Chapter Text
Regina was not a fan of things happening unexpectedly. She liked to be prepared. Plots, plans, itineraries: these were all things she appreciated. Since the first day Emma Swan walked into her life, however, these luxuries seldom occurred. She loathed her because of it—for a while at least. Eventually it became a more attractive quality. Thrilling even. But now, after this realization, Regina loathed it and Emma once more.
She had no one to blame but herself. Well, she could blame Zelena. She was the one who kept making obscure remarks for months on end before annoyance took over and she finally blurted out, “Will you stop brooding and just tell her you love her already,” in the middle of Granny’s diner. Regina nearly spat out the water she had just sipped, only to choke uncontrollably when trying to recover from it. She looked as refine as one could while suffocating and Zelena had just smirked triumphantly because Regina just gave her all the confirmation she needed.
That was a week ago; a week which was spent in denial, resisting even the possibility of loving Emma Swan. Now though, that she accepted it, she was pissed. Mainly at Emma for being so charming, but also at herself for allowing it to happen.
Ever since Zelena brought this information to light—that she loved Emma in a way that more than just friends love each other—she was unable to think of anything else.
It was impossible for her to get more than a few hours of sleep. Her brain was too muddled with how she could have let it happen, falling in love with her enemy-turned-friend. It was done so unintentionally, so naturally, that she didn’t even realize it. Years of heated arguments that evolved into mutual understanding and eventually into fervently protecting one another; in hindsight, she didn't stand a chance.
Telling Emma, however, meant risking the already fragile friendship they’d spent years carefully constructing. There were many things she could cope with. The loss of her fairy dust soulmate, the hatred she held for the darkest part of herself, mandatory family dinners with Mary Margaret once a week, but losing her closest friend and confidant? Absolutely not. Going back to being alone in a world that misunderstood her, she didn't think she could recover from that sense of isolation again.
Harboring her feelings was not working either. Not only did she feel like she was suffocating by keeping something so crucial from her friend—something Regina felt Emma deserved to know—but Emma was worried she had done something wrong. Regina tried to avoid her over the week, needing the distance to make sense of her feelings. But the savior was nothing if not determined, and so Regina ended up seeing her at Granny’s twice throughout the week despite changing her routine. She figured Emma must have waited for her at Granny’s which did nothing to assuage her guilt. The concern etched into Emma’s features and eyes that shone with worry and unspoken questions—what have I done? How can I fix it?—left her feeling ill.
Still, she refused to unearth this revelation. Emma had just broken up with her boyfriend. She needed a friend right now, not someone who possibly craved something more from her. And more importantly, Emma was going to therapy. She was finally doing something that would benefit herself.
After one of their new and slightly unexpected, yet frequently occurring conversations, Emma had reluctantly agreed to see Archie. She was still adamant that she did not have unresolved issues, but since it was Regina who asked, she agreed to go. Once. Now though, Emma willingly sought out Archie’s guidance once a week.
Emma was finally being selfish—if allowing herself to be vulnerable and mend herself could even be considered selfish. Regina wasn’t going to interfere. Not when she played such a crucial role in the way her life turned out in the first place. Emma earned the right to be selfish, in more ways than just confronting her demons. And as her friend, Regina strove to make her realize it.
It was inherent, Emma’s need to please others. Her own happiness was not a concern or a priority. Regina was sure if she voiced her desires Emma would willingly fulfill them; Regina feared that more than being rejected because it meant her feelings would not be genuine and rather born of Emma’s innate goodness and selfless need to give Regina a happy ending. That was even less desirable than loneliness: a fake relationship built of obligation.
Her body grew taunt as her past tumbled over her, chilling her to the core. Unbidden, memories of what her life was like when she was young surfaced. A queen with no desire for power. A wife who was not wanted nor loved. A token of respect for the King and nothing more. It was consuming her, hollowing out her heart and filling it with a hatred she hadn't felt in years. And so she drank. A lot. She did so without feeling guilty, however, because Henry was at his grandparents and she was alone and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
By the time a knock sounded through the foyer the sun had already set; the moon took its place, casting a silvery glow through the slits of the curtains. Regina stumbled towards the door, cursing under her breath as the knock repeated. She fiddled with the lock a moment before swinging the door wide open.
“Emma,” she said, voice breathy as she swooned forward. Her face scrunched up as she spoke again, “It’s late. What are you doing here?”
“You are very drunk,” Emma stated in lieu of greeting the inebriated mayor.
The brunette attempted to right herself on swaying feet as she scoffed. “I can hold my liquor. I don’t get drunk.” She sounded superior as ever and all Emma could do was chuckle.
“Of course not.” Nodding to the arm clasping the door frame she asked, “Can I come in?”
It looked as though Regina was wading through her whiskey-swamped brain for a polite way to turn her away, so Emma stopped her before she added more strain to what she could only predict would be an awful hangover. “Never mind. You should probably get to bed. I’ll just,” she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, “go. Sorry for interrupting your night.”
“Nonsense, come in. You didn't interrupted anything.” The words were rushed, one stumbling over the other in a fervid attempt to remedy her hesitation. She stepped back immediately and gestured for Emma to step inside.
“You sure? I don’t want to impose or anything,” her voice was unsure and tenuous.
Regina didn’t dignify that with a respond, instead turning around and sauntering off to her study. If she stumbled Emma didn’t say anything. She just closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt before trailing after her.
“Thank you,” Emma said as she settled onto the couch and took the proffered drink from Regina. Even intoxicated Regina was ever the decorous hostess.
“So,” Emma drawled, “what have you been up to lately? Aside from avoiding me and everything.” She took a sip of her drink as she looked up to Regina who, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Much. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to someone who hadn’t spent years getting to know every tick and subtle expression that crossed her face.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. It has just been a busy week, that’s all.” Emma raised a skeptical brow but didn’t say anything. “What brought you here tonight Emma?” she asked in an attempt to draw the conversation away from herself.
She watched as Emma retreated into herself; when she didn’t respond, Regina leaned further into her seat and crossed her ankles, waiting patiently for an explanation that never came. She gave her half an hour—enough time to sober up—then drew Emma out of her stupor. “What brought you here tonight Emma?” she echoed her question from earlier.
Emma let out a sigh of someone who was deeply burdened by the continual pressure of expectations. Then, rolling the now empty tumbler against her thigh, she responded. “They don’t get it.”
“Even if I hadn’t been drinking tonight,” Regina admitted, “I’d need you to elaborate.”
“Mary Margret and David. They think I’m just pretending to be fine, that I will break if they so much as mention Hook or the Evil Queen or anything that has happened this past month.”
“Ah, so you came here for a reprieve from the bumbling idiots.” Despite the silent agreement to be civil towards one another now—for Henry and Emma’s sake—Regina still found the Charmings to be insufferable. She reveled in the opportunity to show her distain towards them.
Emma made no move to rebuke the comment, only slumping further into the couch cushions. “It’s just…I am finally getting to a place where I can say I’m happy,” she stressed the word, desperate for someone to believe her. “And that isn’t enough. My happiness couldn’t possibly be legitimate because I’m not in a relationship.” The words were spat out with disdain and in the next moment Emma was laughing; it sounded so horribly defeated.
So little in her life made sense since she passed the ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ sign six years ago. Her world tilted on its axis and the expectations people had for her weighed on her more than being a little orphan girl ever had. Mother, Sheriff, Savior, Princess—these titles and the expectations bound to them were crippling. “I hate this,” she confessed. “I hate this happily ever after fairytale crap.”
It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t even a revelation. Everything from Emma’s body language to her weak attempts at making light of every new person who wasn’t just a character formed by sentences but actually real life, magical flesh and blood, rejected her new reality. Even so, the admission sobered Regina completely.
This is why she was here, to be her friend. Tentatively, she grabbed Emma’s unoccupied hand with her own. “I understand,” she said as she added pressure to her grip. It was just two simple words. Nothing more, nothing less. Expressing her own enmity towards labels and love being the only path to happiness would only diminish the worth of Emma’s own feelings.
The relief that shone in Emma’s eyes was as palpable as the appreciative squeeze her hand received.
It was not in her nature to be recklessly loose-lipped, but she was so tired of seeing her friend miserable. Emma Swan deserved happiness. There hadn’t been any imminent threats looming over the magical town in weeks, and if anything were to arise Zelena was more than capable of managing it. And so, thoughtlessly, Regina offered an escape: leave Storybrooke, and love, and happily ever afters behind for a week to go anywhere Emma desired.
“This doesn’t mean I condone your inclination for running away,” she began to clarify. “After five years of chaos, however, we can afford to take a vacation.”
*
The sun began to rise, beams of light filtering though the window when they finally ascended the stairs and stumbled into the guest bedroom. Emma had thanked Regina by giving her a gracious amount of Regina’s own cider, promising to give her a more suitable thank you during their trip, and then drank her weight in alcohol.
Regina, for her part, was no longer drunk—she had opted to watch Emma unwind than get drunk again; watching her be happy and carefree was really all the thanks she needed anyway.
Emma’s sock-cladded feet slipped across the cherrywood floor; she laughed tiredly as Regina wrapped a steadying arm around her waist and pulled her upright. Her hand curled around her hip and in the next moment Emma was pressed against her side.
When they neared the bed she launched herself from Regina’s embrace, landing roughly on white satin sheets. Immediately she began yanking at her skintight jeans, only to let out an exhausted whine when she deemed the task impossible.
“May I?” she waved her hand around feebly, gesturing to Emma’s clothes. She did not want to remove anything without her permission.
The response she received was a mumble of incoherent words and then Emma dramatically flinging her arms to opposite ends of the bed.
Regina set to work, first removing the gaudy leather jacket Emma had a penchant for wearing, then her too-tight jeans. She mumbled an “I’ll be right back,” before leaving the bedroom and returned minutes later with a pair of sweatpants, bottle of aspirin, and a glass of water.
Emma beamed at her. “So Madam Mayor does own something other than pantsuits.” The words came out sort of slurred, but she seemed so delighted with this new information Regina could only chuckle.
“I can’t very well sleep in a pantsuit Miss Swan, it would crease.”
“I like it when you call me that,” she mumbled with a barely-there smile. Before Regina could ask her to explain herself, Emma’s eyes drooped shut. With a deep, content sigh, the sheriff rolled over on her side, hand blindly searching for a blanket, then pulled the downy comforter up and over her head.
Right, Regina reminded herself, the sheriff sleeps in her undergarments. Sighing, she sat the aspirin and water on the nightstand and then watched as Emma’s breathing evened out.
Seeing Emma like this, untroubled, was paralyzing. She was the reason Emma looked so defeated all the time. Not the only reason of course, she knew that, but a reason nonetheless. For the past three years she tried to rectify it all. It still felt like every step she took was the wrong one though; Emma was still unhappy and stupidly determined to put Regina before herself. Looking at blonde hair sticking out from underneath the comforter she was reminded that she was also responsible for this night—for Emma smiling so widely and bubbly and being happy; with a renewed sense of determination Regina left the room, closing the door to leave her friend to snore the rest of mid-morning away.