs.

"I know, but it is my choice. I haven't gotten to make a lot of those in my life."

"Nor I." She takes a sip. "It's going to be difficult for your mother."

"Do you care?" Emma asks, her head cocked to the side.

"I care because you do. I don't want you hurt."

"We'll figure it out. She wants me happy."

"And I make you happy?"

"When you're not making me crazy."

"Well, I can't promise I won't do that. I am still me and she is still me."

"I know, and for what it's worth, I can't promise I won't drive you just as crazy. I may not have the Evil Queen as my secret identity, but well, you know."

"I do." Regina laughs, then. "So there it is," she says. "This is…real."

"Yeah. You going to freak out and try to run again?"

The brunette chuckles at this. "I'm not the one who showed up this evening in mid panic attack. Or have you already forgotten that?"

"Must have forgotten that behind all the…you know." She puts down the glass and steps closer to Regina, moving into her space. "We were interrupted."

"Quite rudely if I recall," Regina replies, tilting her head back to give Emma access to her neck. Access which the blonde quickly takes full advantage of.

"I'd like to finish my birthday now," Emma whispers against the soft flesh of the former mayor's neck just before she lifts her head and claims Regina's lips

"Yes, I think you should," Regina manages in an expulsion of air and sound once Emma has returned to her neck. "Happy birthday, dear."

"Mm. Thank you."

And with that, she pushes Regina onto the floor of the study, sealing her mouth over Regina's and swallowing up the moan the bubbles up from her lips.

It's Sunday and Regina comes here – to a quiet little spot that overlooks the ocean - every week, and has for the last six months. She brings flowers – stunningly beautiful white ones – and lays them against the tightly packed dirt.

She kneels down next to the grave (it hadn't been right to bury her next to her father – the love there had never been mutual) and presses a hand against the tombstone. It simply says CORA MILLS. The stone is protected from vandalism by light magic, but it doesn't prevent Regina from tracing the letters. She closes her eyes and thinks of the strangeness of life and the way that things work out.

She thinks about holding Cora's heart in her hands, and remembers pressing it back into the empty cavity of her mother's chest. She recalls hearing the older woman gasp and then say her name as she'd fallen forward. She remembers seeing Emma's stricken eyes, the horror of realizing she'd just killed someone.

She thinks about a tentative first kiss in a study and then all that had come after that. She places her forehead against the tombstone and whispers a quiet thank you for a gift that Cora had never realized that she'd been providing.

After a moment, she stands up and steps backwards, into Emma's arms.

"You okay?" the sheriff asks, pulling the former mayor against her chest and resting her chin atop her shoulder. Her hands circle around the front of Regina, fingers lightly interlacing across the older woman's toned abdomen.

"I am." She reaches down and slides her hand into Emma's. And if she happens to squeeze a little bit hard and perhaps hold on little bit tighter than is probably completely necessary, it's something that Emma notices but doesn't mention.

They hold like this for a few moments longer, both of their eyes resting on the almost glowing letters carved into the tombstone, and then Regina turns in Emma's arms, kisses her lightly on the lips and says, "We can go now."

Emma leans forward, rests her forehead against Regina's for the briefest of moments, smiles and nods her head. "I'm hungry," she says, then.

The older woman laughs and breaks away from the embrace. "When aren't you, dear? Between you and Henry, it's amazing that you haven't bankrupted me."

Emma shrugs her shoulders. "You could always magic up some food."

"Yes, if you'd like it to taste like sawdust, certainly I could," Regina retorts as they make their way to the car.

"Fine. I'll settle for Granny's."

"So sawdust anyway."

"You're pretentious, you know that, right?"

"Says the woman who has Snickers bars hidden in every drawer of her desk at work as well as the glove box in her car."

"That's a granola bar in there," Emma shoots back.

"Only because a Snickers bar would melt," comes the quick reply.

"Uh huh. For the record, Snickers bars don't make me pretentious. They make me easy…going." She frowns at her choice of words.

"Exactly," Regina nods as they reach the car. She smiles wickedly, as if she knows she's won, and is enjoying the feeling of victory once again.

"Whatever," Emma mutters, moving towards the passenger side. She's just about a half a foot away when Regina catches her hand and draws her back. "What?" the blonde asks, her brow furrowing in worry and confusion.

Her only reply is Regina smiling – a full and for just a moment unencumbered one – and then lifting one of Emma's hands to her lips and kissing it.

Emma exhales and returns the smile because some things need not be said.

This is one of those things.

-Fin