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“Killian and I are getting married.”
Silence filled Regina's kitchen. Sunlight flooded in from one window, bathing the dark haired woman in gold.
At Emma's words, her eyes widened. Something flashed across her features, and then they settled into a smile.
“I'm so happy for you, Emma.”
Emma swallowed. The words were hollow, and they echoed around her chest, just as empty.
“Thanks,” she said.
The ring her future husband had given her dug into the skin of her finger, she twisted it once, looking away from Regina.
“So, when's the big day?”
“Uh,” Emma said, “we're not sure yet. You know, when no one is trying to kill us would be good.”
“Right,” Regina said, laughing a little. It sounded forced, and Emma's heart squeezed in her chest.
She met her gaze, a million unsaid words passing between them. The air was heavy with them. All the things they hadn't said, all the things Emma wished she could say.
She stepped towards Regina, so close they were almost touching. When was the last time they'd been this close? Back when all that passed between them was hatred. What she saw in Regina's eyes now was far from hate.
“That would be good,” Regina agreed, looking up into her face, “although it might take awhile.”
Emma was tired. Tired of pretending and saying things that meant other things and lying to herself.
“Regina…” she murmured.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she raised her hand, with trembling fingers she pushed a lock of hair out of Regina's face, and behind her ear. Dark eyes studied her, unflinching.
Emma paused, her fingers behind Regina's ear, her palm cupping her cheek.
It was the briefest of moments, within which everything was possible.
Then, Regina gave her a sad smile. She reached up and took Emma's hand, holding her there against her face.
“Emma,” she whispered, “it wouldn't have worked out anyway.”
“Why not?” her eyes searched Regina's, looking for permission perhaps. For answers.
“Because I'm the Evil Queen, and you're the Savior.”
“You're not,” Emma growled.
Regina laughed, the kind with no joy in it, only grief.
“Yes I am, and I always will be,” she swallowed and pulled Emma's hand away from her cheek, “you'll be happy with him, Emma.”
Somewhere behind her, the front door opened, and Henry's voice came through the hallway.
Emma stepped back, away from what could've been, and maybe what should've been, and turned to face her son with a smile.