Note: This has been rewritten and done over so many times, and I can only thank Sophie (aka the best beta ever) for the way this has turned out. I tried as best as I could to keep Emma and Regina in character during a conversation like this, and hell, I hope it worked. Your thoughts on this would be more than appreciated. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy!

II

The moment Regina walks through her apartment door, Emma can almost feel the threat Sno— her mother's eyes bore into the back of her head. "Hey," Emma breathes out the greeting. She ignores the two gasps behind her, the small shuffle of steps that coincide with it as her mother, without a doubt, moves to cling to her one true love. Emma tries not to roll her eyes.

"Emma?" she can hear the warning in her father's (nope, still not used to it) question, the fear it's laced with not lost on her. She imagines that he's reached at his hip now, grasping for a sword that isn't there; old habits, Emma thinks.

Regina ignores them, too. She closes the door behind her in a meek manner but still with a confidence that never seems to falter. Then, when her father's voice comes to meet the air around them, this time spitting out Regina's name, her bowed head fixes a dark glare over Emma's shoulder. That faint nod says it all.

Snow. James.

She can almost hear Regina drawl out their names. Then that glare pulls back over her shoulder and when it fixes on Emma, it softens. Regina blinks and whatever hostility her eyes held is no longer there. What resides in them, Emma concludes, is timidness. "Miss—"

She narrows her gaze as Regina steps closer.

"Emma." Regina corrects herself. The loss of formality earns her a small smile.

Emma's perched over the kitchen island as her parents lean against the counter behind her. The closer Regina moves, she notices, the farther they shuffle away. Regina rounds the island and stands next to Emma — not too close and not too far, but just enough that the ends of their spaces overlap.

"I must say, Snow, you've done an adequate job at making this place your own."

"Cut it, Regina," her father says a little too loudly, "Why are you here?" He leans over the side opposite to them and it's then that Emma sighs; she knows when people feign confidence — when the authority they exert is just a wall they hide behind in fear, when the fists they clench are to hide their tremble rather than their anger. It's what her father's doing this very moment and it's pathetic, really. For a man with the potential to hold so much power, he has none — not even over his own body.

She's pulled out of her thoughts at the clearing of a throat. She looks to Regina, then to her parents and that's when Emma realizes it's not Reginathey're afraid of. It's her — their daughter, the product of true love, who's asked their adversary to come into their home unannounced.

"I asked her to come," she finally says. It causes a flash of hurt to pass through her mother's eyes, and for that Emma winces. Her mother, despite being Snow White, is still her mother and any pain she displays reaches Emma too. "She didn't do it."

"How could you possibly know that?" Snow asks. Her head is tilted in question while her lips frown with grief at her loss; the loss of Archie or the loss of her daughter by their side, Emma isn't sure.

"You didn't tell them." Regina states it more than asks, the amusement in her tone evident.

Emma runs a hand through her hair. She's beginning to feel it again; the determination in her stance sinks deep into her bones, and she finally begins to feel the tingle and itch in her fingers once more. Her tenacity in proving Regina's innocence melts the trepidation in her voice. "That's why I brought you all together, isn't it?"

They haven't talked about that day. She doesn't think they ever will. But to have had the chance to hold Regina — to feel every muscle in her body contract with each sob, to feel the tears drip down her chest and to feel the defeat that sagged against her — is a chance Emma oddly wishes to have again.

It ended too soon the first time.

Her fingers get caught in a tangle near the end of their run and Emma pulls away from her hair roughly, like Regina did that day when the realization dawned. Minutes had passed between them. Minutes of shaking sobs and hushed assurances, and it was only when the wind blew a heavy breeze that she felt Regina stiffen against her. Emma was pushed— wrenched away from the body that clung to her. The limbs that wrapped languidly around her were suddenly at her shoulders, hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric as Regina pushed her away. She stumbled in her heels and her back was still hunched with defeat, but Emma knew; Regina was rebuilding her walls. The grass that tainted her jeans and hands weren't as much a surprise as Regina's retreating form. Nothing, though, tainted her as much as the words that were left in her wake.

You got what you came here for, now run along.

"She used her magic." Regina says, filling the air of Emma's absence. It's what pulls her from her thoughts once more — that voice, that very tone Emma recognizes. Desolation. She finds it strange for such a tone to leave pursed lips; Regina Mills isn't one to let that sort of thing slip, but it's happened twice already and Emma can't ignore the way it worries her.

"I went back and used the dreamcatcher on Regina." Emma finally explains.

"What did you see?" Her mother's hands are clasped over her father's shoulder, chin resting on them with a genuine curiosity.

Emma sees the way Regina tenses next to her. Feels it, really. "She didn't do it. I saw what she did that night and she didn't do it."

"What did you see?" Her father asks it this time.

"Do you trust me or not?"

"We trust you, Emma. We just don't—"

"Stop." She crumples and throws out that excuse before it's even written. "She didn't manipulate me. I know what I saw, and whoever Ruby— whoever Red saw, it wasn't Regina."

"Her magic is pure," Regina adds. "You two, out of all people, should know that nothing can taint its purity. Not even little old me."

Her parents shift their gaze away from Emma. "Why should we trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But your daughter does, and I wouldn't do anything to the only other person in this town who truly cares for Henry."

"We care for him." Her father hisses matter-of-factly, his posture suddenly as regal as his past title.

"Not like she does, and not like I do."

"You tried to kill her." Her mother reminds. It's directed more to her than it is to Regina, but Emma doesn't dare falter at that.

"There's a difference between death and eternal slumber, Snow White."

There's something in there. An apology, perhaps— an admittance that Emma doesn't know how to read, but it's there and however deep it's hidden Emma reaches out and takes it.

Her magic is a funny thing. It runs through her like blood and flows out like the air that she breathes. It's part of her as much as it isn't and for the short time she's had it, Emma's used to it. But what it does now — the way it seeps out her pores and wraps her hand in its current, coating her skin with an itch for Regina — isn't something she's used to. This need isn't something she's familiar with. She tries to ignore it, tries to ball her hand into a fist but instead the back of her fingers brush against Regina's. The skin against hers feels cool, and Regina's fingers twitch away just as if they'd been burned. It surprises Emma when they swing back and graze against her knuckles.

"Look, we can't change what happened. It's messed up but we can't change it. But we can change this. Now." Emma's hand then finds a way around Regina's wrist. She holds it like hers was held that day, neither too tight nor too loose. The faintest hint of a pulse throbs under her touch. "Regina is innocent, and she's been trying to change." It hurries at her next words: "I see it. Why can't you?"

Her parents are left without words — just furrowed brows and parted lips with tongues that are bitten to keep from asking anymore questions. "We'll, uh," her father starts, but doesn't really know how to continue.

"We'll tell the townspeople." The voice next to him is firm, yet an apology of some sorts lies beneath it.

What surprises Emma isn't the way her parents relent, but rather the way the wrist in her grip frees itself, her fingers startled to meet cool ones twining into a clasp. And though she's able to keep her stern expression from faltering, Emma has no control over the way every muscle in her body burns at the contact. She squeezes at the bridge of their connection, securing Regina's hand in hers. It's then that Emma smiles. The way her parents look at her with growing pride isn't what causes it, rather the reciprocation of her touch.

"We'll see you later, Emma. Regina," her mother says over her shoulder, glancing at the two women. Her parents both nod their goodbyes, closing the door behind them quietly.

"Thank you." Regina mumbles, squeezing her hand once more before letting go. "For not telling them."

Emma just shrugs, flashing a small smile before she lets her lips curve down in thought. "Did you mean what you said? About Henry?"

"Yes."

"I really love him, you know."

"I know you do." Regina nods, her eyes fluttering at the admission. They stay cast down at the little space between them. Emma's turned, resting her elbow on the kitchen island when Regina's hands come together to rest on the surface. Her lips part and for a moment they stay that way, open, waiting for something to leave them but nothing ever does. Regina takes a breath then, closing her eyes as she swallows the words lodged in her throat, her fingers clasping tightly around one another as her jaw locks.

Then it happens. That's when Emma sees it, the apprehension. Regina is bracing herself for something that will never come. A catch.

"You're innocent," Emma says, her gaze unwavered to the sting of air, hoping to see some sort of assurance, any reaction in Regina's eyes that she believes it too.

"Of this."

"You're free to go."

Regina laughs at that, again in that way that makes something inside Emma hurt. "That is something I'll never be. What do I owe you?" She finally turns to face Emma.

"Nothing."

"Don't do that." Regina's fingers twitch on the island counter, her nails scraping against it. "Don't you dare say I owe you nothing when we both know that I do."

"What makes you think—"

"It always comes with a price!"

Emma blinks once, twice, letting the rhythm of Regina's chest slow before she asks it. "What does?"

"Magic." Regina grits the word between her teeth. "Kindness."

"Believe it or not, Regina, I did this because I believed you were innocent."

"And why would you?" Her nails rake against the counter as she tucks them into a fist. "After all these years— after three decades of separating you from your family do you think I'd be innocent of anything?"

"Because you love the only thing I did right. That kid..." Emma's eyes burn and her chest trembles at the truth. "Henry is the only thing I've ever done right and you did good by him."

He's their neutral ground. He is what calms them and what unites them. He's what makes them understand. Yet even without him, Emma gets it. An act of kindness has always been that; an act— a performance that seeks an audience and a profit in their name. She gets it completely, understanding the hesitance in Regina's actions and the way her words counter that with hostility. It's a defence Emma knows too well.

"I know there's always somehow a catch to these things, but this time there isn't."

"Funny how you've been so intent on proving my innocence, when the last time we were under these circumstances your intent was to prove me guilty."

Which Regina was.

"I was right then," Emma shrugs, trying not to dwell on that encounter for too long, "and I'm right now."

Regina shrugs too, then looking down at the space between them. Silence falls upon their lips once more, only this time longer. Emma watches Regina carefully, the small twitch between her brows furrowing before they rise with frustration. Her lips close, then part as she inhales a breath before speaking. "Don't do that. I can feel your pity."

"You know, after all you've done to me, I should hate you more than anything. But I don't."

Regina's head lifts up, disbelief etched onto her face as confusion leaves her lips. "I tried to poison you."

"I remember," Emma says. "And I kinda get why you tried to do that, but I was still mad at you."

"As was I with myself."

"That was... that was fucked up, Regina. Henry—"

"You don't need to remind me." It's gritted between her teeth. The darkness in her eyes holds to the brightness in Emma's. "I have enough trouble forgetting."

"I'm sorry." Emma sighs, though her gaze is unfaltering at her apology. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

Regina sighs in turn, blinking back her hostility. "You don't do a very good job at comforting, Emma, but you certainly try." Then she smiles, actually smiles, but in a way that it never reaches her eyes. Yet it's genuine and Emma wonders, after all that's happened, how Regina's still able to do that.

Emma smiles in return. It's small and it's shaky and it's nothing compared to the one she was given. "You gave this whole act up for Henry, to try to save him and in the end we did."

"You," Regina corrects, stepping back as she rounds the kitchen island. "You did."

Emma reaches out to grab the other woman's hand. "No. We did." Regina's hand feels like ice, but it thaws quickly under her touch. She looks at the bridge of their connection before looking up at Emma. "And we are going to be the ones to tell him you're innocent."

"What makes you believe he thinks otherwise?"

"It's a small town. Word travels fast."

Regina nods. She too understands that days have passed, that people will have noticed Archie's absence and that whispers will have soon turned into cries. Emma leads them out the door without another word. As they stalk down the hallway and descend the stairs, it doesn't occur to either of them that their fingers are still entwined. It only registers when Emma's on the road, with both hands on the wheel, that the thought occurs to her.

She misses Regina's touch.