Chapter Text
It’s been an extraordinarily long time since anyone has dared to take the liberty of touching her in this overly familiar manner, and she finds that her skin prickles the moment the slender fingers slide beneath her silk-clad elbow. “Like this, then,” the Master Painter’s young apprentice, a pretty girl named Sara, suggests, clearly expecting some sort of meek compliance. “Perhaps your hand flat on the chair and your chin up and eyes straight ahead. No smile, yes?”
No, she thinks to immediately say, but for the moment, she says nothing at all.
Mostly because this whole thing is really rather ridiculous, when honestly, it should be a non-issue. She's here in this room in the middle of her Summer Castle right now because she's sitting for a portrait. Her first official one as Regina, the "Good Queen" of the United Realms.
She’d endured so many sittings as Regina, Queen of the Enchanted Forest.
Several as Leopold’s young, stunningly beautiful, but dead-eyed wife, including one done just a few days post wedding and another she'd been forced to sit for only a week after miscarrying her first child (she would miscarry two more before finally drinking that horrible potion - an extreme action taken as much to stop herself from being used as breeding stock as to prevent the pain of loss).
The final painting she’d sat for in the Enchanted Forest had been as the Evil Queen, a desperately lonely woman whose deep depression, madness, and anger would tear apart worlds and change the entire fabric of so many lives.
Considering all those things, this sitting should be easy.
Why, then, does she feel like she’s damned near to a panic attack, her head pounding and her vision blurring?
Why then does the memory of fingers posing her hands and face and telling her to stare straight ahead remind her so much of days when everything was about being a beautiful majestic queen, yet being nothing more than a well-paid whore for a man who seemed despise her as much as he obsessed over her?
Dressed in a deep silver and blue dress that feels alien to the woman she is now, she feels suddenly terribly warm, like the room is starting to gray around the edges. Cold sweat beads on her forehead and around her breasts, her panic mounts as all she can see is Leopold's face.
Peering at her, head tilted, critical and disapproving.
"Well, she doesn't look very much like a Queen, now does she?"
She feels his hand on her cheek, then feels it lower to her neck and –
“Majesty?” Regina hears in the distance – bringing her back. “Are you feeling poorly?"
Regina shakes her head quickly, regretting for a minute that she told Ry that she could handle this alone. She hadn’t thought that she’d want the company. Since becoming an “elected” Queen (on some level, she still scoffs at this, because even when she was the Mayor, she's never stopped being the Queen), she’s been nearly swamped with assistants and aides and those wishing to assist her in every way.
She rather misses her independence.
Independence she feels is being lost to the quicksand of this official title, once again.
The irony being that this time, she’d actually embraced the role – even truly wanted it (granted, she hadn’t known about it until Snow and David had been offering the crown to her), but she was fully aware of all of its heavy burdens and responsibilities.
Why, then, does she suddenly feel so overwhelmed and unsettled? Almost unnerved?
Like something is happening that she can’t see and whatever it is, it’s very bad for her.
No, no, that’s silly paranoia for sure.
She tells herself that her panic is being driven by her past and her traumas and how utterly unused to calm and peace and calm she is. How abnormal winning and being happy is for her. She tells herself that everything is exactly as it should be and under control.
She promises herself that once she gets the United Realms settled, she will have her independence again.
Soon…soon.
She exhales, fingers curling into her palm. Not quite the flat and docile that Sara had requested.
“I’m…it's just a bit hot in here.” She waves her hand in front of herself as if to fan herself.
“Oh! Would you like me to send for –”
“No!” Regina says immediately, because she hardly needs anyone else seeing her this way.
Especially considering that it’s actually quite crisp outside, the late October winds creating drafts through the halls of the Castle.
Softening her voice, she insists, “I’m fine.”
“Then, perhaps we should continue with preparing for your portrait, Your Majesty, yes?”
“You’re going to…paint me, right?”
“Master Gideon will. He's the best there is. He will see you as you truly are."
“As I truly am,” Regina repeats and wants to laugh at the inane idea that a man who has never met her could even begin to truly see her. Through the many years of her life, very few people have ever managed that feat, instead usually seeing only the Queen, the villain, or the broken girl. It's only been recently, within the last several years, that anyone has managed to see all of those different parts of herself and seeing someone of actual value and worth.
Coincidentally, those anyones just so happen to belong to the same family.
My family.
"Oh, yes, Ma'am," Sara gushes, bright-eyed and so certain of her words, yet so clearly is ignorant of the turmoil within the woman sitting stiffly and uncomfortably in the chair front of her. "We just need to get you ready for him."
Almost immediately, the pain behind Regina's eyes intensifies as she again remembers the eyes of her husband on her as she had been posed and positioned to prepare for her portrait. She can still remember his rough fingers ghosting across her skin, a chill making her shudder. “Ah yes, that's better. You're such a beautiful girl, Regina; I want everyone in this kingdom to see my wife and be envious that you belong to me."
Forcing her thoughts from him, she is determined, though it fills her with a dread she'd rather not admit to, that she’ll do this portrait, no matter how real her ghosts seem, because it’s what’s expected of her.
Just…maybe not right now. Because the gray in her vision seems like it’s becoming black and her heart is starting to feel like it's being squeezed by invisible hands. She knows what this is, of course (she'd had entirely too many of these in her younger days not to know) but her conscious mind rejects the idea that after all these years, she could be pitched back into a panic attack over her very dead husband so easily.
And yet...
Regina stands up abruptly, a hand going to the wall, fingers curling like talons as if to grip the stone.
“Emma,” she gasps out, the dots dancing in front of her eyes.
“Your Majesty?”
“My…my Sher – my Captain...of the Guard. Did you see her when you came in? A tall blonde?" The words came out harsh and gasped.
Sara shakes her head, confusion written all over her pretty face. “Is there a problem? Do you require assistance? A healer, perhaps?”
“No,” Regina tells her, reaching out to squeeze her wrist to reassure her, because this truly isn’t this girl’s fault. This isn’t a trauma that Sara can even begin to understand. “But I just remembered something, and it’s absolutely critical that I speak to Miss Swan immediately.”
“The portrait –”
“I promise, we will get to it.”
“The Council –”
“Can wait,” Regina says a bit too sharply. “I need to find my Captain. It really is important.” And then she’s moving away, fleeing down the hallway. Once she's far enough away and her breathing has started to calm and the dots have finally disappeared from her vision, she swirls her hand, her magic swapping out the dress for a dark charcoal pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse and heeled boots.
Heels which click boldly against the polished stone, showing off her anger.
Showing off her –
“Woah, something – or someone - has pissed you off big time,” she hears from just to her left side. “It wasn’t me for once, right?”
“Ah, just the person I was looking for,” Regina announces, and then she’s spinning around to face the one woman in this entire realm (probably) who dresses in jeans in the middle of a medieval castle. Insane, really; ten seconds ago, she had been wearing a fucking to-the-nines dress and now here’s Emma’s standing so casually in front of her, clad in comfortable indigo jeans and a long green shirt.
Well, at least the shirt brings out Emma's beautiful eyes.
Not that she's focusing on Emma's eyes or anything.
“Walk with me, Swan," Regina orders, specifically so she doesn't have to focus on Emma's eyes.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
Regina opens her mouth to reply and then just shakes her head, choosing to start walking instead, clearly assuming that Emma will follow after her. Of course, she’s right.
“So,” Emma queries as they walk down the hallway. “What – or who – pissed you off?”
“I never said anything did.”
“So, then why were you looking for me?”
“Do I need to be pissed off to be looking for you? Because if so, that doesn’t really say much about our relationship,” Regina notes dryly as she turns the corner and leads them towards one of the staircases and then up into one of the towers. "Nothing good, anyway."
“Want to tell me where we’re going?”
“I need perspective,” Regina replies cryptically.
“Oh…kay,” Emma agrees gamely and continues after her. “And no, I would hope you don’t only look for me when you’re pissed off. But you were looking for me and you seem pissed off. So…maybe you could just tell me why?"
“How are we on operational drills with new guard recruits?”
“They're looking pretty good. I filed the report with Ry this morning,” Emma answers, frowning because she's fairly certain Regina's still dodging her for whatever reason.
“And you filed a report on time?”
“I did and is a report really why you were looking for me?”
Regina doesn’t reply at first – not for what seems like an eternity – not until they get to the top of the long staircase and enter the small, singe-windowed room at the top. Once inside, she turns to Emma and replies, “This is really stupid, I know, but…I guess I just I needed you.”
Emma’s eyes immediately constrict with worry at that. She takes a step closer. “Are you all right. Did something –”
“No, it’s just – it’s nothing. It’s nothing.”
Emma puts out a hand as if she's going to reach out and touch Regina, but at the last moment, she pulls back, allowing the small distance between the two of them. Instead, she urges, “Hey, talk to me, okay? You said you needed me, well I’m right here. Talk to me.”
Regina turns and looks out the window, out across the miles and miles of viewable land as far as the eye can see. “Have you ever been up here? You can see so much so on a clear day.”
“First time,” Emma tells her, coming up beside her and following her gaze. She hadn't grown up around castles and the trappings of some parts of this new world of theirs remain a bit odd to her, but that feels like a conversation for another time.
“I used to come up here all the time when I was a young Queen. Of course, back then, I dreamt of being somewhere out there and free to choose my own fate. Not that I actually believed that was possible, but still, it was nice to see so many possibilities.”
“Regina, what’s going on in your head right now?”
“You know those old oil painting you see in all the castles? The really stuffy looking ones of all the kings and queens and lords?"
“Oh, that's right; that was on your schedule for today, wasn’t it?” Emma nods her head, thinking back to the schedule Ry had sent out the night before. She has a feeling that Regina's not overly fond of some of the ‘royal’ trappings since she'd assumed the throne, but really, most of it didn’t seem that much different than when she'd been "just" Mayor Mills.
“It was.”
"Did something happen?"
"No. I..." she chews her lower lip. "I tried to sit for it, but it brought back some very bad memories and I just..." she shakes her head in disgust.
“So, tell them you don’t want to do it.” Like it's that easy.
“I can’t do that. I have a responsibility, Emma. They’re counting on me to uphold the familiar traditions that remind them of the home I brought them here from, and one of the most ordinary of those is the existence of these portraits. They may seem silly and ridiculous to you and even to me now, but over there, they were a way of ensuring that subjects always knew what their Kings and Queens looked like. It was a way to create a kind of connection. I owe them that."
“Bullshit. I’m sick of letting everyone else decide what our future is supposed to look like based on some idiotic storybook ideal where everyone smiles, and the woman looks pretty and happy as they pop out a bunch of children. Happy beginning, happy end. Fuck that. The only thing you owe them is safety and security and a chance for happiness. We’re all working our asses off to give them that. We don’t owe them anything more than that no matter what they think. We don't owe it to them to put our feelings aside just because it's what they want."
“We?” It’s not the question she wants to ask (she’d prefer to ask if there’s trouble in paradise, but she’s always tried to stay out of Emma’s marriage to Hook – for better and for worse). Not surprisingly, though, Emma seems to hear the question she means to ask, anyway.
Or at least she appears to react like she had.
“You. Sorry.”
“I guess it's my turn to ask. Is everything all right…at home?”
“Everything’s fine,” Emma replies shortly, and Regina thinks that she’s developed a pretty good lie detector for Emma over the years, and it’s pinging pretty hard right now. “I just... you act like bringing all the other realms into one kingdom over here is all the sudden a bad thing.”
“I really don’t believe that, but right now, everything is still strange and uncomfortable for most of these people. They’re still learning the new ways of this world. Eventually, they’ll adapt, but until then, I owe them -"
“Right. Got it. Happy people.”
“Emma –”
“It’s nothing,” Emma mutters, but it’s quite clear that something about all of this is bothering her. Whatever it is, however, she doesn’t seem at all open to talking about it. Instead, she starts to abruptly turn away, causing Regina to reach for her.
Maybe Emma truly isn’t expecting the touch (considering how often they avoid touching one another for reasons obvious to Regina) or maybe it's that the sudden contact sends enough of electric charge up her to startle her, but whatever it is, she jerks back and away the moment Regina’s hand closes around her bicep and then Regina’s stumbling to the ground, her heel turning on the stone.
She hits the ground with a pained cry, hand upon her ankle, teeth grit. "Fuck," she growls out, for the moment unsure if it's sprained or broken.
“Regina,” Emma gasps and then she’s down to her side immediately, the hesitance to touch entirely forgotten as she reaches out for Regina and places her hands first on her shoulders and then on her biceps, seeming like she has an almost compulsive need to touch her. “I’m sorry. I –”
“What the hell just happened?”
“I’m sorry. You startled me – let me help. Please?” Her eyes are so wide and desperate and though Regina is certain that there’s far more to whatever is upsetting Emma right now, the fear she sees there – fear for her – is enough to melt her frustration away.
Because what she sees there is so much vulnerability and exposed hurt and it’s so recognizable and relatable.
This need to somehow connect and yet fear that every connection will end in shattering pain.
A fear well-earned by their pasts, if Regina is entirely honest.
"That's not necessary," Regina tells her, her hand sliding across her injured foot and feeling at the bone. "It's not broken, just sprained. Ice and elevation and it'll be good as new in a couple of days."
"Or I can make it better now...if you'll let me." Emma chews her lip as she waits for consent, seemingly anxious that her attempt to fix her mistake will be rejected.
"All right, Emma," Regina says with a soft smile. "Show me what you can do."
“Okay, okay. I'll just uh...”
"Breathe," Regina urges, and thinks it's funny that although she's the one in pain, she's also still trying to calm Emma. "Remember, magic is all about emotion. Your ability to heal doesn’t come from what's in your mind, but from what's in your heart. Don't think, just do."
"Do or do not," Emma murmurs, earning her a look of annoyance from Regina. "Right, sorry. Okay. Here we go." And then she’s placing her hands on Regina’s ankle and pushing her magic in. Too much at first and Regina winces sharply and curses in another language.
But then…then it feels like bliss. Pure, absolute, bliss.
It occurs to her that even though she and Emma have fought side-by-side for years and been next to each other in many other ways, this is the first time Emma has ever healed her.
And by God does it feels…amazing.
Like she's being wrapped in something warm and soft and unimaginably safe; Regina moans in satisfaction.
No…no, that’s quite the right word.
There’s a different word entirely. One she should probably feel incredibly embarrassed about if she hadn’t lived the insane life that she has, she most likely would be.
But…well.
“Regina?” Emma says curiously, her voice a bare whisper, her eyes as big as saucers as she stares at Regina.
Eyes fluttering, Regina looks up at Emma, seeing the blonde Savior gazing back at her. Cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, clearly turned on, staring at Regina like she’s just realized something.
“Emma –” she starts, panic starting to set in as she realizes how much of herself she's exposed, her heart hammering in her chest.
But it’s too late and then Emma’s lips are on hers and for a long moment, Regina's brain is just static. She feels Emma’s hands settle on either side of her face and then the kiss is growing into something far more than anything her imagination could have ever come up with.
And her imagination has had quite a bit of vivid practice over the last few years.
A secret known only to herself…at least until today.
"Oh my God," Emma murmurs, dropping her face down so she can kiss a line up Regina's neck before finally returning to her mouth. She feels Emma’s tongue swipe over her bottom lip, pressing for entrance and without hesitation, Regina allows it, and pulls Emma into her and then onto her, leaning back and allowing Emma to crawl atop her, her arms snaking around Emma’s back and scratching against the fabric of her shirt.
She feels her magic react and respond, smoke curling around the ground like a weird cloud, merging with Emma's magic and tangling.
And then she feels Emma's hand slide under the hem of her blouse, a warm hand settling against belly. Her own hands crawl up under Emma's shirt, nails scratching lightly against the skin of Emma's back.
The sound Emma makes as she arches against the touch is something Regina thinks she'll never forget.
From there, it’s several long kisses, a few bites and a neck nuzzle later before they break apart.
And then…then, she sees the look on Emma’s face as reality comes crashing down on her.
There’s no pleasant afterglow, no extended moment of bliss and nervous laughter. There’s just raw, wide-eyed, breathless panic.
“I need to…I need to –”
“Go,” Regina says simply, her voice dull. “Of course; we both have responsibilities to be getting back to.”
Emma gives her a sad look at that and whispers, “It’s not like that.”
“It’s always like that,” Regina responds, the shadows at the edge of her vision returning .
"Regina -"
"Miss Swan, go. Before I forget that I'm supposed to be a good person these days."
Then, unable to face the shame or the rejection of this woman whom she has loved for far too long, Regina forces herself to her feet (her ankle still smarts but she thinks it's been healed enough to be serviceable and she's not about to ask for any further aide), and turns and looks out the window. She feels more than sees Emma pausing and looking at her. Hesitating in the doorway.
But then she hears the steps on the stairs as Emma rapidly descends them, fleeing.
Running away once again.
Perspective, Regina thinks morosely, as she stares out over her land, can change so much.
But it can’t change reality for her and Emma.
Nor the responsibility they both have to embrace the cruelty of it.