Regina tosses and turns, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Wondering where Emma is and what she’s doing. Her mind drifting to simpler times when she would find the blonde perched in a booth at Granny’s, indulging in a grilled cheese and fries. Her comfort food Regina reminds herself.
Regina would never admit it, but those rare times when Emma asked the Queen to accompany her at that stupid booth were amongst her most cherished. There were no titles, no Savior or Evil Queen; just Emma and Regina, purely existing and basking in each other’s presence.
Then, a brief stillness. A draft, cold and dark.
“Em-ma,” Regina mutters under her breath. The blonde, her blonde, stands before her.
Her eyes have taken on a murky hue; the once bright green now replaced with brown. Her hair appears lackluster, missing its former shine. And her cheeks are hollow, sharp even.
Regina finds her as beautiful as ever, even appreciating the maturity she now exudes. (not by choice she thinks) But she misses her bright eyes, her lustrous hair, and her puffy cheeks, usually tinged pink from the cold or sun—it didn’t matter, especially when Regina was the cause of the pink hue in the blonde’s cheeks.
The bed sinks. Regina feels her adjusting to the mattress. Wordlessly, the blonde rests her head on the brunette’s chest. Regina deems words useless; instead carding her fingers through the blonde’s hair, carefully undoing the tangles, her hand snagging against the strands.
She feels a dampness soaking into her silk sleep shirt. Contemplating whether to say something but opting for the easy way out. Yet when she feels her shirt growing more than just damp, she pulls back.
She gently lifts Emma’s head from her chest, begging her to look at her. Emma softens under Regina’s gaze. “Hi,” Emma croaks. “Hey,” Regina whispers into the darkness. “I’m sorry,” Emma murmurs.
A beat. “For what?”
“For selling you a false happy ending.” Emma shudders, cold apparently.
Regina has always run hot. She wraps her limbs around the blonde. “You sold me nothing. There were never any expectations I had of you to uphold.”
Emma huffs. Regina feels the warm against her collarbone.
“Robin isn’t my happy ending.” Emma scoffs.
Regina looks slightly offended, as if she had anticipated that. “What?” she inquires defensively.
“I would hope not. I wouldn’t want my lover in bed with the Savior.”
Regina snorts. It slips her mind; this isn’t her Emma. She is the Dark One now.
She brushes off the comment, knowing Emma would never utter a word of this. Them? Whatever they are. Neither of them seems to know.
Regina stiffens and settles back into bed, letting her muscles rest. “Goodnight, Emma.”
Regina knows she’ll be gone in the morning, the bed cold and empty, but with a subtle indent and a faint musk—Emma’s scent.
Emma waits until she hears Regina’s soft snoring. She places a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “Goodnight, Regina.”
As predicted, Emma is nowhere to be seen. Regina sulks while making breakfast and reminds herself that now Emma needs her.
That’s good enough for her, she thinks as she plates her and Henry’s breakfast.