A/N: Alright, here it is, my Swan Queen on the ship story. Might not be exactly what people had in mind, it took kind of a strange turn (not in plot, just style-wise).

I think I put even more work into this one than Bye Bye, Baby — don't go running at the mention of that, I swear this one is not a tragedy! — so if you have the time to leave a little note in the reviews section telling me what you thought, I'll love you forever ;) Guest reviews are enabled.

This is part 1 of 3. I'm gonna be drunk all day tomorrow, so you might have to wait until Monday for part 2... We shall see.

Even before she came in, I knew it was her, just by the sound of her footsteps. Not for the absence of a tapping cane that would rule out Gold; not because the heavy clomping of boots was far too masculine to be Snow White; nor on account of the fact that, despite being distinctly unladylike, the footfalls were much too light to be that of David or Hook.

It was the graceless determination with which she approached the cabin, and the way she hesitated once she'd entered. Light flooded the cramped quarters, making me flinch, even as I lay facing the wall. Then, it was gone again as she shut the door, this time from within, leaving only the cracks around the edges to illuminate shadowy shapes in the dark.

I tried to dab away the tears on my cheeks, but I knew she'd already heard me crying by the cautious way she approached, her worried frown just about audible in each uncertain step. She stopped behind me, and I suppose the polite thing would have been to turn towards her, but I didn't have it in me to mind my manners just then. I stayed facing the wall, hoping that maybe she just wouldn't say anything, maybe she would just leave.

I could feel her thinking, though. I could feel that frown, feel her fighting herself over what to say, feel her change her mind more than once before she settled.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, like it wasn't a question at all but a secret, and I wondered if that was her way of saying she wasn't.

"No," I replied shortly, not intending to sound cold, but not really minding if I did either, because it was an honest answer.

She hesitated again, the floorboards creaking when she shifted her weight.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked, so meekly, with a hint of longing that told me she very much hoped I did.

"No." I felt almost guilty this time, though unsure my voice would allow me to say more even if I wanted to.

"Okay," she took one step towards the door, "I'll just leave you alone." Another step.

"No," I said, alarmingly desperate for her not to leave, now that it seemed she truly would. "Stay."

Footsteps came closer again, prefaced by a relieved sigh that I felt certain wasn't meant for my ears, and which I therefore did not acknowledge. She stood there, debating again; I closed my eyes and prayed that she might just understand without me having to say it.

The bed dipped, then slowly evened out as she lay down, spreading her weight across it. She stilled, and I held my breath, feeling her eyes as they bore into the back of my head. It was so new, this wanting of her affection, that I dared not allow myself to desire, only to let things happen as they may.

Her arm wrapped around my chest, body shifting until it was fitted snugly against my own, and the breath I'd trapped came out in one sharp, shuddering burst. I cursed it for doing so, but then she just held on tighter, and I didn't mind my lungs' betrayal quite so much.

We lay quietly in the darkness, embracing in a way that had been previously unimaginable, yet in this moment felt strangely natural. Perhaps it was just because we were two mothers, sharing and grieving in the loss of our son.

Thinking of Henry, I turned in her arms until we were face to face. I still could barely make out her features, but I didn't need to see her to know she had been crying tears of her own.

"We're going to find him, aren't we?" I knew she didn't know the answer, not really, but we both needed to hear it. We needed to believe it.

"We are," she murmured back. "We are going to find him."

I didn't see it coming until her lips had already landed softly on my forehead. It was such an innocent gesture, yet at the same time incredibly jarring. No one had shown me such genuine and simple affection since Daniel.

One moment I was frozen, and in the next her lips were on mine. Or mine were on hers. I wasn't really sure who started it, only that this was one more thing I could not want, and, at the same time, would not stop.

Her lips and her tongue, her hands and her skin all felt so good. Like nothing I'd felt in so long. Even had they not, she still would have felt better than missing my son alone in the dark. That's what I'd say to justify allowing her hands to roam so freely, or her tongue to push past my lips.

I told myself I didn't yearn for her fingers to climb higher when they slipped up beneath my skirt; I simply didn't object when they did. I didn't ache to touch her the same way, either; I just didn't stop my hand from sliding down into her pants.

"Regina..." My name escaped her lips on a breath that was barely even a whisper when we began to move, rocking together like the ship against the sea. I gently shushed her, but pulled her closer at the same time, letting her know I understood how much she needed this. I kissed her again, hard, silently promising that I would give it to her.

Our movements grew from softly rolling waves, to rough stormy waters. Frantic, unpredictable, crashing together again and again.

She came first, wet and clenching around my fingers, gasping wordlessly into my neck. Feeling her release, I couldn't hold back any longer, and my own crashed over me like a tidal wave that shattered me to pieces.

Her sharp, shallow breaths licked my shoulder, tiny aftershocks still coursing through my limbs almost in tandem with her panting. Eventually her breathing slowed, muscles relaxing to instinctually mold her to my body once again.

I felt her nose brush against my throat, followed by her lips, her tongue, trailing up and over my chin until we were kissing again, slowly this time. A hand came to settle gently against my cheek, and then she pulled back.

"Are you okay?" she asked again, as if we were right back where we'd started, though I was well aware her question held an entirely different meaning this time around.

"I'm fine," I assured, offering a small smile out of habit, even though she could not see.

Her thumb brushed over my cheek once, twice. I felt her lips moving towards mine again, but they stopped just short of contact.

"I should go," she whispered instead. "Someone will come looking for me soon."

I grunted something in the affirmative, and at last she peeled her body away, leaving a cold and empty void in her place when she stood.

"We should probably keep this just between us," she said, attempting conviction but sounding unsure. Whether her uncertainty was for the words themselves, or her authority to declare them, I couldn't really say.

"Of course, dear," I affirmed, granting her the certainty she sought. "We were merely–"

"Looking for comfort," she finished my sentence.

I nodded into the dark, then remembered myself.

"Indeed," I replied.

She was not wrong. Comfort was unquestionably what each of us had sought. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, as I watched her silhouette pass through the doorway, I found I felt even more lost than before.