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“What was she going to say?” Emma demands, following Regina into her kitchen. Regina stands over the sink, draining first one glass of water and then another, face still tight with pain and taking in shaky breaths. Emma had kept quiet on the drive here (Regina leaning her head against the glass of the passenger window, eyes closed and mouth drawn but breathing, breathing, Regina’s hand periodically twitching towards her chest, Regina , Regina are you okay, Regina) , but now that they’re here and safe and Regina’s color is returning to normal, some of Emma’s fear is beginning to translate into anger. “What could she possibly have been about to say that would have been worth you doing…worth you…”
Regina averts her eyes, turning away from Emma so all Emma can see is a curtain of hair and the sharp protective curve of Regina’s shoulder, stiff and unyielding. Regina’s left hand is splayed against the counter, and Emma watches her fingers tighten reflexively in response to Emma’s question.
“Please don’t ask me that.” Her voice is low, tired, heavy with that note of defeat that stings in Emma’s eyes and nose.
“Regina—”
“Please, Emma, please just drop it, please .”
Emma thinks she can now hear a hint of fear in Regina’s voice, with a tremble that sounds like Regina is close to tears, and that more than anything gets Emma to back off, raising her hands in the air. “All right, okay. Hey,” she says, when Regina shivers, “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry. I won’t push, I promise. All right?”
Regina nods, swiping at her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just—” She’s interrupted from whatever she’s going to say by the slam of the front door and Henry’s voice echoing through the hallway. “Mom? I’m home!”
Regina turns away from the sink, running a hand through her hair and straightening her posture. “Kitchen!” she calls back. Emma hears the thump of Henry dropping his backpack before he lopes in.
“You won’t believe—” he starts, and then stops, looking between their faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, honey,” Regina says, shooting Emma a warning look that Emma is sure Henry catches, because their son isn’t an idiot and Regina isn't as subtle as she likes to think she is. “Just a long day, for both of us. How’s Violet? Did you two finish your science project for Monday?”
Henry nods. “Took forever, but we’re finally done.” He glances at Emma. “Are you staying for movie night?”
“She is,” Regina says, before Emma can answer, and Emma looks at her in some surprise, because after their earlier conversation, she would have half expected Regina to jump at an excuse to kick her out.
“Awesome!” Henry grins at them, and they both smile back. “I’m going to go pick something.”
Regina watches him go, hesitating for a moment before turning back to face Emma. “You don’t have to stay, of course,” she tells Emma, looking somewhere in the vicinity of Emma’s shoulder instead of meeting her eyes. “I shouldn’t have just volunteered you. I just thought it would be nice if…nice to…having you here is nice. Today has been--well, like I told Henry. Long.”
“I’m glad I’m staying,” Emma says, and Regina relaxes a little.
“Well,” she says. “Good then. Will you get the popcorn started? I’d like to put on something a little more comfortable.”
Emma nods, then catches Regina’s wrist before Regina can leave, careful to keep her grip loose. She can feel the flutter of Regina's pulse under her fingers, steady and reassuring. “We can talker later?” Emma says. “If you want. I’m here, Regina.”
Regina gives her a tremulous smile. “I know,” she says, and slips away. She hesitates when she reaches the door, turning back to face Emma. Her hand is over her stomach, and the last rays of early evening sunlight coming in through the window catch on a ring she's wearing, casting tiny rainbows onto the floor between them. “Being around you…” Regina says. “You make me feel more like me. That's been difficult lately. But you help.”
All of Emma's words feel stuck in her throat, and all she can manage in response is a squeaky, “Oh.”
Regina watches her carefully. “You have a bigger influence on people than you give yourself credit for,” she says, and Emma feels her flush deepen. Regina's look then goes from piercing to something more rueful, nose scrunching up. “Even when you're yelling at me.”
“I wasn't yelling,” Emma objects. “Exactly.”
“Loudly worrying, then,” Regina amends. She's quiet for a moment, watching Emma. “Thank you, Emma,” she says. “Really.”
Emma nods, short and jerky, and Regina disappears upstairs.
When they all reconvene in the living room a little later (Regina in leggings and an oversized sweater, hair around her temple starting to frizz and the whole look sending a coil of warmth to Emma’s stomach), Emma is surprised to see the dvd Henry brandishes triumphantly.
“Homeward Bound, kid?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. “Not gonna lie, I was expecting you to go for a Star Wars marathon.”
Henry shrugs. “Mom and I just watched those last weekend,” he says. “Plus Violet’s little brother was watching this when we were working on our project. He was in the other room so we only heard snippets, and it made me want to watch again. I haven’t seen it since I was like, nine. But it was one of our favorites when I was little.” He grins. “Mom always cries at the end. She used to try and pretend it was allergies, but I always knew.”
“You are such a secret softie,” Emma teases Regina, because she wants the rest of the strain still lingering on Regina’s face to go away, wants Regina to laugh and for her eyes to crinkle with her smile. A blush settles high on Regina’s cheekbones, and Emma continues, “What would the masses think if they knew?”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good reunion story,” Regina says, which makes both Emma and Henry snort. Regina kisses the top of Henry’s head as she walks past him and drops onto the couch. “Now make yourself useful and hit the lights and bring the popcorn.”
“Do I need to worry about getting cried on?” Emma whispers in Regina’s ear when they've all settled in and the movie starts up. “Should I warn you when it looks like things might get too warm and fuzzy? Give you a chance to avert your eyes?”
Regina lobs a piece of popcorn at Emma’s head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth and the edges of her hair tickling Emma’s cheek as she ducks away.
“Well isn’t this heart-warming.”
All three of them startle at the voice, jumping up and spinning around to see the Queen behind the couch. She saunters around to stand by the tv, her movements liquid, languid, and Regina instantly strides forward to insert herself between the Queen and Henry, so tense she is practically vibrating.
Regina is barefoot, toes curling into the carpet, and the Queen stands a good four inches taller than her in her heeled boots. More, Emma guesses, if you count the hair knotted high on her head. But it’s not just the height that makes them look so different, Emma thinks. It’s Regina’s tense fury and the Queen’s predatory grace, Regina’s stillness to the Queen’s motion. Everything the Queen does, every movement she makes, is exaggerated and performative, designed to be on display, to get a reaction. Regina, by contrast, seems to withdraw deeper into herself in response. It’s strange to watch, both parts familiar and yet somehow neither quite in synch with the Regina Emma remembers from before the split.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” the Queen says. “You were so…picturesque.” The sneer on her face is pure contempt, and Emma wonders if she only imagined the hint of hurt she saw ripple over the Queen’s face when Regina moved to block Henry.
“What are you doing here?” Regina demands.
“What kind of greeting is that?” the Queen asks. “Very rude, Regina. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice half? We were having such a good conversation earlier, before you so abruptly chased me off. I thought we could try again. I’m assuming you won’t use the same tactics this time.” The Queen’s eyes flick to Henry, who has moved out from behind Regina to stand beside her instead.
Emma thinks of the earlier scene at Snow’s loft, of the Queen mentioning something about Hook, and truth, and the way Regina’s hand had shot so quickly into her own chest, the wrongness of it coming back out wrapped around her heart. Thinks of Regina squeezing and the Queen gasping, both their faces lined with pain. Thinks of her own voice, high with fear, Regina what the hell are you doing? Thinks of both Regina and the Queen almost doubled over, Regina’s grip tighter and tighter, before the Queen let out a frustrated snarl and poofed out. Of Regina loosening her hold on her heart so quickly she dropped it, and Emma barely managed to lunge forward and catch it before it hit the floor. Regina had staggered back, letting Snow guide her into a chair and making pained little wheezing noises while Emma knelt in front of her, still cradling Regina’s heart in both her hands, Regina the fuck are you okay what was that what the hell Regina Regina are you okay.
Henry hadn’t been there for that, safe at Violet’s for the afternoon, and Emma can tell by the way the Queen looks so pointedly at him now that she is banking on Regina not pulling a repeat performance in front of their son. Emma thinks of Regina’s eyes when the Queen had threatened to reveal whatever secret Regina is so carefully guarding, thinks of please don’t ask me that Emma, please, of fear and vulnerability and the complete lack of hesitation in Regina’s squeezing hand, and wishes she could be as sure.
“I got rid of you once, I can do it again,” Regina says, and Emma takes another step forward, not entirely sure if she’s preparing herself to grab Regina’s arm or launch herself at the Queen, until—
“Stop!” Henry yells, and they all turn to him, too startled to do anything else. “Hasn’t there been enough fighting for one day?”
Emma opens her mouth, but Henry continues on before she can say anything.
“I know that’s why you both looked upset earlier, I’m not stupid. Something happened and you didn’t want to tell me. And I’m tired of it. I just want to have one night where nothing is wrong. That shouldn’t be such an impossible thing to ask for.” He’s breathing heavily, words tumbling out over each other, and all three of them stare at him, unsure of what to say. “Mom,” Henry says, and Emma is surprised to see his eyes trained not on her or Regina, but the Queen. He reaches for her hand, and she holds herself completely motionless, gaze flicking between his hand and his face.
“You’re asking me to go,” she says, the dullness entering her voice and eyes a stark contrast to the arch sharpness she’d leveled at Emma and Regina just moments before.
“Actually, I’m asking you to stay,” Henry says, and both Regina and the Queen stiffen, shoulders drawing back and eyes widening in twin reflections of surprise.
“Henry…” Regina warns in a hoarse whisper, the same time the queen asks, “What?”
“Stay,” Henry repeats. “I know this is one of your favorites. Stay and watch it with us. Everything else…well, it can wait.”
“I don’t think your mothers will approve,” the Queen says, and she’s clearly aiming for flippant, but Emma can hear the undercurrent of hurt and longing in her voice.
“You’re my mom too,” Henry says, and Emma feels, more than sees, the way this makes Regina wilt a little standing next to her. “That's what you said, right?” he asks the Queen. “That you're my mom too. So be my mom. Please?” he says, this time making eye contact with all three of them in turn. “Can we please just have one night without fighting? One night to be a family."
Regina acquiesces first, slowly sitting back down on the couch with a sigh and dip of her head in Henry’s direction. Emma follows Regina’s lead, though she remains on guard, eyes trained on the Queen and ready to jump back up if needed.
Only the Queen stays standing, looking back and forth between Emma and Regina on one end of the couch, Henry on the other.
“Come on, Mom,” Henry wheedles, smiling. “I’ll share my popcorn…”
The Queen hesitates for another moment, before finally stepping towards the couch and tentatively easing herself into the open space Henry has left between him and Regina. “All right,” she murmurs. “One movie, then.”
Henry grabs the clicker, and they start back up. For a while, they watch in silence, the only sound in the room other than the movie the crunch of popcorn and the shuffle of shifting bodies in the couch. Then Emma hears the Queen let out a soft flutter of a sigh, and murmur, “We watched this one a lot when…”
“Yes,” Regina agrees, something quiet and immeasurably sad in her voice. Emma waits for one of them to say something further, but neither does, and taking in the careful stillness on both their faces, she stops herself from asking.
***
Emma spends more time watching Regina and the Queen than she does watching the movie, and in doing so, she sees how much time the two of them spend watching each other, somehow never at the same time.
The Queen looks at Regina like who you will always be, like he’s not your son he’s mine, and Emma isn’t prepared for the familiarity of the expression to twist in her gut, isn’t prepared to look at the Queen and see Regina when she has been trying so hard to only see a stranger, someone cold and alien and unknowable. But there’s nothing cold about the woman sitting on the couch here, about the lonely ache of her eyes and the defeated downturn of her lips, about the way she looks at Henry like he’s a miracle she doesn’t understand when he rests the bowl of popcorn on both their knees and leans his shoulder into hers.
And Regina…Regina. Regina looks at the Queen like it isn’t our price, it’s mine, like villains don’t get happy endings. Like if I revert, I lose everyone I love.
I want her gone , Regina had growled on that cold New York rooftop, but on the drive home she kept her arms wrapped tight around her body like she no longer knew the edges of herself, and her expression when she didn't think anyone was looking was more lost than free.
Emma remembers what Henry said about Regina always crying at the end, and as the music swells and Shadow appears at the top of the hill, Emma pays extra attention. Sure enough, there is a suspicious brightness in the eyes of both Reginas, traces of tears on both their cheeks. Their heads are tilted together, lightly resting against each other, and after a few beats of watching, Emma realizes they are breathing in time, down to every hitch and sniffly shudder. Their hands lay on the couch between them, and when Emma looks more closely she can see their pinky fingers linked together, grip so tight both of their knuckles are turning white. There’s an intense intimacy to it, a desperation that makes Emma’s heart flip and neck flush in something that feels a lot like guilt. She looks away before either Regina can catch her staring, focuses her attention wholly and fully on the screen in front of her, not allowing herself to look away again until the credits are rolling.
For a moment, it seems as though no one is willing to move, willing to break the silence and stillness that has spread over the room. Then Emma feels Regina shift next to her like she is coming out of some sort of trance, and on Regina’s other side the Queen pushes herself to her feet, causing everyone else to follow suit.
“Good night, Henry.” The Queen cups his cheek with her hand, looking down at him with a familiar warmth Emma has seen so very many times before. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Night, Mom. Thanks for staying.” He smiles easily up at her, and the Queen smiles back, running her knuckles down his jawline before pulling her hand back. She turns to face Regina and Emma.
“Well,” she says, straightening her shoulders and smoothing a wrinkle in her dress.
“Well,” Regina echoes, her own posture stiffening to mirror the Queen’s, consciously or not Emma doesn’t know. The wariness is back on both their faces, eyes shuttered and guarded, but Emma can’t stop thinking of their desperately linked fingers, their dark hair mingling together as they leaned into each other.
There’s still a tear under the Queen’s right eye, caught in her eyelashes and glinting in the low light of the living room. Slowly, slowly, Regina reaches out and wipes it away with the pad of her thumb, a tenderness in her touch that she usually only reserves for Henry. The Queen takes in a little shuddering breath, and opens her mouth like she is going to say something. Instead, she raises her arms and disappears, leaving only a swirl of perfume and purple smoke in her wake. Regina stares after her, frozen and forlorn.
“Mom?” Henry asks quietly, and this pulls Regina out of her thoughts and into the present. She reaches for him, faltering when she seems to sense the echo to the Queen’s own movements. Henry grabs her hand before she can let it fall, and some of the lines around Regina’s eyes and mouth smooth away.
“Why don’t you make some more popcorn, sweetheart. We could do a second movie?” She phrases this second part like a question, uncertainty leaking into her voice until Henry grins, all shaggy hair and easy confidence. “Awesome,” he says. “More hot cocoa, too?”
Regina nods, and Henry bounds towards the kitchen. Regina doesn’t move, and Emma takes a step forward, resting the tips of her fingers on Regina’s shoulder, touch light and hesitant.
“I’m fine,” Regina says instantly, still facing away from Emma, towards the empty spot where the Queen had just stood.
“I know,” Emma says, and at her easy acceptance Regina lets out a soft sigh and shifts backwards so she is standing closer to Emma. She brings up her own hand, placing it on top of Emma’s and squeezing Emma’s fingers in what Emma thinks is gratitude. They stand like that for a moment, steady and quiet, and Emma thinks of twin hitched breaths, of mingled dark hair and full eyes wet with loss, and she aches and aches.
“Emma,” Regina says. “Emma, what if…” her voice catches and breaks and she doesn’t finish her sentence, and Emma slides her hand to more fully cover Regina’s shoulder.
“I know,” Emma says again. “We’ll fix it.” Regina turns to face her, surprise written all over her face as she searches Emma’s eyes. Whatever she sees there must provide some relief, because she sags a bit where she’s standing, some tension going out of her spine and shoulders.
“I can’t lose my family,” Regina whispers.
“Henry’s not going anywhere,” Emma promises, and waits for Regina to meet her eyes again before adding firmly, “And neither am I.” Her heart pounds at the statement, at the boldness of proclaiming herself as Regina’s family, and she’s rewarded by Regina’s smile, slow and wide and sweet, that smile that never fails to make Emma’s skin tingle and heart stutter.
Henry comes back then, carrying a large tray with a bowl full of popcorn and three mugs of cocoa. He puts the tray on the coffee table, and they settle back in their original seats, Emma and Henry on the ends and Regina between them. Henry leans his head on Regina’s shoulder, and she runs her fingers through his hair.
“That was actually kind of nice,” Henry says. “Maybe…maybe we could do it again sometime?”
Regina glances at Emma, and Emma smiles at her, eyebrows raised in her best I told you so grin, making Regina let out a light huff of laughter.
“Yes,” Regina says to Henry. “Yes, I think we could.” She reaches for Emma’s hand and tangles their fingers together, leans her own head against Henry’s. Things aren’t fixed yet, Emma knows, thinking of loneliness and longing, of betrayal and yearning dressed up like anger. Thinks of two halves breathing in time, breathing like one, and soon, she thinks. Soon they will be.