Archive of Our Own

Zombie [ zom-bee ]: a mute, witless undead creature with a reanimated human body, robbed of its soul and given the semblance of life by a supernatural force, vulnerable only to serious head trauma.

Footnote 1: Zombies are often the result of the spread of a magical contagion, and while the outbreaks are usually limited in duration, the damage that results can be tremendous. Individually, the average zombie is less of a threat than its fearsome reputation would suggest, primarily because of its slow nature, shuffling movement, and poor cognition. However, zombies can, if occurring in large enough numbers, eventually wear down and overwhelm even the most ferocious and determined of opponents.

“SHERIFF SWAN!”

Emma jerked awake and rolled to the side, defensive instincts taking over after days of being constantly on edge. Abruptly, she was mid-air and falling, landing on something soft and scratchy that tickled her face.

Grass. She was lying in the grass next to a concrete bench, and nearby, something was groaning, a low, hollow sound that was becoming increasingly familiar. Nope, not something — that’d be someone.

As in someone dead. As in a zombie.

Emma rolled onto her back, wiping the sleep from her eyes. The moon was high, emerging from behind thick clouds, she was lying in the brittle autumn grass in the cemetery, and there were zombies nearby. Again.

She sighed and shook her head. Stupid magical contagion thingy. Why couldn’t it have been a magical disease that made people burp multicolored bubbles, or at least something that didn’t smell so bad?

“Emma, damn it! Get off the ground!” Regina hissed in a stage whisper. This was not the way Emma preferred Regina to wake her up, not by a long shot.

Emma dragged herself up to her hands and knees, but before she was fully on her feet, magic tendrils wrapped around her torso and yanked her up, sailing her into the air. Emma blinked and scrubbed her face awake as she floated across the dark cemetery. As she was dumped roughly on her feet in front of Regina, Emma staggered, tripped, and tumbled to the ground again. Yep, it was going to be one of those nights.

It was a bit too dark to see, but Emma could hear in her tone that Regina’s face was flushed with rage as she spat, “Why the hell are you literally asleep on the job, Sheriff? The dead are rising and strolling casually around Storybrooke! Get up and get to work!”

Emma clambered ungracefully to her feet. Dusting grass shavings off her knees and front, she huffed, “Well, I’m trying, Regina, but you keep throwing me around the cemetery!”

Regina waved her hands, a broad gesture that meant she was more than just her usual level of angry with Emma. “I can’t believe you managed to fall asleep in the middle of a zombie attack!”

Emma surveyed the cemetery. Moonlight slid between the trees to bathe the well-groomed grounds in scattered blue light, crickets chirped contentedly along the orderly rows of headstones, and a bullfrog was singing a bass counterpoint to the tree frogs beside the pond in the distance. The security light beside the entrance illuminated the sheriff’s cruiser and the bent, dangling gates of the cemetery, bashed open four nights ago, but otherwise, there was no sign of either life or undeath. All in all, it had been a peaceful scene until an irate mayor-slash-girlfriend descended on the place.

Emma shrugged. “I mean it’s hardly an attack. It takes zombies forever to dig themselves up, and most of them just wander around really slowly. To tell the truth, these guys are pretty terrible at being zombies. They crawl out of their graves and go back to whatever they used to do when they were alive. No brain-eating, at least not so far. The whole ‘walking dead’ thing is a gross overstatement, to be honest. More shuffling very, very slowly.”

Regina’s hands were on her hips, and if she’d possessed Maleficent’s ability to change into dragon form, steam would be pouring from her nostrils. “Even if the appetite for brains is pure fiction, two of your walking dead—”

Emma scoffed. “That’s such an exaggeration about how fast they move—”

“As I was saying, two of your walking dead—”

“Why are they my walking dead now?”

Regina raised her voice as she continued, pointing towards the open gates and the main part of town as she spoke, “—have managed to shuffle past your evening nap spot, wander out of the cemetery, and are having an argument in the middle of Main Street.”

Emma frowned. This was new. “What are they arguing about?”

Regina gave an exaggerated shrug. “How should I know? It’s all groaning and ‘aarrrrgh’. And another is doing shots in Granny’s and failing to pay. The town budget does not have a line item covering expensive booze for the undead.”

“God, I wish they’d take a break. I really need some sleep.” Emma hadn’t slept uninterrupted for more than an hour in days.

Regina spoke through gritted teeth. “There are zombies marching around, Miss Swan, and the Sheriff’s Department needs to deal with them, regardless of the time of night. I will not tolerate zombies shuffling around my town, dropping various disgusting body parts all over the sidewalk. Good gods, Emma, you were lying out in the open sound asleep and snoring! You could have been torn to pieces!” Regina was talking with her hands — always a bad sign. She really was angry.

Emma didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want this fight, she wanted to snuggle up next to Regina and wake up tangled together. Stupid zombies. “Damn it, Regina, I didn’t plan to fall asleep. I just sat down to rest for a moment and then I put my feet up—"

Regina’s eyes widened in alarm. “EMMA! BEHIND YOU! This one’s armed!”

Emma yanked her gun out and spun, gun raised. A zombie approached, shovel gripped in its bony hands. Beside her, Regina drew back a hand filled with flame. Emma lowered her weapon hastily and held an arm out towards Regina. “Stop! No! It’s only Gunther!”

Regina blinked at her. “Gunther?” The shock on her face slid rapidly into a scowl. “You have a zombie friend now, Emma?”

Emma holstered her gun and stepped out of Gunther’s way. “Gunther Dingledork, the former undertaker? Your vault is here, Regina; don’t tell me you never knew him. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him.” The former undertaker, who in Emma’s opinion, probably died of embarrassment at having been given back his Enchanted Forest name when the first curse broke, shuffled past the women and towards a pile of moving dirt that was the source of groaning Emma had heard earlier.

“Let’s just say he’s looking a lot worse for wear.” The fire faded away from her palm, and Regina leaned from side to side, nose wrinkled in distaste as she examined the shuffling caretaker. “But you’re right; there’s a definite resemblance. Same conversational skills, for one thing.”

Gunther stuck his shovel in the ground beside the grave and lifted a pile of dirt, then dropped it on the center of the moving dirt.

Emma gestured towards the scene. “See? Gunther just reburies the zombies. He’s doing his old job. He’s really helpful, and when I, um, dispatch one of the problem ones, he puts the body back where they belong.”

Regina looked skeptical. “No brain eating or attacking people?”

“No interest whatsoever in food of any kind, living or… not. Or water. I’ve tried.” Most recently, Gunther had batted away a grilled cheese sandwich that Emma offered him earlier in the evening.

Regina huffed as Gunther lethargically bashed his shovel into some equally-slowly-moving fingers trying to shove their way upwards. Nose wrinkled, she conceded, “Well, as long as it’s temporary.”

Emma felt obliged to defend her zombie, not friend, but maybe helper? “Temporary? I mean, he’s not harming anyone, and who else would want this job other than a zombie? It’s Storybrooke. The cemetery isn’t exactly a—” Regina turned her scowl on Emma, and Emma glanced over Regina’s shoulder at the Mills mausoleum containing Regina’s vault, “a place a lot of people are very, um, comfortable…” Regina’s eyebrows raised, and Emma fell silent, shifting uncomfortably from side to side and biting her lower lip.

Regina sneered, “Tell me you aren’t getting up in arms about the civil rights of the undead?”

Emma wasn’t going to look Regina in the eye and answer this one, so she turned towards Gunther. “Of course not, I mean, at least not the violent ones. Seriously, Regina, look at him. See, helpful!”

The fingers digging through the loose dirt were now a muscular arm; Gunter was losing. Three graves over, the earth was beginning to stir and crawl. Emma was never going to get any sleep at this rate.

A sound halfway between a hum and a grunt came from Regina’s chest as she pondered the scene. “Not very efficient, is he?”

Emma stepped towards Regina, close enough that the dim edges of her face sharpened, and the curve of her cheekbones and the arch of her brows in the moonlight made Emma’s heart lurch. Regina was unfairly attractive even when she was furious. Maybe especially when she was furious. Emma sighed. “Oh, come on, Regina. He’s really outnumbered, kind of like me? We’re both tired and it’s hard to keep going for days on end like this.”

Regina looked into Emma’s eyes, and some of the crunched shape of her shoulders loosened. She lifted a hand to dust a blade of grass off Emma’s cheek, her touch lighter than the small breeze brushing the nearby leaves. “I know you are, Emma. I’m, well, I’m sorry to lose my temper like that. Honestly, I haven’t slept much, either. Any, really, and it’s making me short-tempered.” She shrugged. “Shorter-tempered, I guess.”

Taking a half step closer, Regina hooked fingers in Emma’s belt and tugged her closer. “It’s good timing as far as I’m concerned that Henry and David have gone camping and Henry’s nowhere near any of this, but I thought you were supposed to have tonight off and Mulan was going to take the literal graveyard shift. What happened?”

Emma brushed a lock of Regina’s hair behind her ear. “This zombie mess has kept us all running, and she’s exhausted. She was on her way here and she fell asleep at the wheel—” Emma broke off at Regina’s look of alarm and held her hands up to calm her. “It’s okay! She was at a stop sign when she drifted off, fortunately, and just rolled into the ditch when her foot slipped off the brake. No one was hurt, and there’s only a little bit of damage to her cruiser. I called Michael to tow her car back and check it out in the morning, and he dropped her off at Aurora’s. I told her I would take the late shift again.”

Regina reached for Emma’s bicep, rubbing it slowly. “Emma, you’ve got to take a break. Isn’t there anyone you can call tonight so, well, maybe you can come home with me and we can both get some rest?” Her voice drifted softer as she spoke, settling as warm and welcoming as a down comforter.

Affection flowed through Emma and she reached for Regina’s waist, murmuring, “Missed me?”

Regina huffed and rolled her eyes, sliding her hands underneath Emma’s jacket and around to her back. As Emma’s hand traced the lines of Regina’s neck, Emma could feel the tension melting beneath her palm, a mark of hard-earned trust. They’d both spent too many years touch-deprived, Emma thought. Too many early years where the people who should have been their source of comfort were a source of pain. Regina’s chin lifted just that right amount to account for the difference in their height, Emma bent towards her lips, and—

Beside them, a dark form pushed upwards as a large mound of dirt splattered to the ground. Regina’s head snapped to the side, and Emma groaned. Based on the past few days and nights, they’d have had at least a half minute before the emerging zombie stood, plenty of time for a kiss. But there was no sleep, no kissing, no nothing for Emma tonight.

She groaned and turned to face the new not-really-a-threat. Wrapping one arm around Regina, Emma tugged her a few careful steps backwards onto the nearby sidewalk. Regina glanced at her, irritated, and Emma whispered, “Better give Gunther room to work or we’ll get caught in the spatter.”

Pale lips curling in apparent disgust, Gunther smashed the back of his shovel into the face of the zombie struggling to stand. On anyone else, it would have been so slow that it was ineffective, but since the newer zombie was unable to move out of the way, the effect was like a slow-motion fight, enhanced by the incoherent low moans emitted by both undead.

The new zombie’s arm crept up to block the shovel as Gunther’s — attack? Emma guessed it counted as an attack — struck, ever-so-slowly, once, twice, three times before the new zombie’s fingers curled around the handle of the shovel, his muscles bulging. Gunther’s eyes widened, and his jaw drifted downward until his mouth formed a long, toothy ‘O.’ Gunther’s moan changed to one of outrage.

Emma shook her head. “Oh, Gunther’s not gonna like that. You don’t fuck with Gunther’s shovel.”

The new zombie was a big one, recently buried with little evidence of decay yet other than the unnatural pallor of the skin, wearing tight jeans and a muscle tee that showed off a tattoo of a scantily clad woman that looked like it was stolen from a cross-country trucker’s mud flap. The tattoo looked familiar, and Emma pondered it in silence, frowning as she sorted through the mush of her sleep-deprived brain. She should know this guy.

Gunther shoved with all his remaining bony strength, but the new zombie growled and, inchingly slowly, pulled Gunther’s shovel away with just one hand. The big guy crawled upright while, in slow-motion, Gunther’s face and body crept through all the phases of shock morphing to horror, his hands reaching up to grip what was left of his floppy fishing-style hat.

The big guy pulled his arm back to throw the shovel across the cemetery, and Emma muttered, “You know, it’s probably a good thing this dude is dead. I bet he could do some serious damage when he was alive.” Big guy’s arm eased forward in a throwing motion, he released the shovel, and it clattered to the ground at his feet.

Regina growled, “Oh yes, and I suspect he’s still quite capable of doing more.” She pulled away as she turned to look at Emma. “You’re just going to stand here?”

Emma nodded. “Oh yeah, we have time.”

Regina pointed at the creature shambling gradually towards the entrance. “Miss Swan. Do you remember what your job is?” Great, Emma was Miss Swan again.

Gunther was now following the newly emerged zombie towards the loosely dangling cemetery gate, gradually dribbling shovelfuls of dirt on its head and shoulders. Emma crossed her arms as she studied the world’s slowest chase. “I remember, Regina, but I’m not going to shoot that zombie right now.”

Regina growled, “And why not? He’s clearly undead. It’s not like you’re killing anyone. You’re just putting them back to rest. Bringing them peace. The way they groan, this isn’t exactly fun for them, either.”

Emma inclined her head towards Gunther, who had paused to dig up another shovelful of dirt. “Because loud, sudden noises scare Gunther. He goes and hides in the tool shed for a couple of hours and more zombies get loose since he isn’t keeping them contained. Gunther is only suffering because his cemetery is out of control. We need to fix that first or he might come back out of pure stubbornness.”

Regina pointed again, as if Emma hadn’t noticed the big guy the first time. “He wasn’t able to keep that one contained.”

Emma shrugged. “That guy’s a big one, really strong, came up incredibly fast, and I think Gunther got behind in his work. He prioritizes burying bodies over catching the ones escaping.”

“Gunther the zombie is afraid of guns.” Regina was clearly blaming Emma for the pun, even though she should be blaming Gunther’s parents.

Emma nodded. “Yup. And I really wouldn’t try a fireball — we might lose Gunther to the tool shed for days. It’d be nasty to leave all those bodies lying around.”

“Fine,” Regina groused. “We’ll let him get farther away, then dispatch him there.”

Emma frowned at the broad back of the huge zombie. “This one’s going to be really heavy, Regina. Don’t you want to see if he’s going to be a problem, first?”

Regina shook her head emphatically. “No. That’s one of Arthur’s men that came over from Camelot, Sir Egburt the Gutripper, and you do not want the details of how he got his name. Suffice it to say he chafed under the restrictions of the code of chivalry. We do not want him wandering loose while alive, much less while dead.”

“Got it. Bad zombie, needs to go.” Emma wrinkled her nose in thought. “Wasn’t he that drunk driving fatality?”

At Regina’s sharp nod, Emma turned back to frown at the snail’s pace pursuit happening in front of them. “Yeah, I remember him now. Gave me a black eye once.” Egburt had been a problematic drunk on more than one occasion, and one night, he’d gotten a good punch in before Emma had resorted to emergency magic use to bring him in and lock him behind bars.

Gunther was trailing Egburt by at least a dozen feet now and falling behind. At the cemetery gate, Sir Egburt turned towards the main part of town. Gunther shuffled to the gate and paused, his shovel drooping until the dirt slid to the middle of the drive. Shoulders sagging, Gunther moaned, a low, descending groan of despair, then turned back, shuffling towards another grave, mutter-moaning a complaint to himself.

Emma sighed, “Aw, poor Gunther. He looks like he really needs a hug.”

Regina’s voice was a flat growl. “Pick one and only one of us to hug tonight, Miss Swan, with full awareness that your decision is absolutely final.”

Emma winced and turned towards the police cruiser. “Yeah, that’s an easy decision. Maybe we can find Gunther a zombie friend to hug him.”

“Under no circumstances are we running a dating service for the undead. Even your mother won’t get behind that,” Regina grumbled as she marched alongside Emma.

Emma hesitated. “You sure about that? She’s really into the ‘love conquers all’ thing.”

Regina eyed her sideways, contemplating. “You’re right. Let’s not tempt her.”

Emma paused at the edge of the parking lot. “Egburt was still in good with Arthur with a name like ‘Gutripper’?”

“Don’t even get me started.” Regina’s back was stiff, her jaw tight, and as Emma studied her distant gaze, Emma internally cursed every one of the supposedly “good kings” of fairytale land. She hadn’t met a single one of them that was actually good.

Emma spoke a bit more gently, “Let’s go after our loose zombies.” Regina nodded, and they walked in silence to the sheriff’s car. Emma opened the car door for Regina, and she settled into her seat, staring warily around the cemetery as Emma pulled out and drove through the broken gates of the cemetery.

The road into town was quiet and dark, and they both rode in exhausted silence. Emma glanced at her passenger. The lights from the dash and police radio cast faint blue and green tints over the underside of Regina’s chin, but left her eyes in shadow; Emma couldn’t read her expression at all. “Why are you out here anyway, Regina? You’ve got to be at least as tired as I am. I thought you were going home?”

“I was. I just… got a call. More zombies, so I thought it was easier if I came out here to deal with them.” Emma’s lie detector pinged loud and clear, a shimmying sensation that reverberated up and down her spine, and she wondered what Regina didn’t want to say. Was she lying awake questioning the competence of her Sheriff? If so, it can’t have been very reassuring to find Emma collapsed and snoring on a bench in the middle of the cemetery.

Emma scowled and decided she’d rather hear the detailed criticism in the light of day. So what if Emma was tired and making mistakes here and there? She was the sheriff, she was the savior, and it was her job to save the town, not to be perfect, she thought defiantly, suppressing an indignant scoff. And these zombies weren’t a huge challenge individually, they were just… constant. If she couldn’t handle them, what kind of savior-sheriff was she? Emma resisted the urge to angrily floor the accelerator, instead creeping along below the speed limit, watching to either side of the road for the big zombie.

As they drove towards town, the moon slid behind the clouds, deepening the darkness on the side of the road. Emma peered around, trying unsuccessfully to pierce the thick night on either side of the road. “Hey, where’d the new guy go? Usually they’re on the road right around here.”

Regina twisted to scan both sides of the road, and then shrugged. “I have no clue. Let’s go deal with the two on Main Street. These things are dangerous and bad for business.” She glared sideways at Emma. “I still can’t believe you were asleep.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Come on, Regina! Zombies are loud and aren’t going to sneak up on me, plus these are the least threatening zombies ever. I’m just bored with it after five non-stop days and I need some sleep.” These zombies were a ridiculous not-threat. If only they’d take a break and let her rest, damn it. Emma’s mind was foggy, her muscles and joints ached, and her eyes were throbbing. But she wasn’t going to admit she couldn’t keep up, that these shambling, stupid creatures were becoming a real problem. She could never concede that, because if she couldn’t deal with these mindless, slow, non-brain-eating zombies, why would anyone need her around at all? Emma’s heart skipped a beat as old fears drifted towards the surface.

“I’m so sorry the zombie apocalypse is boring you, Miss Swan,” Regina snapped.

Emma groaned, “This is hardly a zombie apocalypse. More like a zombie… annoyance.”

Regina twisted in the seat to glare at Emma. “Annoyance? Really? You are personally cleaning up the next set of intestines that shuffles out of that cemetery, Sheriff.”

Emma scoffed. “Come on, these zombies mostly just shuffle or crawl around and groan unhappily. On top of that, the brain-eating thing is just some filmmaker’s bad dream.”

Regina spat out her next words. “They. Are. Zombies, Miss Swan. I did not create a town to house my living former enemies just to have dead people take it over. All housing designated for dead people is right back there in the cemetery, and nowhere else.”

Emma couldn’t resist the snark. “Housing designated for dead people? That sounds a little… alive-ist. Or dead-ist. Not sure what the proper term is.”

“Emma, would you PLEASE start taking this seriously!” Regina snapped.

Emma studied Regina in the dim light. Her shoulders were tight and her posture even more rigid than normal. Fatigue had dulled the normal bronze of her skin, and tension and fatigue positively oozed from her. Regina was exhausted and emotionally drained, and Emma had been too tired herself to notice or be sensitive. “I’m sorry, Regina,” Emma sighed, shoulders slumping a little. “You’re right, and I’m tired and a bit punchy with exhaustion.” The stoplight ahead turned red, and as the car rolled to a stop, she turned to look at Regina. “Look, this is clearly getting to you. What’s going on?”

Regina swallowed and stared at her lap a moment. She glanced at Emma, her lip scar deepening as her mouth pursed, then turned back to stare at the road ahead. “When I saw you on that bench, at first, I—” She broke off and glanced back at her hands, and Emma wished desperately that she could see Regina’s face better.

Regina’s voice dropped low with reluctant honesty, smooth with crackling edges like brandy on ice, and Emma could listen to the music of that voice all day and night. “I thought you were dead. It was… distressing. I’ve been worried about you.” Regina waved a hand dismissively. “Not that I’m getting attached just because we, well…”

Emma raised an eyebrow, ignoring the pang echoing in her chest. “Have enthusiastic sex on a regular basis?”

Regina eyed her sideways in exasperation. “Yes, that.”

Emma turned back to the road. Bitterness leaked into her next words. “Okay, sure. We’re not attached to one another because of that.”

Regina stared out the front windshield. “No, you’re, you’re Henry’s mother and he’d be quite upset if something happened to you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “So, you were upset just for Henry.” Emma wasn’t sure if that feeling running down her back was her lie detector or just wishful thinking. The stoplight turned green, and she swung left onto Main Street, her jaw tight with resentment.

Regina turned her head to look out the passenger side window of the car. “Yes, of course, just for Henry.” A shimmering zing resonated through Emma’s spine, starting from the base of her skull and running all the way down into the seat of the car.

Emma sighed, relaxing a tiny bit. “Regina, you know I can tell when you’re lying.”

Regina cleared her throat. “I think I can see the zombies now.”

Emma pulled up beside the clock tower. A scrawny, bedraggled zombie man in a tattered herringbone suit was limping along, cane in hand, growling loudly as a bent zombie woman in what was probably once a printed frock shook her cane in his direction, roaring incoherently. Her nose was missing, and one of his legs wobbled unnaturally in places that should have stayed straight, apparently held together by whatever magic had animated the creatures.

Regina ran her hand through her hair. “Oh, good gods, it’s the Weiders. Divorced no less than four times. A true hate-hate relationship.”

“So, in the curse, you made them marry again?” That seemed cruel even for an Evil Queen.

Regina wrinkled her nose in distaste. “No, Clarita was an excellent cook, baked wonderful scones. I liked her work and Brant is an insufferable ass, so I separated them and gave her a bakery of her own. They had twenty-eight years of solitary bliss. I have no idea why they remarried the fifth time after the first curse broke. The stress of living together again killed them both in short order.”

The zombie man put both hands to his head and pulled out a fistful of hair, wailing to the sky. The zombie woman shuffled five feet down the street and turned again, waving her cane and bellowing. He stomped his foot in response, groaning, and she pointed with her cane and poked several times in his direction, accenting each poke with an incoherent “YARGH”.

“You know, their arguments make just as much sense now as they did when they were alive,” Regina mused.

The zombie woman turned slowly and hobbled about twenty steps, traveling about eight feet in total. The zombie man shuffled behind her, groaning a garbled complaint and pausing frequently to gesture to the sky. It was a very, very slow chase scene in a terrible movie. The zombie woman stopped and grumbled something snarky-sounding over her shoulder, and the zombie man closed the distance. He pulled back a hand, claws spread wide, and swiped at her back, ripping open the flesh on one shoulder.

“Okay, violent zombie’s got to go,” Emma growled as she reached into the back seat to pull out her sword.

Regina frowned. “The sword, Emma?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I prefer my gun, but the gunshot in the middle of town will alarm people, and I need the sword practice anyway.”

Regina scowled. “Emma, you’re so tired, you shouldn’t get close to them. Let me handle this one.”

Emma studied Regina under the faintly pink glow of the streetlight. Her normally-perfect hair showed signs of a hand running through it too many times today, and her mascara had faint smudges. Regina was good with concealer, but even she couldn’t hide all the signs of lack of sleep around her eyes. “You’re exhausted, too. I don’t want you keeling over in the middle of a zombie fight. Can you just be my backup and fireball the zombie if I’m a terrible shot?”

Regina nodded hesitantly, and Emma climbed out of the car. She pulled off her jacket to give her arms room to move and tossed it in the car, then walked towards the zombies shuffling down the street. She totally wasn’t using the sword without her jacket just because she knew how much Regina liked seeing her biceps in action. Really.

Emma lined up behind the male zombie, Ben or Bert or something, and drew back her sword. Ben waved his arms, flailing at the sky, then groaned and pointed at the zombie woman, Clarice? Emma swung hard at the zombie’s neck, there was a disgusting squelching noise, and the zombie’s body and head dropped separately to the asphalt.

Emma straightened and lowered the tip of her sword to the ground, resting her hands on the hilt. She’d stopped the dangerous one, and they only had the old lady zombie to deal with, which should be no problem at all. A flush of pride and relief surged over her. She’d lived up to her role as town Savior. She could shove down the old, creeping insecurities from years of rejection as a foster kid. No one would be disappointed in her today, no one would reject her or send her away. This was one more zombie put back to rest, and an unqualified success for Emma Swan, heroic zombie slayer extraordinaire. She drew in a deep, satisfied breath.

The head rolled across the centerline of the road, teeth bared in a hopeless, silent wail, and Clarice froze, her rotting jaw hanging in shock. Her gaze swung slowly up to Emma, and the remains of her lips curled in fury. Screaming in rage, she tottered towards Emma, both hands on her cane as she pulled it back like a batter in a baseball game, suddenly moving as fast as a living human.

Emma backpedaled, twisting and ducking. She levered the sword to block a swing at her head, and the crook of the cane hooked the sword blade. With a yank from the old woman, the sword slipped from Emma’s tired fingers and skittered across the asphalt. Emma held her now-empty hands out in front of her body, palms spread wide defensively. “Hey, lady, um, Clarice, I thought you’d actually not mind, I mean, as much as you hated Bert—”

“She’s Clarita, and it’s Brant, not Bert! Don’t antagonize her, Emma!” Regina shouted. Purple mist enveloped zombie Brant’s corpse, and the zombie’s body vanished. Clarita screamed again, a hollow, multi-toned shriek of pure fury.

“Brant, sorry. Yeah, Mrs. Weiner, uh Weider, I’m — yikes! I don’t think poofing the body away calmed her down any, Regina!” Emma ducked the swinging cane, trying to dodge around the angry zombie to grab her sword.

Emma backpedaled, hands out and waving in a vain attempt to calm the angry zombie. “Damn it, lady! The man was a zombie committing what I’m sure was either stalking or sexual harassment! I was doing my job!” Clarita continued swinging, moving much faster than before, and Emma ducked again, arms covering her head. “God, these things are getting faster. Hey! Cut it out!” she objected, although Emma supposed she couldn’t blame the zombie — Emma might very well have chopped off Clarita’s head next. In a way, it was self-defense on Clarita’s part.

Emma dodged to the side, tripped, and went sprawling on her hands and knees. Clarita bellowed in fury and raised her cane over her head, her gaze locked on Emma’s skull.

“Emma! No!” Regina drew back both arms and then thrust them forward, blasting zombie Clarita with a thick stream of red flames. Clarita’s scream shot higher, fading into a thin, fading wail, and the flaming zombie corpse toppled to the ground.

Regina staggered forward, her face gray and slack with fatigue, her knees buckling. Emma scrambled to her feet and dove forward, wrapping her arms around Regina before she could fall. “I’ve got you,” she murmured as she pulled Regina close. Regina sagged against her, gripping Emma’s arms tightly. “Regina, I would have been okay. You shouldn’t be exhausting yourself when I can hit these things with a sword! Save your energy. I know you’re paying the magical price yourself for every fireball, and it’s wearing you out. You’re probably the only person in town more tired than I am.”

Regina’s hand slid under Emma’s arm to wrap around to her shoulder blade, and her face turned towards Emma, her eyes closed. She nuzzled Emma’s hair where it draped against Emma’s collarbone and inhaled deeply. Her eyes opened, and as she slid one hand up to grip the shoulder strap of Emma’s tank, she grumbled, “Fine. I don’t want you to be eaten by zombies. Or ripped apart, or whatever else. I just,” Regina met her eyes for a second, and the softness in her gaze would have melted stone. “I would… hate the mess. And you’d be hard to replace.” Regina glanced away and shrugged. “As sheriff, of course.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “We already have two sheriffs, and Mulan as deputy is better than both of us put together. David and I should both take deputy positions and put Mulan in charge anyway. I’d be a breeze to replace and you know it. That’s not why.” Emma’s breath moved the hair on Regina’s cheek and she shuddered against Emma. Regina’s hand tightened on Emma’s shirt for a moment, then she dragged in a rough breath and pushed away, out of Emma’s arms.

Tugging her clothes back into place, Regina stared at the dead zombie, not meeting Emma’s eyes. “David’s royalty. He won’t take second place. It’s why he’s kept the sheriff title for years now even though he should have gone back to deputy as soon as you got back from the Enchanted Forest.”

Emma threw her hands into the air. “Okay Regina, go ahead and change the subject. I don’t know what I was hoping for anyway.” She blew out a long huff of air, trying to shake off the ache of rejection. She had a zombie problem to deal with right now - she needed to stay calm.

She turned to face the smoldering zombie. The magical fire had cooled, but the stench of rotted, burned flesh was overwhelming. “Yeah, that’s not going in the trunk. No tarp in the world will keep that smell out.” Emma waved her hand and poofed the body back to the cemetery, depositing it beside Gunther’s tool shed. A brief wave of fatigue rushed through her, and she glanced at Regina, who had been using magic for days to both stop the zombies and send them back to the cemetery.

Regina stood for a moment just catching her breath, then walked back over to the car. As Emma cleaned her sword and replaced it in the back seat, Regina leaned against the car and watched the zombie through the windows of Granny’s. With no zombie moans echoing off the storefronts, late-night Storybrooke was eerily quiet, with only the distant hiss of a thin breeze rattling the dry autumn leaves in the trees and swirling the faint wisps of mist slithering in from the sea.

Emma walked over beside Regina and rested her hip on the car, and Regina indicated the zombie with her head. “Valentina Willowgum. Lost her whole family to plague, lost herself to the bottle in the years after. She’s not going to stop, because she’s not going to pass out.”

Emma nodded. “Let’s go give Granny a hand.” Emma started to reach for Regina’s hand, then thought better of it, settling instead for holding the diner door for her.

A redheaded zombie in a floor-length, dirt-stained, scarlet sequined dress was settled on a stool at one end of the counter, banging a shot glass on the counter with a gray, scuffed hand bearing ruby-painted nails. One gray leg covered with scrapes and dirt was visible through a long slit up the side. Granny stood at the far end, frowning deeply and pouring whiskey into another glass. “Hold your horses, Val. It’s coming,” she called. “Of all the people to wake up,” she grumbled.

Granny expertly slid the shot glass down the counter, staying well out of reach of the zombie. Valentina grabbed the glass and tossed back the shot. Liquid gurgled, and a small stream poured out of a hole in her belly visible through a large rip in the sequined dress, dripping into a growing puddle on the floor.

Granny had on her dishwashing gloves and appeared to have a stack of used shot glasses at her elbow. She pulled out a clearly-used glass and began pouring the next shot. “Health code be damned. I’m not dirtying any more glasses for someone who can’t exactly get sick and die from an unwashed glass.”

Emma eyed Valentina as the zombie slammed back another shot. “I’m not reporting you.”

Granny grunted. “Wasn’t really worried. I suspect the report would go in the trash at the first mention of zombies.”

“Probably so,” Emma agreed. “Hey, can I have the rest of that bottle, Granny?”

Granny’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I wouldn’t drink out of it. She’s grabbed it twice now.”

Emma stepped up to the counter beside Granny, keeping far out of Valentina’s reach. Val glared at Emma and banged her shot glass on the counter as Emma explained, “I don’t plan to. And I’ll need another one, preferably not very full and fairly cheap. Something Valentina likes? Liked? Whatever. I just need to get her to follow me back to the cemetery.”

Granny passed the whiskey bottle to Emma, and Valentina’s gaze trailed along with the bottle. Emma waved the bottle back and forth, and Valentina swiped at it at half-speed. Emma pulled the bottle away and started walking towards the door. “Come on, Val. Follow me and you’ll get the whole thing!”

Granny passed a quarter-full bottle to Regina. “Lunch for both of you tomorrow’s on the house, but we’ll be opening late so we can deep clean.”

Regina nodded. “Thanks, Granny. Submit the form to my office and we’ll see about compensation from the town’s Magical Disaster Relief Fund.”

Emma led Valentina out the door and down the sidewalk towards the sheriff’s car. As she approached the cruiser, she jogged around to the trunk. Valentina lumbered behind, and Emma had to yank the bottle out of Val’s reach while she fumbled with her keys. “Ah ah ah! Not yet, Val!”

Emma pulled open the trunk, then tugged the corners of the tarp that had been spread there all week back into place. This wasn’t the first zombie passenger she’d had in her trunk. She held up the bottle, cap on, then shoved it into the back of the trunk. “If you want the bottle, Val, you gotta get in the trunk.”

Val slowly put both fists on her hips and tilted her head. A guttural moan of displeasure resonated in her chest.

Emma shook her head. “In the trunk, Val, or no bottle.”

Val rolled her eyes, (a very unsettling sight where Emma got a peek at what was probably the decaying nerves and blood vessels at the back of Val’s eyes,) and shuffled over to the trunk opening. She leaned in and half-fell into the trunk, her legs dangling out of the open trunk. Emma grimaced, then gave Val’s unpleasantly-squishy sequined buttocks a shove, and the majority of the zombie collapsed into the trunk. Emma tucked both feet and one waving gray hand inside, then closed the trunk.

Emma held her hands far from her body and shook them vigorously, hoping to knock off some of the gunk she could feel clinging to her skin. “Oh, that was unpleasant. I need some of those wipes off the floorboard, please?”

Regina opened the container and passed her wipes one at a time as Emma cleaned up. Regina eyed the now-thudding, moaning trunk. “You really think that tarp will be enough to keep your trunk clean?”

Emma nodded. “Oh yeah, after this week, I have more experience transporting bodies in my trunk than most serial killers. It’s going to reek of whiskey, though. No help for that.”

Regina looked like she was about to object, then shrugged, and Emma remembered that her kinda-sorta-girlfriend’s total body count probably topped most serial killers, who typically had to do a lot more than flick their wrist to kill people.

Emma wondered briefly if she was crazy to fall for this woman with so much blood on her hands, with a reputation for vengeance that transcended realms. Then she looked at Regina, at the soft brown eyes full of tenderness, the mother of her child. This woman was not the wild and evil creature of the Enchanted Forest.

Regina’s brow wrinkled faintly, and she straightened the strap of Emma’s tee where it was bunched up. Emma smiled and wrapped her arms around Regina’s waist, and Regina’s lips curled up at the movement. Emma pondered those plump, kissable lips, the tired eyes, and the determined set of Regina’s shoulders, and affection rolled through her. If this was insanity, she’d take it.

Regina studied Emma’s face, her expression questioning and intent. She brushed her fingertips over Emma’s cheek, tracing the lines of her face. Then she paused, and Emma could have sworn she was starting to lean forward. Emma’s lips parted and she drew in a tight breath in anticipation.

Suddenly Regina blinked and looked away, dragging in a hard breath. She pulled away and climbed back into the car. Familiar disappointment washed over Emma, and she sighed and climbed into the car. Regina so often seemed to be at war with herself.

As she turned the key, a red warning light flashed. Emma groaned, “I’ve got to get some gas. At least Wilma’s not too far out of the way, and her pumps are on 24 hours a day, just credit card-only this time of night.” Regina nodded, then closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the seat rest, not even bothering to speak.

Emma swung into the gas station and pulled up to the pump. She turned off the engine and reached for the door handle, but before she could open the door, Regina burst out, “I’m so sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have approved David’s leave for that camping trip during this of all weeks — something always happens this time of year. It’s my fault you’re so overworked.”

Emma chuckled fondly. “He and Henry have been chattering excitedly about that trip for a month now. You know you can’t say no to Henry when he puts on those puppy eyes.”

Regina glared. “I am a very strict parent.”

The gas station attendant lifted the nozzle at the pump, and Emma laughed and dropped her hand from the car door, turning to face Regina. “You, the health food nut, packed doughnuts in Henry’s snack bag for the road.”

“They were jelly donuts with powdered sugar and they’re traveling in your father’s new truck, so it wasn’t entirely me being nice,” Regina sniffed, nose high in the air, every bit the haughty queen.

The attendant fumbled with the gas cap. Emma smiled, then stated gently, “Regina, you don’t always have to pretend to be so hard.”

Regina reached across the police equipment-filled center console to grasp Emma’s hand. “It’s not exactly easy for me to admit my feelings, Emma. I was raised on “love is weakness” as a founding principle, remember.”

Emma squeezed Regina’s warm hand. “Regina, that was a terrible, toxic message and I’m very proud of how you’ve overcome it. You’re actually a very loving person. You just have trouble admitting it.”

Regina shifted restlessly in her seat, and she glared at the dashboard for a long moment. Finally, she huffed and faced Emma. “Fine. You’d be hard to replace in Henry’s life. And… alright, and mine. This last month has been…” The corners of Regina’s mouth began to curl gently upwards, and the hard, tired lines faded into gentleness. “Honestly, it’s been one of the best in my life,” she exhaled. “I genuinely believed I could never feel like this about someone again.”

“Feel like…” Hope began to unfurl in Emma’s chest, fluttering faintly in time with her heartbeat.

“When I thought you were lying dead on that bench, Emma, it was one of the worst moments of my life. Well, at least until I realized you were snoring.” Regina rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I don’t snore,” Emma objected reflexively.

Regina chuckled, then her expression grew serious. “I’m getting more attached to you than I should. I’m just—” Regina broke off and sighed, and hope and frustration churned inside Emma. Regina was so damned closed off. Emma looked down at their joined hands, and her frustration melted into anger, anger at the people who’d hurt Regina so badly, who had made this loving woman struggle so much to express affection to anyone but her son.

The gas attendant moaned faintly, and sudden tension twisted in Emma’s gut. She turned in her seat to look at the attendant, but he was obscured by the wide pillar supporting the car roof. “Hey Regina, when did this station get an attendant to pump the gas?”

Regina’s brows scrunched together. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since... fuck.”

Somehow the display on the pump was showing gas still being pumped despite the car not having a 21-gallon tank. “Since what?” Emma already knew the answer.

“Since Fred died. Wilma doesn’t pump gas; she just runs the register. The pumps have been self-service for three years.” A distinctive zombie groan came from the rear corner of the car, and the pump showed Emma now owing payment for over $100 in gas.

“Fred?” Emma winced.

“Yep. Fred Stone. Kept the Storybrooke name because it’s shorter.”

Emma let out her own groan, thankfully still human-sounding. “God, Fred and Wilma Flintstone.”

“Lived in a rock house, worked in a quarry in the Enchanted Forest managing a tame giant reptile, and it’s not my fault. Disney didn’t even bother to use my name, remember?” Regina waved a hand dismissively.

“Well, fuck. I should have realized this was a zombie. We have got to get some sleep.” Emma grumbled as she opened the door. Gas fumes immediately washed over her, making her eyes water and nose burn. As her boots splashed in the large pool of gasoline running out from under her car and spreading over the concrete, Emma was very grateful for the thick soles of her boots.

Predictably enough, Fred was wearing an oversized orange tee with the shirttail out, but much to Emma’s relief, he was also wearing a pair of black pants and shoes. “Fred, stop pumping the gas, okay? The tank is full.”

Fred’s broad face turned to Emma. His black hair hung in patches, and there were holes in his orange shirt exposing the torn flesh of his wide shoulders and pot belly. “Gaboo gaboo goo!” Fred stated enthusiastically as the flood of fuel poured out of the nozzle, spraying back out of the gas tank and splashing several feet in every direction.

Emma moved towards Fred, and he turned to face her, gasoline still pouring from the nozzle. Emma dodged away, yelling, “Hey, watch it, Fred! That shit’s toxic! You shouldn’t be letting it splash all over you, either!”

The passenger side door opened, Regina stepped out, turned smoothly to face the zombie, and blasted Fred in the back with a bolt of white, jagged magic. White crystals swept over his body and face. As he turned to a solid block of ice and the crystals spread down his arms and into his hand, Emma stepped to the side and batted the gas nozzle out of his hand. The nozzle fell to the pavement, shutting off the flow of gas. Regina clung to the car door for support, gasping.

Gas splashed under Emma’s boots as she walked around Fred to place a hand on Regina’s arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Regina bent over and rested her hands on her knees, still catching her breath, then coughed. She picked up the nozzle from the ground and waved one hand dismissively. “Really, just… fine.” Walking over to the pump, she hung up the nozzle and used a tissue to pull a zombie-ick-coated key out of the pump. “I’ll get this to Wilma tomorrow,” she stated, wrapping the key in the tissue and placing it in her pocket.

Emma turned to Fred. It would probably be easiest to drag him, so she wrapped her arms under his armpits, tilted him, and began dragging him out of the pool of gasoline. The icy flesh against Emma’s bare arms made her miss the warmth of her jacket, but she wasn’t going to risk getting melting zombie slime on something that important. “Wow, this dude is cold. I’m not criticizing, but did we have to kill him? Fred seemed harmless enough.” As she tugged Fred across the concrete, heading towards a gasoline-free spot by the bushes at the edge of the parking lot, his frozen feet scraped across the concrete with a sound like a hunk of metal dragging behind a car.

Regina coughed again, fanning her face and blinking her watering eyes. “Gods, these fumes,” she muttered as she walked out of the pool and over to the curb beside the tall row of trimmed bushes. She stood there dragging in fresh gulps of air for a moment. Crossing her arms, she raised one eyebrow haughtily as Emma struggled to set Fred properly upright again on a dry section of pavement. “I beg to differ. He was an enormous fire hazard. He wasn’t going to stop pouring gasoline everywhere until this place blew up.”

Emma settled Fred upright, catching him before he wobbled over to one side. “I guess you’re right — that could be really bad,” she agreed, dragging him onto a smoother section of concrete closer to the curb, and Fred settled in place with no more rocking than one of Granny’s diner tables. Emma eased her hands away from the frozen corpse gradually in case he fell, examining him. “I guess I should make sure he doesn’t come back when he thaws,” she sighed.

Using a firearm seemed like a bad idea around all the gas fumes, so Emma dragged out the sword again. She didn’t want to look into the zombie’s frozen eyes, so she settled behind Fred, resting the tip of the sword on the ground as she stretched a bit, pondering the best way to do this - solid ice was going to be hard to slice through. She’d been practicing her spinning attacks lately, and a stationary opponent was a good time to try one out. She held out the sword to measure the height of Fred’s neck, turned her back, and took a step away.

Emma lifted the sword high in a practice parry, then swung in a figure-eight pattern in front of her just as she was taught, pretending as though she was taking out an invisible opponent. She spun hard and fast, carrying the momentum through and continuing the swing with all her strength. The sword thunked solidly into Fred, landing several inches lower than she’d planned, slicing through his bicep and lodging deep in the side of his chest. Fred’s right arm fell with an icy clunk, breaking at the elbow and shattering off several fingers that went skittering across the pavement. Fred rocked wildly with the impact, and Emma was yanked around as she struggled to keep hold of the sword stuck firmly in the icy corpse.

“Shit!” Emma shouted as she tried to lever the tilting body of Fred Flintstone back onto his feet using just the unwieldy sword as a handle. The frozen feet slid across the concrete out from under Fred, and he smashed to the ground, shattering into icy chunks of broken zombie corpse.

Emma gawped in open-mouthed horror at the smashed pile of zombie ice cubes, heart pounding guiltily. “OH SHIT. Fuuuuuck.”

Regina was yelling behind her, and she absolutely deserved it. “What the hell was that, Emma?”

Emma gasped a few times to catch her breath. “Shit, shit, shit! I… missed.”

“I’d say you did!” Regina stepped beside her, and Emma didn’t dare look at her.

Emma clasped a hand over her open mouth and spoke through her fingers as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. “Oh my god.” She’d fucked up again. The ingrained memory of all her previous rejections, of foster homes and parents lost over and over, all due to her messes, her mistakes, flooded over Emma, and sick dread and guilt crawled through her.

And Regina had a front row seat for the whole humiliating thing.

Beautiful, always-together, organized, careful Regina just watched Emma fuck up spectacularly. They were just getting started, still struggling with how to navigate this new relationship, and Emma just showed Regina firsthand why all those foster families rejected her. Please, she wanted to beg the world, she didn’t want to lose Regina.

They stood in silence for a long, long moment before Regina spoke again. No longer yelling, she commented with surprising objectivity, “Well, given that his head is in one-inch pieces, I don’t think he’ll be coming back anytime soon.”

Emma shrugged, still too shocked and guilty to do anything but stare. She gulped in another breath and managed, “And my sword isn’t stuck anymore.”

A strange choking noise came from beside Emma, and she dragged her gaze slowly from the icy debris that was once Fred Flintstone. Regina had a hand over her mouth, her brows were sky-high, and she snorted, her shoulders shaking with the sound.

Emma blinked as Regina snorted again. Emma reached over to pull Regina’s hand away from her mouth, and Regina burst out laughing.

Emma gaped at her. “You’re laughing? You’re actually laughing at this awful mess?”

Regina nodded helplessly, then pointed at the pile of zombie cubes, gasping for breath. Emma turned to look at them, and snickering welled up from inside. She couldn’t help it - relief and exhaustion and hysteria combined with the mind-blowing weirdness of the situation, and wild giggling swept over her body. Regina was laughing, and they were okay.

Regina wrapped an arm around Emma and buried her face in Emma’s shoulder, her whole body shaking as she cackled uncontrollably. Emma pulled her tight and turned her head away, trying not to laugh too loudly in Regina’s ear. They clung together for a long minute as hysterical laughter filled the night.

Eventually, Regina pulled back, wiping her eyes and gasping, “Oh gods, I need sleep! This isn’t that funny!”

Emma looked at her face, and Regina stared back at her. “Yes, it is!” Emma burst out, and the two women dissolved into laughter again.

Finally, as they caught their breath and settled, Emma waved a hand to gather all the bits of Fred into one tight pile. She flicked her wrist in her best imitation of Regina and poofed the pile of frozen chunks of Fred away to the cemetery, placing the pile on the sidewalk near Gunther’s tool shed. “I’m so, so sorry, Gunther,” she groaned, snickered again, then cleared her throat. “It’s not funny for poor Gunther. We’re just really exhausted and this is a very, very strange situation.”

Regina nodded, pulling tight to Emma again. “We aren’t telling Wilma about this part. He went peacefully.”

Emma winced. “She has a security camera.”

Regina shrugged. “I can fix that when I clean up the gasoline.” She hesitated. “This gas cleanup and wiping the camera is a bit more delicate work, and I could use a boost.” Her voice dropped, and she murmured, “May I?”

Emma felt questioning tendrils of magic at the edge of her awareness, waiting for her approval. Emma smiled. “Of course.”

Her arm around Emma’s shoulder, Regina drew on Emma’s power. Their magic tingled as it combined, flowing into Regina’s hand as it waved back and forth, cleaning up the gasoline and their clothing, and trailing inside the store briefly. “No exploding gas stations allowed in my town,” she stated firmly, then leaned her head on Emma’s shoulder, humming contentedly.

Emma muttered into the dark hair, “You’re a pretty damn good mayor, you know?”

Regina pulled back, smiling, and Emma melted at the sight. “Thank you. That means more than I can say.” She sighed, the smile falling away. “Well, let’s head to the cemetery and put Valentina out of her misery.”

Emma grimaced. “You’re sure we have to kill Valentina? Other than the drinking, she seems harmless enough.”

Regina looked Emma steadily in the eye as she stated, “This is not a person. This is a zombie. A magical abomination made from part of a person. She’s suffering, Emma. She’s in agony.”

Emma brushed dark, soft hair back from Regina’s face. The strain of the last few days pulled at the corners of Regina’s eyes, and the muscles of her face were slack with fatigue. Her gaze slid away from Emma and she turned her head away, staring at the lights on a distant hill; a haunted pain lined her face.

The hill where the Storybrooke Stables stood. The stables where Daniel the zombie died.

Fuck.

No matter how exhausted she was, Emma should have realized why and how much this was affecting Regina. And of course, Regina didn’t say anything. Regina knew these people, knew all the zombies, and every one of them reminded her of that awful day when she was forced to destroy her innocent first love, her Daniel.

A wave of guilt rushed over Emma. “Sorry, Regina. Of course we’ll let her rest. I’m just really tired.”

Regina nodded, and they stood in awkward silence, broken only by the groans of the zombie in the trunk. The breeze crawling in from the sea was thick and damp now, and the mist growing ever thicker. The moon drifted in and out behind patchy clouds, and the dim, wavering light made the shadows surrounding the nearby bushes crawl.

Regina traced Emma’s collarbone with one finger, then ran her finger along the scooped neckline of Emma’s tank, a hint of wistfulness in her dark eyes. Emma tucked a finger under Regina’s chin, lifting her gaze.

Regina’s gaze dipped down to Emma’s lips, then up to her eyes. Emma dropped her voice, asking gently, “Regina, when you got the call about the zombies in town, why did you come to the cemetery instead of dealing with the zombies yourself? There’s no car at the cemetery — you didn’t even drive. You poofed.”

Regina looked away, pursing her lips. “Fine,” she exhaled, meeting Emma’s gaze again reluctantly. “I heard you were alone at the cemetery. I thought you might have gotten in over your head and that was why three of them slipped past.”

Emma took a half-step closer. “You were scared for me.”

“I know you’re quite capable. I was just worried.” Regina shook her head. “I didn’t plan any of this between us, Emma.”

Emma snorted with disdain. “Oh really, Regina? Do you often go to work with the sort of things in your briefcase that you did last Friday?”

Regina pouted, “Okay, fine, that one may have been a bit… premeditated.”

Emma tilted her head and studied Regina skeptically. “And the time you arranged for Henry to sleep over at Nick’s because I had the night off?”

Regina scoffed, “Yes, of course that was planned too. But this whole thing between us is getting a lot more… emotional than I anticipated. And I, I don’t know how to put this.” Regina’s head dipped, and she stared down somewhere past Emma’s elbow, her brow wrinkled and gaze unfocused.

“More emotional than you anticipated.” Emma had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her voice was as dry as the autumn leaves, crackling with despair. “You want to break up.”

Regina’s gaze snapped up, eyes wide, and her grip on Emma’s shoulder tightened. Panic and dismay tangled together in her voice as she stammered, “No! Not that, not at all. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t plan to be in this situation.”

Emma swallowed down the panic. She drew in a slow breath and gentled her tone. “Having regular sex with a woman?” From what Emma had seen, the Enchanted Forest wasn’t exactly the most open-minded of places.

Regina huffed. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve known I’m bisexual for a very long time. I didn’t plan to, well,” Regina met Emma’s eyes, and her voice dropped to a velvety whisper, “I never intended to fall so hard for you, Emma.”

Emma’s heart did uncomfortable, bouncy things in her chest and her breath stuttered. “You… didn’t plan to care for me?”

Regina shook her head. “Not like this. I didn’t know I was capable of that anymore.”

Emma stroked Regina’s smooth, soft cheek as she asked tentatively, “Capable of what?” Fear and longing seesawed inside her as she waited for the answer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of…” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Regina’s eyes were dark and sparkling, full of tenderness. “Of loving someone like this.”

Emma froze as everything inside her melted into a puddle of hope and joy. “Love? You love me?” she near-whispered, wondering if she’d heard the words correctly.

Regina delicately brushed the backs of her fingers along Emma’s jawline. “Yes, Emma. I lo—"

A huge zombie, one Emma had never seen before, burst from the bushes beside them, staggering towards them, arms wide and flailing threateningly. His lower jaw hung half-off, and a suit jacket and dress shirt failed to hide that half of his chest was sickeningly concave.

Regina spun and bared her teeth. “STOP INTERRUPTING, DAMN IT. WE’RE HAVING A MOMENT!” she snarled.

As Regina drew her arms back for a furious magical assault, Emma grabbed Regina’s shoulders, bracing her and feeding magic into Regina, fortifying her as she blasted the zombie with magical force. The zombie sailed up and backwards dozens of yards, crashing high into a tree with a damp crunch. As the zombie tumbled to the ground, not moving, Emma wrapped her arms around Regina in case she collapsed again.

“I’m good, actually. You helped a lot.” Despite her words, Regina leaned her head back onto Emma’s shoulder, squeezing the arms wrapped around her. They really were both touch-deprived, Emma reflected. She was so privileged that Regina Mills trusted her enough to share moments like this with her.

Emma nodded against Regina’s hair. “Yeah, I’m the one that’s physically tired, and you’re magically tired, so let’s try to remember that with the rest of the zombies.”

Emma poofed the newest zombie back to the cemetery, and Regina tilted her head to look up at Emma. “So, as I was saying before we were rudely interrupted—”

“Nope! My turn.” Emma interrupted, and she pulled Regina around to face her. “I love you, too, Regina. And of course, you’re capable of loving someone again. You’re the most loving, passionate person I’ve ever known.”

Regina smiled broadly, that huge, beautiful smile that melted Emma’s heart every time. “You’re infuriating, you know. Now let me get this out. I love you, Emma Swan. I unequivocally love you, and I’m in love with you, too.”

Emma pressed her lips to Regina’s, and a tiny sound that was half-hum, half-moan slipped out of Regina. Regina tasted faintly like French roast coffee, and Emma worried momentarily that she tasted like stale fries before the hungry press of Regina’s mouth swept her concern away. The kiss began slow and tender, lingering and sweet. Regina’s mouth opened for Emma as she stroked her tongue over Regina’s lips, and Emma pulled her closer, pressing tightly together, drinking her in. They stayed like that for a long moment before pulling apart, smiling, and Regina whispered, “Now, let’s put Valentina to rest, catch Sir Egburt before he rips out someone’s guts, and get some rest, okay?”

As they pulled through the cemetery gates, Regina pointed to Gunther by his tool shed, and Emma turned down a drive that would put them on the far side of the cemetery from the easily-startled Gunther. Pulling behind a row of bushes, she parked the car and reluctantly pulled out the sword again. The weak breeze was growing musty and unpleasant, a growing mist gathered along the ground, and thin, pale moonlight barely trickled through tiny gaps in the thickening clouds.

She walked around to the back of the car and glanced at Regina. Regina spoke softly, “It’s the right thing, Emma.” Emma nodded and lifted the lid of the trunk.

Val had her lips locked around the empty bottle, and the trunk reeked of decay and whiskey. Val waved the empty bottle at Emma and groaned.

Emma said as reassuringly as possible, “We’ve got another bottle out here for you, Val.”

Val struggled to pull herself out of the trunk, groaning and mumbling what were obvious complaints. Balancing the sword with her left hand, Emma slid a hand under a squishy armpit to help lift her out.

Valentina slid out, settled on her feet, and immediately started to reach for the bottle. Suddenly she stopped, staring at the sword. She looked slowly around the cemetery. Finally, her head turned to Emma, and Val sighed.

Valentina knew what Emma was about to do.

Guilt flooded Emma. Val hadn’t done anything wrong other than be an inconvenience, and Emma was about to literally chop off her head. “Val, listen, if you can promise me that—"

Valentina moaned and shook her head.

At that moment Emma hated the sword in her hand, hated her job, hated this stupid zombie contagion that left her killing things over and over. She looked into the zombie’s face, noting the drooping, tired eyes, and the slack face. “Val, I really don’t want to…”

Val moaned again, waving her arms.

Regina stepped up. “Valentina, do you want to go back to rest?”

Valentina nodded and moaned, and to Emma, it almost sounded like she was relieved.

Valentina reached for the bottle and Regina handed it over. Val took it and turned slowly to face away from Emma. She tapped the back of her neck with her empty hand, then tilted up the bottle and started guzzling.

“Sleep well, Val,” Emma choked out, her throat tight, and swung the sword.

Valentina collapsed. Regina stepped up beside Emma and held her elbow, a light comforting touch, and they stood in silence for a long moment.

Finally, Regina broke the silence. “Well, she went doing what she loved most, at least the second time.”

Emma sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You’re right, Regina. They’re not alive, and they’re suffering.” In the distance, Gunther’s wheelbarrow clattered down a walkway, and Emma felt sickness rise in her throat. She paused, dragged in a rough breath, and asked, “What do we do about Gunther?”

Regina hesitated. “Are you absolutely certain Gunther’s dead?”

Emma ran her clean hand through her hair. “I’ve kind of been wondering, but, well, he smells very dead, and the first time I saw him, he had guts dangling from the bottom of his shirt. And he won’t talk to me, or eat or drink, at least in front of me.”

Regina wrapped an arm around Emma’s waist, who in turn slung an arm around Regina’s shoulders, and they walked down the road a dozen steps to watch Gunther at work digging. Regina commented quietly, “He never liked people, the living ones at least. Perfect personality match for his job, really.”

Emma pointed. “Oh, also, he moves at a zombie pace.”

Regina shrugged against Emma’s shoulder. “He never did move very fast, but I’ve got to admit this is slow even for him.”

Emma scrunched up her nose in distaste and glanced sideways at Regina. “So, our best bet is to lift up his shirt and look at his stomach? That seems rude.”

Mouth pursed in thought, Regina tilted her head, examining Gunther moving in the distance. After a moment, she observed, “He does seem happy doing what he’s doing for now, and I haven’t heard any moans of pain.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, he won’t have peace until his cemetery is right. Plus, zombie Gunther is better than ghost Gunther. Let’s go find Gutripper. Gunther will take care of Valentina very respectfully.”

As they drove through the cemetery gates, Emma asked, “So what do you remember about Egburt in Camelot?”

Regina grunted in disapproval. “Misogynistic, violent, smelly. Excellent in a fight, though. What do you remember about him in Storybrooke?”

Emma shrugged. “Add heavy drinker to the list. Didn’t like Astrid much.”

Regina mused, “He had a grudge against all the faeries, which I would normally find understandable, but it seemed to be because they were females with too much power, so, he can go fuck himself.”

“Grudge against the faeries? I think I know where Egburt went.” Emma swung the car around. “The turnoff to the convent is right back here. And weaker zombies than Egburt were able to break through the bigger cemetery gates, so the convent could be in real trouble if that shit Blue was rambling about was real and their magic won’t work on zombies.”

Regina snorted dismissively, and Emma couldn’t blame her. The convent gates had been locked tight at the first sign of zombies, with Blue saying something about preventing contamination. Apparently faerie magic wasn’t very effective against whatever magic animated zombies.

A thick mist rolled from the damp ditches and culverts, creeping up to headlight level to wave in translucent tentacles in the beams stretching in front of the car. The moon had slunk behind solid clouds, and endless darkness stretched away from the car in three directions, surrounding them with the vague shapes of trees shifting restlessly in the wind.

Soon the broad back of Egburt was visible at the edge of the headlights, staggering unevenly down the center of the road as he approached the locked and barred wrought iron gates of the convent. Emma crept behind Egburt at a distance, watching him move. Egburt was thick-muscled and fast, wading through the river of fog and snarling with malevolent determination.

As Egburt drifted to the right side of the road, Emma swung around him on the left, accelerating as his head turned, teeth bared at the passing vehicle. A loud thunk echoed on the back, and Emma twisted in her seat to yell behind them, “HEY! No destroying sheriff’s department property!”

Regina eyed her skeptically. “What are you going to do, Emma? Cuff him and throw him in jail after you chop off his head?”

Emma glared and pulled the cruiser to the side of the road beside the convent gates. “I think I’ll use the gun this time. Don’t want to risk Sir Egburt getting his hands on an actual sword.”

She climbed out of the car, stretching her tired, aching muscles for a moment as she stood. The glow from a handful of distant security lights surrounding the convent filtered through the moist air into a sickly yellow glow, illuminating the top of the thickening, thigh-high fog. Egburt was about fifty feet away, so she walked to the far side of the road and strolled casually down it several yards, trying to look non-threatening, hoping Egburt would just pass her by and she could get behind him before he did further damage to her cruiser.

Egburt’s head drifted between Emma and the cruiser, back and forth, and his lip curled in a snarl. Shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists, and he turned to face Emma.

She reached across her body towards her shoulder holster. Egburt paced towards her, raising one arm with claws spread. Emma stepped backwards, hoping for solid footing under the thick river of fog, and started to draw the gun. Suddenly, her back foot slipped, and she staggered, sliding into the ditch lining the roadside. Her hand twisted as she lurched, and the gun lodged firmly in the holster. “Shit,” she muttered. She was screwing up left and right tonight.

Emma scrambled back onto the road, and Egburt began to close in, reaching with one claw and pulling the other back, ready to swipe. He swung, and Emma had to duck and scamper away. The big man had a huge reach, much greater than hers. She needed to keep her distance.

She held her hands out beseechingly, trying to look non-threatening. “Aw, come on, buddy. This doesn’t have to be so hard. Just keep going, and it’ll all be over in a moment. We don’t have to do this dance.”

Egburt growled and marched towards her, and Emma skittered to the side. Egburt snatched towards her, and Emma had to lean backwards to avoid the flailing arms moving at about three-quarter speed. “Whoa, fast one, aren’t you?”

She backed down the road the direction they’d come, and Egburt turned to follow her. “Wow, were you this grumpy as a live dude? I guess if you’re called Gutripper, probably so. Just as well you’re dead, huh?”

Emma reached for her gun again, hoping to work it loose, but Egburt growled and swung a fist at her, and Emma had to duck again. “Sheeze, you’re making me miss Dad’s sword.” Emma backpedaled more, and Egburt advanced again, still growling.

A clear voice cut over Egburt’s growl. “Hey! Sir Limpguts!” Regina stood in the middle of the road beside the front of the cruiser, a fireball forming in her hand. “Egburt the Gutless, I hear your father smelled like a latrine that’s never been cleaned, and was frequently mistaken for an ogre’s buttocks. You clearly take after him, don’t you? Ugly just runs in your family.”

Egburt’s head snapped around alarmingly fast, faster than Emma had ever seen a zombie move. She might have underestimated this one.

Regina drew her hand back, fireball ready for release. “Having trouble swinging your itty bitty sword nowadays? You never could really manage much with it in the first place, so,” she shrugged, “no loss.”

Egburt turned, snarling, and Regina smirked wickedly. “That’s it, come kneel before the Queen.” Emma dragged in a shaky breath and wiggled her stuck firearm, moving with Egburt as he stepped towards Regina. She had to get the gun loose from the tight, stiff leather before this thing reached Regina, who certainly didn’t have the endurance left for a sustained fight. Regina might not even have the strength to blast the huge zombie away from her.

Egburt’s snarl became a full-fledged roar as he advanced on Regina, arms wide as if ready to grapple. Regina watched him come, cackling, “You think you can take me, you crawling, weak little wretch?” If Emma had to, she’d tackle the monstrous zombie. She’d probably lose the resulting wrestling match, but it might save Regina.

Egburt roared again, Emma forgotten entirely. Emma’s gun finally loosened from the tight leather, and Emma drew it, flipping the safety off. Jogging close behind Egburt, she placed the muzzle close to the base of his skull, angling upwards. Egburt continued forwards, not reacting to anything but Regina’s taunting laugh. Emma squeezed the trigger, and jumped backwards. The huge zombie dropped to his knees, then toppled to the ground with a revolting squish.

Emma shook the gore off her pistol and arm, holstered her gun, then stepped up to wrap one clean arm around Regina. “Thanks, Regina. That was a nasty one.”

Regina started to rest her head on Emma’s shoulder, then froze, grimacing, and picked something out of Emma’s hair. “Oh good, just a leaf,” she sighed. “You can thank me by not sleeping in the cemetery again, Emma.” Regina pulled a packet of wipes out of her coat pocket, and Emma took a moment to clean up before wrapping her arms around Regina again.

Regina pulled close, and Emma buried her nose in Regina’s hair for a long moment. “I really didn’t mean to fall asleep, and Egburt was easily twice as fast as any other zombie and a lot nastier.”

Emma loosened her hold just long enough to poof Sir Egburt the Gutripper’s body back beside Gunther’s tool shed, then squeezed Regina a bit tighter, feeling so, so grateful to have this woman in her arms. “That was a tough one, and it worked better when we worked together. God, I’m tired, and as a result, I’m screwing up.”

Insecurity crawled through Emma, and she pressed tighter to Regina. Then Regina’s hand began to stroke the back of Emma’s head, slowly but firmly. Emma sighed, and her tight, tired muscles gradually relaxed; it was as if Regina’s fingers were carefully cradling Emma’s old fears, comforting and protecting her as they caressed. Emma nuzzled Regina’s hair, drinking in the scent of her shampoo, the tang of her sweat, the intoxicating musk of her magic, and Emma knew her heart was secure here. She could speak her fears out loud.

Dampness hovered in the corners of her eyes as she murmured, “What am I if I’m not the savior rescuing the town? Who am I if people don’t need me?”

Regina pulled back and stared into Emma’s eyes. “You’re Emma,” she stated simply, her voice a liquid velvet, soft and rich, washing over Emma, reassuring her. “That’s all you ever have to be.”

The sincerity in Regina’s gaze opened something inside Emma, soothed the frightened little girl inside that was so afraid of being rejected yet again. Emma was safe here. Emma was loved. She let the words ease out reluctantly, “I guess it’s time to admit I need help.”

A gentle smile floated across Regina’s lips. “You won’t lose anyone by admitting you’re human, Emma.”

Emma gazed down the road towards the cemetery. “How long do you think this will last?”

“If it’s like most zombie magical contagion outbreaks, just until Samhain, or All Hallow’s Eve. Halloween.”

Emma poked Regina’s shoulder playfully. “I know what Samhain and All Hallow’s Eve are, Regina.”

Regina snorted and continued. “At some point, I’m sure the cemetery will run out of zombies. We’ve only got another week to go, but it’ll… make trick-or-treating difficult for the children if we can’t keep the zombies contained.”

Emma glanced at the iron bars of the convent gates. “Well, the fairies aren’t going to help. They’ve locked the gates and barred the doors since the beginning of this mess. Lot of help they are.”

Regina growled, “Typical. But you’re right: even with both of us working and Mulan helping, we can’t do this all on our own. Maybe we need to get a zombie containment team.”

Emma spoke delicately, raising her eyebrows and trying for more smile than grimace. “If we call my mom, she’ll get the dwarves on it.”

Regina groaned, “You want to ask Snow for help?”

Emma shrugged. “Look at it this way: she’ll be so busy for the next week she won’t have time to drop by city hall with any more citizen petitions. No time for signature gathering.”

Regina perked up. “That’s a thought.”

Emma stepped closer and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Regina’s ear. “And when he gets home tomorrow, Henry will be safest from the zombies if both his mothers are under the same roof.”

Regina smiled. “Yes, he definitely will be.”

Emma pulled out her phone. “I’ll call now.”

Regina put her hand over Emma’s phone, blocking her. She gritted her teeth and exhaled forcefully. “Damn, the conversation will be shorter if I call, won’t it?”

Emma shrugged apologetically. “We can call from the car as we drive home.”

“To hell with driving. It’ll be fine here at the convent gates. We’ll get it in the morning.” Regina pulled out her phone. She swiped a few times and brought it to her ear as it began ringing. “Hello Snow? Of course I know it’s 3 a.m. Yes, it’s an emergency. Emma is exhausted, and I’m bringing her to my house to get some rest away from your teething infant.” Emma began to rub Regina’s back, slowly running knuckles up and down her spine.

Regina arched her back into the gentle massage. “In the meantime, I need you to immediately gather a few people and go to the cemetery to replace her. In the morning, drag in a few dwarves and other people and organize a zombie containment committee, because Emma and I cannot keep this up. We have to get some rest. Mulan is exhausted, too; let her sleep. I’m sure there’s any number of sitters available for Neal. Try Belle or Ashley.”

She leaned against the car and rubbed her forehead, and Emma switched to a shoulder massage. “Oh, I think organizing at the loft is a fine idea. You’ve managed an army; you’re quite capable of handling a zombie patrol.”

Emma jumped in. “Don’t forget Gunther!”

“Oh, right.” Regina turned back to the phone. “And Snow? The cemetery caretaker is a zombie, and he should be left alone to do his job. Yes, Gunther. Well, I think he’s dead, but honestly, I’m not sure — there isn’t a big difference from when he was alive. Don’t harm him and he’ll rebury the other zombies for you. Anyone who hurts him gets to bury all the rest of the zombies themselves without any help from anyone else.”

Emma moved her thumbs to the base of Regina’s skull, working the tense knots there into pliability. Regina almost moaned, and turned it into clearing her throat. “Anyway, if you get enough support people, you should be able to contain the zombies to the cemetery. Try to keep Gunther safe and with functioning limbs.” Regina shrugged. “I agree; figuring out if he’s dead or just… Gunther would be a fine project for the committee. We’ll talk in the morning after Emma and I get some rest.” She hung up and turned to wrap her arms around Emma.

“Rest?” Emma leaned forward and whispered as she nibbled Regina’s earlobe.

“Well, eventually.” Regina hissed in a breath. “And until I, as mayor, deem the sheriff well-rested, the walking dead are just going to have to wait.” Wandering fingers traced down Emma’s sternum to dawdle on her top shirt button.

Emma pressed their foreheads together. “Again, a gross overstatement of how fast they are,” she insisted, then sighed at Regina’s raised eyebrow. Nodding at the spot Egburt fell, she admitted, “Well, most of the time.”

“Emma? Hush.” As their lips met, swirling purple and white smoke wrapped around them, carrying them off together.