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By now, the pain has radiated from the point of impact at the back of her head, throbbing waves surging up and down her neck, knotting each enveloped muscle. There's a cord of tension devouring each nerve ending, beginning a slow descent down her spine. The worst of the pain, though, is still that barely healed gash on her head. When she reaches for it, even a ginger touch is enough to nearly send her to her knees. The bleeding has stopped and she's sure there's nothing seriously wrong lurking beneath the tangle of hair matted to that spot.
Or maybe there is, maybe she's slowly bleeding into her brain. Maybe, after all this time, this is what snuffs out the former Evil Queen. There's a flicker of worry for herself as she considers the thought; not because she has much regard at all for her own life, but because she can't bear the thought of putting Henry through that. He'd be the one to find her, and he already has an unwieldy burden on his shoulders with Emma. The Dark One.
It was just an accident, a clumsy fall against the pavement slick with rain. This shouldn't have happened, but she's been distracted lately. As she sits and swallows a few pills she hopes will assuage the worst of the pounding, Henry's voice cuts through her thoughts.
"Mom, come on. We're going to the hospital," he commands, the steel in his words leaving no room for protest.
"Henry-"
"Mom, you can't even keep your eyes open. That's how much it hurts. Please," his voice softens now as he steps forward, kneeling in front of her. "I don't wanna lose you, too."
"Henry, you haven't-"
A sharp surge of pain chokes the air out of her lungs for a brief second and when she's able to take a deep breath. Regina realizes that false, hollow reassurances mean nothing and Henry deserves better. For the time being, he has lost Emma. They both have. The darkness in her is veiling the light and she's receded from them, not allowing them to get close, not even giving them a chance to save her. But neither one of them will stop trying. Relenting to Henry's pleas, Regina stands up and even lets her son loop an arm around her waist to hold her steady. They only manage one step before Emma is suddenly in front of them, in a swirl of magic so much like dark smoke than anything pure and untainted.
Henry's grip tightens around her and Regina's arm wraps around his shoulders in return. She stands straighter, a tense expression on her face as both of them wonder why Emma is here and what she might be planning to do to them.
"Why are you here?" The sharp spikes in those words surprise even Regina, but she won't soon forget the way Emma spoke to their son yesterday, and the tears he'd fought so hard not to shed as he stormed out of Granny's and away from her. For the first time in years, Regina is grappling with the unwanted dichotomy in loving (terribly) a person that you happen to hate.
No, not hate. Not Emma. She hates those shadows drawing curtains over the soft, tender eyes she once would have lost herself to without hesitation. She hates that when Emma (her Emma) reached for her hand yesterday, it was not to lace their fingers together or sweep her thumb across her palm or whisper of her love against the faint pulsing at her wrist so it could root within her. Instead, she wrapped her hand around her wrist with a grip that suggested they were enemies and not two people who had just made love a week ago in a tangle of bedsheets and quilt under the glow of dusty sunlight.
She hates that calling her Emma now feels like a lie. This is a perversion of Emma, a monster with Emma's face.
And she hates, hates, hates that just loving her won't save her.
Before either of them can do or say anything else, Emma strides forward and wraps her hand around Regina's wrist again. Instinct has Regina immediately trying to pull away from the hold her former lover has on her, but then Emma's hand cups to her cheek and Regina stares at her in confusion. Henry has taken just a small step back, but there's a frown on his face and a tightness in his jaw that tells Regina he's poised to intervene if he needs to.
This softness in Emma's eyes is an abrupt departure from the hollow gaze emptied of emotion. Regina knows better than to hope or believe that Emma is here to stay with them now. She's too well acquainted with the nature of the Dark One to believe that there are no battles left to fight in the protracted war for the return of Emma's soul. But there's a chance, maybe.
"You're hurt," Emma murmurs, dropping Regina's hand to hover over the gash at the back of Regina's head. "Let me fix this."
A reasonable person might acquiesce without hesitation, but the past week has fortified so many of the walls around Regina's heart, walls that had been infiltrated and knocked down by Emma, in fact. Regina cannot agree without a moment of scrutiny, a pause to consider whether she should allow it. It has nothing to do with doubting that Emma will actually heal her; on the contrary, she's sure Emma is sincere in wanting to help and fully planning to do so. If she had wanted to kill her, she easily could have at any point, and Regina doesn't believe Emma is so far gone this soon that she would even entertain the notion. No, her hesitation has everything to do with playing into Emma's hand. If she grants her this, even this small act, she owes her something. She's indebted to her. Even if Emma doesn't say that out loud, Regina knows how the darkness will twist her, and there is already such an abundance of games to play between them that this meager allowance might forfeit the control Regina has.
And yet, the word no sits on its perch, stays, waits. Emma's hand shifts so that her thumb can caress Regina's temple. Her fingers seem to curl up in the long, soft strands of her hair, as though they want to rest there like they were meant to. Regina desperately wants to retain her control, but the touch is so soothing that her eyes close longer than the span of three breaths before snapping open again. Every protest she could think to conjure up has retreated, and she wants to get lost in this, but she can't.
"Fine," Regina barely whispers.
Emma leads her back to the couch to sit, tugging her so that her back is resting against her chest. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Emma simultaneously holds her palm over the wound, and then Regina feels warmth blossoming from that central spot, untangling the knots of tension that have suffused her entire being. Her eyes close again as the pain ebbs away and then she opens her eyes to look at Henry, who's standing and watching everything with a hopeful look on his face. Regina nods at him, a half-smile curving her lips.
It's okay, she tells him silently.
Satisfied and assured that his mom is in good hands for now, Henry goes back upstairs, and Regina turns a little to look at Emma. There are so many things she wants to say and ask of the woman she loves, who appears to actually be here. She's wrangled the darkness for the time being and it's just Emma, her love. She's here, and Regina wants to say and do so much while they have this chance.
But that's not them.
What they are is this: holding each other against the terrible things that sweep into valleys of hearts entwined and set fire to all the old things, the bad things, the deserts between them thirsting for love. They are what is good and what lasts, and Regina pretends that tonight, that is a true thing and she can keep Emma (her Emma). Because she's here, and her arms enfold her, and when she turns her head she can hear that familiar rhythm of her heart beating. It's not like the darkness, the Dark Ones, the shadows stalking light. It's a song that is just Emma. It's the sound of stars whispering to each other when the other lights go out. That's Emma, and she wants to hold onto her forever. If she doesn't move, maybe she can. That's the irrational musing she'll allow herself for just one night.
"Why?" She finally asks.
"You think I could handle losing you?" Emma whispers against Regina's ear, stroking her hair again.
Regina tells herself that she should get up in a minute. One minute. She'll time herself, she'll count down the seconds. If she doesn't get up in a minute, she never will.
"I would have been fine," Regina tries to insist. She doesn't want to say anything about how Emma has changed, how everything has changed. Emma is still Emma. They just have to save her from what's trying to drown her now.
"Maybe a few hours ago. You would have died in your sleep if Henry hadn't dragged you to the hospital," Emma counters.
She's right. She is. And this entire conversation is, in the scheme of things, relatively pointless. She'd rather think about the softness of Emma, the way it would be so easy to turn her head to rest in the crook of her neck and-
No. She has to get up. But again, she doesn't move. Her limbs are too heavy and to move would be a laborious task. Regina can reach Emma's free hand easily, though, and she does, tugging Emma's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. She can almost feel Emma smile, and very carefully, Emma turns Regina's head for her so their lips can touch. It's a soft, tender kiss, nothing heated, nothing meant to arouse the other. It's a kiss that soothes and feels like sweet rain on the hottest day of summer. It's a kiss that lasts, that could save someone's life, and when it ends, its warmth curves around them like a quilt guarding against the cold of a cruel world.
Regina's head rests in the crook of Emma's neck as Emma resumes the rhythm of stroking her hair. Just a few minutes pass before Regina's head begins to loll, dropping just a fraction before she catches herself and Emma simultaneously sinks back against the cushions. She has no need for sleep, but she can keep watch. The light has won today, and her love will be safe in her arms through the night.