Chapter Text
After all these years, you're still trying to save her.
~
It’s been a tough few days since the crisis that nearly blew Storybrooke out of existence. Greg and Tamara may be safely stowed away in an enchanted prison cell, but the events of that day have left you all fractured nonetheless.
Emma - beautiful, brave, dearest Emma - didn’t take the stress very well, and she has effectively moved out of your apartment and into the bed and breakfast. For now, at least. You understand her need to ‘get away and sort out her head’, as she put it, but regardless, her absence is keenly felt whenever you set foot in the place and she isn’t there, slumped on your furniture or breaking your appliances.
In an effort to make the living space a little easier for her to cope with, you’d moved yours and David’s bed upstairs. But it wasn’t enough, and now she’s looking for a place of her own; she says it’s for Henry, so that he can have a permanent home on his days with Emma, but you know she’s just trying to spare your feelings.
~
You notice Regina down the street one day as you step outside of Granny’s, having enjoyed a much needed debrief and gossip with Ruby after the chaos of the last week. She’s in some kind of confrontation with a woman you vaguely recognise; judging by the small child hiding behind her, she must be a parent of one of the children in a younger year at the elementary school. A small crowd begins to gather around them, and you can see the signs of Regina’s defensive posture beginning to turn aggressive, so you hurry down the street towards them.
“What’s happened?” you ask quietly to a man hovering around the scene.
He startles, stammering nervously, and you remember that to these people, you’re royalty again, rather than a meek but friendly schoolteacher. “She keeps saying that the Qu-- that Regina tried to steal her daughter, or something,” he manages to tell you, and you give him an appreciative smile before pushing your way into the centre of the conflict.
“Your Highness,” the woman gushes, red in the face, but you ignore her and instead walk up to Regina. Furious, she has her fists bunched by her sides in a clear effort to keep herself from silencing her adversary for good with the power that thrums through her veins.
The burns are still there, seared violently into the tender skin at her temples, and you want to reach out and soothe them with your fingers. Instead, you place a warning hand on her shoulder and say, “Breathe deeply, and tell me what’s going on.”
Disregarding your first command, she practically growls through gritted teeth: “This ungrateful woman’s daughter was lost and afraid, and I had the audacity to try to help her find her mother.”
It’s so clearly the truth, and the blatant, purposeful misunderstanding of the mother in question has humiliated Regina more than it has enraged her. There is pain in those dark eyes, pain that you have seen far too many times, and you suspect that the pink in her cheeks is more due to embarrassment or shame than any kind of anger.
You turn to face the other woman and her little daughter - what a shame, that she has been brought into this pathetic dispute - but your words are directed at every other citizen present, too. “Regina risked her own life in order to save all of ours a matter of days ago,” you pronounce, and watch the heads of the onlookers bow slightly. “I hardly think it’s fair to repay her with such suspicion and hatred, and I will not allow Storybrooke to become a town that cannot let go of a grudge.”
Without a second glance at the crowd or Regina’s opponent, you take her by the elbow and lead her away, the onlookers parting and dispersing to clear a path for their two queens. You spot Regina’s Benz and make your way towards it.
“I won’t let this happen again, Regina; I promise,” you say, and Regina snorts derisively; she seems to notice your grasp on her arm, then, and shrugs away, but you’re sure you can sense some reluctance there. Or, maybe, it’s just the absence of blatant disgust.
“I only came out today to buy some comics for Henry,” Regina explains, and her tone is flat. “And I saw a little girl, all alone and crying in the middle of the sidewalk--”
She closes her eyes, then, and when they reopen she is staring aimlessly over your shoulder; it’s oddly blank and distant and above all else, it worries you.
“They’ll never accept me,” she states, “and there isn’t any point in trying.”
Before you can find the words to tell her otherwise, she’s climbed into the driver’s seat, and you watch her drive away with a strange sense of longing and a little bit of fear.
~
There is a knock at your door late that night, and you slip out of bed and tread down the stairs, thanking the gods that David has always been a heavy sleeper. Somehow, you already know it’s Regina. Perhaps you’ve been waiting for her, unknowingly, or maybe there was something particular about those dull knocks that reminds you of surrender.
She has been crying, you notice when you open the door, and you guess there’s been alcohol involved, too, by the way the she sways and her eyes dart about. You usher her inside and tell her to sit down on the couch, and fetch her a blanket whilst noticing how she seems to go stiff, to fight against the comfort offered to her by the sofa cushions alone.
Regina pulls the blanket onto her lap, nodding her appreciation, and you sit down beside her, tugging at the sleeves of your flannel pyjamas that now seem garishly cute next to Regina’s black sweater and pants.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” you press her gently, not missing how she shrinks away ever so slightly and avoids meeting your eye. “Or did you just want some company?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Regina announces, to your surprise, and she looks over at you then from under her dark lashes, “about you and I."
She hesitates, and you prompt, "Yes?"
"About how I’ve done the most despicable things to you, and how I’ve wished for your death with all conviction, but you still-- believe in me,” she spits, and folds her arms tightly across her chest.
“You know that I’ve forgiven you,” you remind her. “I want us to move on, Regina. To be the best versions of ourselves and let go of our past mistakes.”
“How can you believe that I will be good again?” Regina argues, and her voice breaks on the word, that one label she has never been able to attain and you have been blessed with since the day of your birth. “How do you have that faith when I don’t even have faith in myself? I was so close, today, to hurting that woman, and I still feel in my gut that she would have deserved it--”
“But you didn’t do it, Regina! That’s what’s important.”
“Only because you stepped in,” she counters, and then lets out the heaviest sigh; it’s almost as if you can hear the very life of her rattling around in her tired lungs. “Every time you’ve tried to save me from myself, I’ve thought you such a fool, because I--” she chokes up again-- “I’ve gone too far, haven’t I? I don’t see how it can be done.”
“Then a fool I continue to be, because-- because I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, and that is what gives me faith.” You start to cry, looking at this woman whom you know contains such strength and kindness deep within her, but has lost sight of herself after so many years of loneliness and despair. Of hatred, and of the most fervent desperation. She closes her eyes, as if she can’t bear to witness this display of your weakness, but you can’t stop yourself now. You need her to know that she will be okay, one day. That she is worthy.
“I want so badly for you to know love and happiness again, because even in your darkest moments, even when you broke my heart in so many ways, I loved you. And I still love you.” You reach over and take her hand, and it hangs limp in your grasp. So badly do you want it to animate; to wrap itself bruisingly around your wrist, to flick with a force that will push you away - anything, you think as you hold the weight in your palms. Anything but this. “Foolish, you might think, but I know the woman under all of that pain, Regina, and I love her. And it’s never been enough for you-- I understand that, now, though I never could before. But you have a son who brings out the best in you, and you have us, and we can be all be happy together--”
Regina is crying too, now; deep, anguished sobs that leave her struggling for air. You reach out with your other hand and pull Regina close - her thin, trembling frame does not protest, for once - and you draw her head down to rest against your chest, cradling her body against yours.
“You love so easily, that you can care so much for someone like me,” Regina says as you stroke her hair rhythmically, thumb brushing over one of those awful scars Mendell left in his wake, and she curls her arms around your waist, clutching onto you like a sole lifeline in a vast, stormy ocean. “I want that,” she whispers against your collarbone. “How do you do that?”
“I don’t know,” you answer, and think of all the pain that has come from loving this one woman alone, how you have suffered and lost and come so close to death at her hand, but never could shake the memory of the beautiful, kind young woman who had once saved your life. “It hurts, sometimes,” you tell her. “But you know that, Regina, because you can love, and you do so deeply. What you can’t do is trust.”
Regina rears her head back as her arms go slack around your waist. “Which is whose fault, exactly?”
“You have been betrayed by many more than me, Regina,” you respond, but the familiar wave of guilt still washes over you that perhaps it really is your fault she turned out this way.
Regina stares at you for a moment longer, the hurt of the past lingering on her face, but she soon gives in and leans back against you, the need for human contact outweighing her ever present desire for conflict.
“Are you happy, at least?” she asks you, after a few minutes of silence. “Of all this... this shit we’ve all been through, that I’ve caused... has there come any happiness?”
“Yes, I am happy,” you tell her. “Because I have my family. But I won’t ever be truly content until you are happy, too, and honestly, I never have been.”
“Well, you’ve got a long wait coming,” Regina sighs against your shoulder, and just as you are about to tell her otherwise, David comes down the stairs, wiping the sleep from his eyes and looking thoroughly confused.
“What’s Regina doing here?” he asks you, and realising her position, Regina snatches her arms away from your waist and tosses your blanket away from her.
“I was just leaving,” she manages to snap, her voice still thick from crying. She stands up, tense and poised as ever, and without so much as a glance back at you, she is gone.
You curl up next to David for the rest of the night, but the weight of Regina’s sorrow seems to press down upon you, and sleep evades you.
~
Emma comes over for lunch the next day when David’s out at the stables, and you wonder if she timed her visit to coincide with that on purpose. The thought hurts, but you understand her discomfort. You’re grateful, too, because if she notices your own distraction, she doesn’t comment.
She tells you about a small house that’s come up for rent, and it’s nice enough and conveniently the same distance from the apartment as it is from Regina’s house, but she wants you to come and see it before she makes any decision. It makes you happy in such an uncomplicated way that she values your trust and input, but you’re aware of her fragile state and don’t want to suffocate her, so, instead you promise her that you’d love to see the place.
And then she says something that sours your mood entirely: “I stopped by to say hi to Henry on the way to check out the house today, and maybe I just caught her at a bad time but-- is Regina okay?”
“What makes you wonder that?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even.
“Oh, I don’t know-- she seemed kind of unfocused, and she’s not normally like that with Henry around. And she looked pretty bad.” Emma frowns, and tugs at the sleeve of her shirt. “Maybe we should’ve kept a closer eye on her, after the whole... electrocution and diamond-absorbing thing.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” you say weakly, and then sigh. “I saw her in town yesterday. And you’re right, she didn’t seem very well at all.”
“I could go round there again tonight, just to check on her?” Emma suggests, and you shake your head.
“If you go to the house twice in a day that is meant to be Regina’s time with Henry, then I feel like she’d be paranoid that you’re trying to take away that time. She doesn’t need that stress on top of everything else, Emma.”
Emma raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, someone needs to check on her, and honestly I think she’ll be more concerned if it’s you.”
Taking care to avoid mentioning last night’s visit, you briefly explain yesterday’s event on Main Street, and you finish by pointing out, “I don’t think it would surprise her too much if I go to see how she’s doing tonight, after Henry’s gone to bed.”
Emma agrees, and you look at each other and share one of those bemused, hollow laughs, both marvelling at the utter mess your lives have become.
~
“Why are you here?”
You pull your coat protectively around yourself as the two of you recall what occurred the last time you found yourself on Regina’s doorstep and ended up momentarily sans-heart. This time, however, you don’t beg for death - instead, you simply ask to be let inside - and this time, she grants your request.
“I’m beginning to find this somewhat amusing,” she remarks as you shrug out of your coat and hang it on the stand. “Snow White, my mortal enemy, and she’s the only one who cares about my well being.”
“Emma cares, too,” you protest. “She told me over lunch today that she’s worried about you, but I convinced her it’d be better if I came around to check on you instead.”
“Emma...” Regina leans back against the wall, smirking slightly. “I can’t bring myself to hate her any more, you know. An almost impossible feat, but trust true love’s offspring to take up the challenge.”
“I think the two of you could get along well, if you gave it a chance. Both of you could use a friend right now. Someone to talk to.” You tell her all of this, but honestly, you’re still not 100% sold on the idea of your precious daughter becoming too close to this woman. It’s a risk you’d rather face yourself, for now.
“Aren’t I talking to you?”
You stop in your tracks, and it’s as if the truth of her comment dawns on you for the first time. Yes; Regina Mills is talking to you. She’s letting you in, seeking your comfort, desperate for your help. Or so it seems. You feel slightly ashamed that her weakness is allowing you this moment of selfish pleasure, but-- isn’t this what you’ve been craving for so many years? The chance to personally redeem the Evil Queen?
Regina may not have many other viable options, but she’s chosen you, for once.
“And I really do appreciate that,” you manage to respond when she begins to look at you curiously.
Regina shrugs, then heads into the sitting room, naturally assuming you will follow her. She curls up on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her, and you sit yourself awkwardly next to her, feeling terribly out of place in Regina’s territory.
“You never did tell me why you’re here,” she says.
You take your time with your response, carefully shaping the words before you release them into the expectant silence. “I can’t shake the feeling that I owe it to you to make sure you’re getting better. And Henry-- he needs you to be stable, and I don’t think you are.”
She stares back at you, dark eyes impenetrable as ever, and then shakes her head. “But what makes you think that you will be able to help me?”
You want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, tell her of lifetimes entwined by fate, of mutual understandings, of selfless connections, of constant desires to be better. Of how this might be your destiny, after all, to heal each other after so many years of pain.
You want tell her of love and how it is all she will ever need, really. But this isn’t one of Henry’s stories. Life has a funny way of using love to destroy Regina instead, you’ve noticed.
So you tell her, “I don’t know. But I’ll do anything. Anything you need.”
Regina reaches for the remote, then, and switches on the television. She settles on some run of the mill procedural, volume low, then settles down on her side, cushion used as a pillow.
You stay with her, because her silent plea to not be left alone is clear enough. You place your hand on her exposed ankle, and though she twitches slightly at the unexpected touch of cool skin, she doesn’t push you away.
Regina is asleep within minutes. You switch the television off, take the sinfully soft throw from the back of the sofa and tuck it gently around her body - oh, how small she looks right now - and then you slip quietly out the front door.
~
The following night, she lets you in without a word. You find yourselves perched on the couch again, but this time there is a drink wobbling in her hands and a devastating look on her face that she’s lost the will to mask.
“Talk to me,” you plea. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
And finally, the dam breaks, and her words come tumbling forward. “I used to complain that I couldn’t feel anything, and now-- now I feel too much, and I feel it all the time, and it’s ruining me. I can’t use my magic as an outlet, because Henry trusts me not to--”
“Can this be an outlet?” you interrupt, and place a hand on her knee. “Talking to me, like you are now?”
She laughs, condescending and brittle. “No, dear. I’m afraid this isn’t enough.”
“Then--” You realise what you’re about to ask her, and how it’s right up there with the stupidest things you’ve ever done. And you do it anyway. “Maybe there’s a way you can use some magic - for good, of course. You know, they say it’s about moderation--”
“Are you really so ignorant?” she snarls, and her hands tremble with anger, some of the drink spilling over onto the carpet. “Would you invite an alcoholic out for a drink?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help,” you backpedal. “It just seems wrong, that you’re letting yourself suffer by keeping your magic totally pent up just for Henry’s sake. He’s a child, Regina. You shouldn’t allow him to dictate your wellbeing.”
“No. I can’t break his trust,” she whispers, and fixes you with a look that says, You’re a mother, now. You should understand. “It’s all I have left. If he leaves me, I have nothing, and I’m already so lonely...”
She begins to cry, and you squeeze her knee where your hand rests, but that only seems to make the sobs more violent. Her drink sloshes again, so you take it from her hands and rest it on the coffee table. Bereft of their purpose, her fingers then tug wildly at her hair, rub furiously at her eyes, clutch tightly onto her own arms, nails digging in hard enough to bruise...
“I just-- I need something--”
You take hold of her restless limbs mid-flight and draw her close to you. Holding her two hands in your own, you bring them up between both of your chests and press them against your heart. Regina lets her chin sink down onto your shoulder.
“It’s okay,” you tell her. “Just breathe.” You release one of her hands in order to rub soothing circles on her back, and she wraps her now free arm tightly around your waist.
“You’re not alone,” you say, and she releases the smallest of whimpers. “I’m still here.”
Regina’s breathing slows. Her muscles soften under your touch.
“How do you do that?” she wonders aloud, echoing the first night that she found herself in your arms. “When you touch me, and I’m okay. How do you do it?”
She pulls back, just enough that her face is inches from her own. Her eyelashes flutter as her eyes dart up and down, as if she’s studying every minute detail of your face, and the corner of her mouth curves up ever-so-slightly in her curiosity. Her warm breath tickles your cheek.
Your hand still lingers on her back. You don’t dare to move a muscle.
And then she kisses you.
~
At first, you don’t react at all, out of pure shock. But then Regina drops your hand and grasps your shoulders, deepening the kiss and pressing you back into the sofa cushion. You let her have this moment, brief and oh-so-wrong as it is, and you reach up to cup her cheek, collecting a hot tear with your thumb as you brush it across her cheekbone.
When she pauses, almost gasping for air, you gently push her back.
“Regina,” you sigh, and she slumps back against the seat, a look of horror dawning in her eyes as she presses a hand to her mouth. “That can't happen again,” you warn, weakly.
The answer is firm. “It won't.”
“I'm sorry,” you tell her. She reaches for her drink and downs the rest of it in one long pull. “If I gave you the wrong idea--"
“You didn't,” Regina dismisses, waving her hand aimlessly.
As you wait for the beating of your heart to slow to a healthy pace, you gaze at the woman before you and finally, finally you understand.
“Regina, you can't... seek to share in my goodness,” you say, and though she makes a show of staring into her empty glass, you know she listens. “You need to find it yourself. I believe you can, and I'm here to help you. But I can't give you everything. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do. Don’t patronise me,” she replies. Her voice is flat, but her movements seem much stronger as she places the glass on the coffee table and picks herself up from the couch. “I'm sorry that I kissed you. I'd like you to leave, now, so that I can go to bed.”
“Sleep well,” you say before you turn to leave. “Maybe you'll feel better in the morning.”
~
As you drive home, you wonder if David will taste Regina on your lips when he kisses you goodnight. To you, she tastes of lipstick, salty tears and could-have-beens.