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Just say yes, Emma thinks. C'mon.
It shouldn't be hard, not like the first time. Yes spilled from her mouth like a waterfall—crashing tides with nowhere to go but down and out. Fuck, she used to be out. There was Lily, then there wasn't Lily, there was Neal, then there wasn't Neal. There was no one. There were girls, okay. Yes, there were girls. There were always girls who drew little flowers on Emma's wrists in sharpie, joked about ink poisoning behind whatever-it's-called high school. Ink poisoning? That's what you're worried about, Swan? For real?
Emma went to so many high schools by the time she aged out.
She didn't need another reason to switch in the middle of the year again.
And so, and so, and so. Exactly, Swan. Don't give them another reason. Don't feel the lace chafing your tits. Emma loves Hook, she has to. His arms are sinew-sturdy like a hardcover book, like Henry's book that brought her home. No, he loves her. He stitched himself back together, for her. That's what she should want. That's what she's wanted—to see the little town that chose her, choose to turn the next chapter in her story.
They wouldn't want her. If—
"Emma," he says. "Are you alright?" There's a flash in his eyes—Mary Margaret, actually, taking a flash photo. Why didn't they hire a wedding photographer? Did Regina, like, not include a wedding photographer when she built her little sims game of—
Regina's looking at her. Which makes sense. She is the bride. Everyone is looking at her. Everyone's eyes are flashing. It's not the photography.
Regina's dress is beautiful, of course. It's kind of drab, actually—maroon and boxy, the ends of her bob familiarly curled. It's weird to see her like that. Just perched on a gilded chair with her hands in her lap, listening attentively in a crowd. No, it's not weird. It's really, really nice. They're letting her be, this busted little town. They're finally letting her be. Henry sits next to her and holds her hand so tightly. He's the only person in this whole room, suddenly, who is real.
She smiles at her baby. He gives a thumbs up like a stupid teenager. Regina carefully lowers his hand and keeps her eyes on Emma. Always keeps her eyes on Emma. Her brow draws, watching Emma. Her lips open, watching Emma.
Emma wants. Well, she knows what she wants. She's always wanted it.
"Don't you have something to say now?" Hook murmurs.
Emma's mouth shapes before her heart (the one Regina held in her hands) catches the fuck up. She catches the fuck up. "I'm sorry," she says, which isn't what she's supposed to say.
Good daughter of good Snow White, sacrificed to be so good, always too much for any foster parent to wrangle, leaving broken toasters in her Good Wake. Of course she'd mess this up.
"I'm sorry," she says, louder. "I need a second."
Skirts bundled in her fists, Emma does what she does best.
"Well. This is familiar."
"Leave me alone, Regina."
"I left you alone. For five days."
Emma lifts her head. The piss-yellow lighting in this McDonalds off the I-95 should be doing Regina no favors, but her worry-set features are rendered as lovingly as the...Mona Lisa or something. Emma might be hungover. She nurses her flat, congealed coke. "I don't want to talk about it," she says. Which means, of course—
"Tough shit, Miss Swan." Regina slides into the booth across from her. She takes a moment to situate herself in mayoral choreography; the bag goes on the plush seat in a thump, she folds her hands on the plastic table. Her leg brushes Emma's when she's crossing her own. She doesn't mention it. Instead, she continues berating Emma. With a very worried brow. "You know, it's been a long, long time since I expected to come home and find Henry a wreck because you up and—"
"Seriously. I have a headache."
"You could let me finish a sentence one of these days."
Emma digs her fingertips into a napkin and shuts her dry, hurting eyes. There's a lot to say to that, starting with the Zelena-obvious that's what she said. Another Emma would have said that, maybe. The one who deflected instead of repressed. Or: then what will the staff here do for fun, if they can't listen to us bicker like a married—
"I could," she says softly, miserably.
A warm hand stills her own on the napkin, shredded into tiny pieces. Warmer eyes take in the tiny cuts on her knuckles, because she just had to go full drama about leaving her boyfriend at the altar. "I have Neosporin," Regina says.
"Of course you have Neosporin."
"Emma," Regina says, so sadly. She holds Emma's one hot hand carefully, like it's precious. Like Emma will bolt out the door again if she lets go. Like she'll let her go all over again, if it comes down to that. Against her better instincts, Emma doesn't.
"Is he..." God, no. Emma can't ask about Henry yet. "Is Hook behaving himself at least?"
"He's a grown man. No matter what he does, it's never your concern."
Regina's stare is heavy.
"I know that," she says while guilt weighs itself on her sternum. It shouldn't be guilt, and that only brings more in fistfuls. She takes back her hand. She stares at the cuts, that greenish splotch of bruise. It hurts. She's only now realizing—it hurts along the beat of her pulse, which always runs so strong around Regina, a great, galloping horse in a wide, endless field. She sucks in a breath. "So. Got another time-travel curse handy so I can try that all again?
Regina laughs and it's brittle. "I'm afraid I'm all out. You're just going to have to call the Charmings and let them know you're alive before they call in the cavalry."
Ow, her hand fucking hurts. Time to look at it again. "Thought that was you."
"Miss Swan, Miss Swan." Regina swoops in and steals her coke. She toasts Emma with it. "I'm the assassin."
Emma barks out a laugh; a strangled, cat-like thing wrenched from the dregs of her chest. It hurts more than the hand, it hurts more than crying. Oh no, is she going to cry? Well, yes, from the laughing. She rubs her palms into her eyes, still heaving out the rest of this laugh like it's another goddamn kid. She can't cry in front of Regina. Elsa was right about the concealing and the feeling because Regina always cuts through all that and Emma just can't handle—
When she looks up, Regina is smiling. Not like the Queen, every edge outlined to a point. It has crinkles. A waver. That quiet hope she has gone to such lengths to cultivate for herself, against a history that wants to deny her all possibility.
"I..." Emma knows what she's about to say. It's why she can't say it. "I should have married Hook."
Regina's smile disappears. No, that's not what she wanted. "Lived happily-ever-after in that pretty two-bedroom he picked out?"
"Yeah," Emma says, small. "Probably."
She huffs. It ought to have curled out like smoke. "I don't think you know how lucky you are. I don't think you ever do."
What the fuck. "What the fuck, Regina?"
Regina holds her hand again, so gently she could cry again. She reaches up and brushes away a greasy tangle of Emma's hair and Emma wants to sink into her forever. "You have the choice. You had it then, and you have one now. Whatever choice you make, I will be there. But I need you to understand...." She swallows, suddenly elsewhere. Dangerously close to tears herself. Emma always wants to beat up anyone who makes Regina cry. "I need you to understand that you do not have to marry him or anyone. Ever."
Her grip turns strong. Emma's matches it. Boldly, she strokes a thumb over Regina's thumb. There's another weight on the table now and Emma would eradicate her family tree to see it gone. But she can't. She can't. She can't.
"My parents—"
"—Are not here to make it for you."
"That's not what I meant." She looks out the window, at her bug. Yellow amongst beige, dead, tire-trodden grass, where she should be licking her wounds and moving on to the next best chance if she knows what's good for her. Except she knows what's good for her. She knows what's waiting. She licks her chapped lips. "They can't really handle like, complex stuff about morality. How good here just doesn't work like good over there...okay, that's not fair."
"It's a little fair."
"Yeah." All of Emma's air is gone. "It's a little fair."
Regina takes a deep breath, seems to be schooling her expression into something else. It's still jarring to remember how wrong Emma was, that first year, about how many emotions Regina Mills is capable of producing. "Your parents aren't here," she starts again. "But they will follow your lead. They already lost you once."
"There's a lot of ways to lose someone, Regina."
She receives a pointed stare she refuses to consider, today. Regina takes a sip of the stolen coke and grimaces. She takes another sip. She stands up. This requires letting go of Emma. "If I'm not taking you home, can I buy you a new drink that won't give you asbestos poisoning?"
"So you can steal it?"
"Yes."
"Jerk."
"I'll get you a Big Mac too."
"I formally withdraw my last statement."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"Regina," Emma says. She wants to reach for her. She's been reaching for her the last six years and it feels like they're finally at the end, her arms can't go any farther. She doesn't have a choice. Can't Regina see that? Can't anyone? One wrong move and it will all unravel and it will be Emma's fault. "Can I make that a McDouble instead?"
But of course, Regina knows. "Take the time you need to decide." She smiles with pursed lips. "Just remember it'll get cold."
Emma blinks. "Okay, I think you lost me. Is Hook developing influenza?"
That should give her pause. It should. Except Emma wants. That's how her story always goes. (Except what if Emma wants to write the next chapter of her story herself?) (Can she do that?) (Is that allowed?)
"I'll be here," Regina says finally. It has all the tones of finality. She tugs her purse over her shoulder. "Henry will be here. Until that's something you don't want anymore."
"I—" she brightens. "Henry is here?"
Henry is waiting by the Mercedes, tall enough that he can lean on the roof. The sun outside turned golden-red at some point when she and Regina were standing together in line. He spots her first, eyes lighting up just like they always do. Like Emma is someone worth being excited to see, even after ditching him for five days.
"Kid," she warbles. "Henry, I'm so sorry."
He launches himself at her and oh, that's where the trouble is. His shoulders shake. He holds her tighter and she hugs him back, whispers words from memories that aren't quite her own. Regina holds her gaze from over Henry's shoulder. Always watching.
Get in here, Emma mouths.
The moment Regina's arms wind around their waists and holds, that's when she breathes. Slow and deep. Enough to fall asleep with no nightmares.
Emma wants. Is that allowed?
"Okay, where's my food," Henry says, sniffing into her shoulder.
"Give your mother some space first, cariño. The food is getting crushed."
"You first."
"It's okay," Emma says. She ruffles his hair. "You can steal my fries."
"Duh," Henry says, crying.
She kisses his forehead. Their baby, their little prince. God, no matter what. No matter what.
Emma takes in Regina’s warm, proud smile. As if she never left, even though she did. Which makes it complicated, behind this quiet sunset all their own. Emma doesn't want anymore complicated—or, no. She wants the complicated things to fall into place, like pieces of a puzzle. Nestled together for long enough that she can picture an always.
(Yeah. Maybe it’s allowed.)
"Let's go home," Emma says.