Archive of Our Own

“Aren’t you going to give me my coffee, Sheriff Swan?”

Emma frowned up at the Mayor. “Doesn’t Ruby have your coffee?”

Regina stared at her so intently Emma was startled, taken back to a time when they had been at each other’s throats. When she didn’t respond, Regina huffed a bit and strode away. Whatever was up the Mayor’s ass, it wasn’t Emma’s business. She gathered all her energy back into staring at her mug, determined to refill it. Her face went tense with concentration and her eyes felt weirdly dry from the strain, but nothing happened to the missing hot chocolate. It was like trying to push over a granite boulder with her mind, and about as successful. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes and tried again.

Two minutes later, flush with the success of moving mountains, Emma was laying the finishing touches of whipped cream on her full mug when Regina interrupted her again.

“I suppose I should clear my calendar for a mid-afternoon interruption?”

Emma didn’t bother to look up this time, instead enjoying the fruits of her labor. The whipped cream was a little lopsided, but that was okay. This was just the first try. “I’m not sure who’d be foolish enough to interrupt you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of work to do, now that you’re back in office.”

“Foolish, idiotic, grandly thoughtless. I’m sure I could go on.”

Emma just had to look up at that; it sounded way too pointed. And indeed, Regina’s gaze was a lot more heated than Emma was used to, boring into her, implying strongly that the Mayor was talking about her.

“Grandly thoughtless? That’s pretty harsh,” said Emma, enjoying her first sip of magical chocolate. It was a little richer than what Granny’s served, and a lot richer than anything she had ever tasted as a kid. Magic was pretty impressive. Especially when you were the one who did it. Harry Potter couldn’t have pulled this one off any better.

“Miss Swan,” Regina said, her tone reeking of a thousand annoyed authority figures, “Am I to assume that you will not be gracing my office today?”

Emma mentally ticked through the list: paperwork more or less up-to-date, Henry staying at Regina’s for the rest of the week, her mother hadn’t done anything stupid yet today. There wasn’t anything for them to meet about. “What for?”

Regina stared at Emma for an uncomfortably long time, even after Emma gave a little shrug and went back to her drink. Regina was acting very weird, and Emma had no idea what it was about. Eventually the Mayor turned away, but kept looking over her shoulder as she left the diner. Emma tried to not notice, but knowing when people were watching you was a hazard of the job. Or maybe a hazard of her life. It didn’t ever make her feel less like a specimen, though, caught under a glass lid. Regina could judge like a bitch.

~~~

Emma tossed the hacky sack back to David and said, “I just can’t figure out why nobody even wants to leave town. This place is boring, and small, and a million miles away from anything and did I mention boring? Nothing ever happens.”

“Well, you have to remember that we’re all from a bunch of fairy tales. There’s a reason only five or six characters ever get names: there weren’t a lot of people around. For most of us, Storybrooke is plenty big.” He tossed it back, and Emma had to lunge to snatch it before it hit the ground. David clearly hadn’t grown up tossing a ball around. For that matter, neither had Henry; Emma had her work cut out for her with this family.

“Most of us?”

“I’m a shepherd at heart, Emma,” he said, watching her throw the tiny sack into the air and spin around before basket-catching it again.

“Yeah,” she said, spinning again and whipping the hacky sack to him mid-spin, “who married a princess.”

“And is sometimes terrified by the thought of going as far as Bangor.” The ball hit him in the palm and bounced to the floor.

Emma sighed. “C’mon, Bangor’s got, like, what, 25,000 people? 30,000? It’s tiny, too.”

Emma raised her hands to give David a target, but as he drew back to throw, a voice drawled, “Are you disparaging my town?”

Emma caught the wildly throw ball—high this time, rather than low—and looked over her shoulder at Regina.

“Who, me?” Emma said, and tossed the ball back to David.

It fell to the floor, and David made no move to pick it up.

“C’mon, David,” Emma said.

“Regina, hi, what can we do for you,” he said, ignoring Emma.

“David." Whatever the Mayor wanted, Emma was pretty sure David could throw and talk at the same time. It wasn’t like propriety was that important around here.

“Emma,” said Regina.

“What?” Emma said, getting up herself to get the hacky sack. When she turned, Regina was staring at her again, kind of like at the diner again that morning, with a totally intense and completely blank look on her face. It was the same look she’d been wearing all week, every time they ran into each other at breakfast, and Emma still had no idea what it meant. Regina wasn’t about to share, though. “What?” Emma repeated, tossing the ball back and forth, trying to sail it in a perfect parabola every time.

“I was wondering,” Regina said, a little softer and more hesitantly than usual.

Emma’s hacky sack took too high a track, and she swore softly.

Regina watched the ball sail for a moment. “Are you coming over for dinner tonight?”

Emma frowned at Regina, watching her through the rhythmic pattern she was making. “I was planning on making mac n’cheese and watching the game. Curry’s in Boston.”

David and Regina exchanged looks. Clearly there was something they weren’t saying, but Emma had no idea what.

Regina just said, “Oh.”

David joked, “Maybe I’ll come over,” but his face was creased with worry when he looked at Regina again. Regina gave him a small smile; small, and maybe a little sad.

That was weird; Emma put it aside to think about later. Right now, though, she wanted to know why the Mayor was at the station. “So,” she said with a ridiculous amount of emphasis, “why are you here? At the station? Anything crime related?”

“I—” Regina started, and then changed her mind in the middle of whatever she was about to say. “Who is Curry?”

“Stephen Curry? Basketball player?”

Regina stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“See,” Emma said, turning to David. “I told you this was the tiniest town in existence. Does anyone around here even get ESPN?” But David, too, looked completely confused. “Stephen Curry,” Emma said again, with more emphasis. “Basketball? The best player pretty much ever right now? Tell me you have some idea what I’m talking about.”

“I had no idea you liked sports, actually,” said David slowly, and looked to Regina again, as if he thought somehow Regina would know that Emma liked basketball when her own father had no idea.

Regina looked blank again. Not confused, just kind of not there. Like Emma was a very interesting abstract concept that Regina had to consider before integrating it into her worldview. Or rather, something she had to examine, evaluate, and find wanting. Not up to par, as always. Emma shrugged a little, and turned her attention back to the hacky sack. Maybe if they pushed the desks apart a little more, they’d have room to kick around.

“I like sports,” Emma said absently, and dropped the sack onto David’s desk to see how easily she could shove the desk back. It slid pretty well on the linoleum.

"You've never mentioned that," Regina said. For once she didn't bawl Emma out about scuff-marks on the floor.

"Yeah, I can just imagine discussing the ins and outs of man vs zone with you, Mayor Mills." Emma shook her head. "In between all our talks about jousting and, oh yeah, saving the town. I guess we just never got around to small talk."

~~~

The next morning at the diner, Regina was right there once again, asking about her coffee. Ruby was staring, too, looking like a confused puppy. That was new. The first few days of Regina’s quest to bug the shit out of her, Ruby hadn’t seemed to care much, but the last few days, she’d been creeping closer and closer, pretending not to eavesdrop on their awkward little tête-à-têtes. Emma looked longingly at her drink, missing the peace already.

“No, Regina, once more, I have no idea where your coffee is, especially seeing as how I don’t work here.”

Regina’s mouth opened, and closed, and opened again.

“Is that really so strange? That I don’t work in a diner?” Emma turned in her chair; as expected, Ruby was standing almost on top of them. “Not that there’s anything wrong with working in a diner. I just mean, why would I know where Regina’s coffee is even before she walks the door, if I don’t work here?” And why would it take nearly a week for Regina to get the message that Emma had no idea where her coffee was?

“Well,” said Ruby, carefully wiping down a table and pretty transparently pretending not to be riveting to the slow motion drama playing out between Henry’s mothers. “It’s just that you know Regina pretty well.”

Emma frowned at the two of them. “Not really. We’ve only known each other like, a year. Plus that year I forgot. I mean, the year I forgot everyone else; I remember it now.”

Regina flinched, and exchanged glances with Ruby; Emma rolled her eyes. Somehow, the Mayor had secret, unspoken conversations with everyone in town these days.

“Hey,” said Emma, suddenly sidetracked. “Are you telepathic? Can magic do that?”

“What?” said Regina.

Ruby’s jaw dropped.

“Is that a thing in the Enchanted Forest? Should I ask Rumple?”

“Where is this question coming from, Ms. Swan?”

Emma shrugged. “I’m trying to learn about magic, and since no one wants to talk about any of the nitty gritty, I have to ask stupid questions. So: telepathy?” She sat up straighter, an idea suddenly striking. “Like, the magic you do is pretty much telekinesis anyway, right? Some of it? So telepathy can’t be that far off, right?”

Ruby murmured, “I’ll talk to Snow,” in Regina’s vague direction, and disappeared into the back room. Emma watched her go.

Regina slowly approached Emma’s table and sat down across from her. “Why are you so interested in telepathy?”

Emma didn’t think that was the question she wanted to ask, but she wasn’t about to go plunging into the Mayor’s psyche. It wasn’t worth the trouble. “I’m not. I mean, being telepathic would be really cool, but I just want to know more about magic.”

“We could,” Regina said, rubbing her fingers along the tabletop and not looking at Emma, “begin our lessons again. In fact, you haven’t stopped by my office all week. You should come by today and we can get started.”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like a disaster. Not going there. Besides, being called into your office makes me feel like a kid getting sent to the principle’s office. Not the funnest thing in the world.” She grinned, not wanting Regina to feel slighted. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Regina said, voice taut and jaw clenched.

Okay, that was probably pretty offensive. “Anyway,” Emma said, “I’m sure you want to track down your missing coffee, and I want to finish my drink and get to work.” Emma stood up and grabbed her mug. She focused on the feel of the warm ceramic under her fingers, picturing flimsy paper instead. There was a flash of light, and then she was holding a to go cup that was suddenly a lot hotter than the mug had been. “Fuck,” she swore, almost dropping the cup in her haste to put it down.

“If you want to lodge a complaint with the Sheriff’s office about the troublesome case of the missing coffee, drop by and talk to David.” Shaking out her fingers, trying to reduce the burn, she focused again. Another flash, and the insulation sleeve showed up.

Emma grinned and grabbed the cup again. “Oh, lid,” she said, mostly to herself. Regina was still watching intently, but the lid came quickly; Emma took a swig of her drink, mock toasted a stock-still Regina, and headed for the door. David would love to hear about Emma’s new to-go hot chocolate powers.

And maybe tomorrow, she’d forgo breakfast at the diner; it’s not like she needed Ruby for the hot chocolate anymore anyway.

~~~

“That’s really great,” David said, taking his cup of chocolate from her the next day, after she had demonstrated her new skills. “But aren’t you going to ask about dinner?”

Emma flipped through her mental catalogue, coming up blank. “What about dinner?”

“Last night, when we went over to Regina’s?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” said Emma. “Did something interesting happen?”

David tilted his head, looking entirely like the dogs he used to take care of. Maybe it was true that people ended up in careers where they really belonged. Or maybe it was genetic; Emma wasn’t about to ask anyone for confirmation, though. One good-natured and stupidly loyal golden retriever in the family was enough.

“It was fine,” he said slowly.

Stupidly loyal, and just plain stupid, she corrected. “So why did you want to talk about it?” she asked. If nothing happened, then there was no point in bringing it up: Emma didn’t need to keep track of every single thing that her parents did, or for that matter, of everything her son did. If something had happened with Henry, Regina would have mentioned it. At least, she hoped so. Lately, though, Regina had been acting so weird that anything was possible.

David squinted at her. “I thought maybe you would.”

Emma shook her head. “Henry okay?”

David nodded.

“That’s all I need to know,” she said. And it was. “He’s staying with me for the weekend, so if there’s anything I need to know, I’m sure he’ll tell me.”

“But,” David said.

Emma peered at him. “Seriously, did something happen? Fireballs at dessert? Guns at dawn?” David was pushing so hard, something must’ve happened. Something that upset him enough to bring it up.

“No, nothing like that. It was a pleasant dinner. Regina is an excellent cook.”

“Yeah, she really is.” Emma rubbed her stomach; ditching the diner to get away from her demanding boss who was demanding things that were unrelated to her job might not have been the best idea. “Henry’s lucky.”

David leaned back in his chair. “I thought you enjoyed her cooking as well,” he said. From the way he was searching her face, Emma decided he wanted to ask a completely different question. Or maybe he was asking the different question and waiting for her face to answer it.

Emma shrugged, having no idea what tell she was supposed to be hiding since she had no idea what his real concern was. “You eat enough horrible food, your taste buds get kind of shot. As long as it fills my stomach, I’m okay.”

“You know you can talk to me, Emma.”

And that was out of left field.

Actually, this whole conversation was a fishing expedition, except that Emma couldn’t figure out what kind of fish he was looking for. There weren’t any; everything she had to share, she’d share. He just had to be clear enough to ask. “About what?” she said. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment her parents showed some interest, maybe they could start dealing with all the shit from her childhood, all the lingering problems and triggers and traumas.

David didn’t answer. Or maybe he couldn’t; he looked lost, like somewhere along the way the thread of conversation escaped him, too.

Or maybe not. “You know,” Emma said, deciding to turn the tables back at him. “Regina’s been acting pretty strange, too.”

“Oh?” said David, whole body suddenly alert. The shift from lost little boy to focused hunter confused Emma, but pushed on, convinced she was on the trail of an explanation for Regina and Ruby’s behavior.

“Yeah, she seems to think I work at the diner.”

Instead of that confirming anything, David looked stunned. Nobody could fake that kind of complete shock, but Emma couldn’t think of an explanation for why he would be so shocked.

“You think maybe she hit her head or something? Or more magic, but that’s a really weird delusion. Kind of like thinking the sheriff is a waitress.” She glanced at David. “Or thinking the sheriff needs to talk about a dinner at the Mayor’s house that she didn’t even go to.”

David’s jaw fluttered for a bit. “I don’t think—I’m not sure—I have to call Snow,” he finally stuttered out. “I think I forgot to turn off the stove this morning when I was heating Neal’s bottle.”

Emma waved a hand dismissively at him. That was two people who thought Regina’s behavior warranted talking to Snow. Clearly, there was something going on, but it probably wasn’t worth Emma worrying about it. Snow would let her know what Regina was up to soon enough; she was the one obsessed with Regina’s behavior. “Whatever, go. Leave me to the piles of paperwork and unclaimed stolen property.”

David took one last lingering look at her from the doorway, and then he was gone.

~~~

Regina paused in the doorway to Henry's room. He was bent over his desk, head so low she worried, as always, about his eyesight. He sat as he had always done, head pressed down so low his nose practically touched the paper. They'd gone to check his eyesight every year like clockwork, but it seemed he had inherited his eyesight from Neal rather than Emma. But years of admonishment from teachers, opticians, and Regina herself hadn't cured him of his habit.

She knocked gently, and he peered up. "Henry, I wanted to speak to you about something."

"Sure," he said and spun around in his chair.

She came in the room carefully, mindful that she was invading his space. "It's about your mother."

Henry sighed and frowned. "I was going to bring that up, too. I just hadn't figured out how yet."

"Bring what up?" Regina asked.

Instead of answering, he frowned. “What did you want to talk about?"

Regina patted the bed next to her, and Henry hauled himself up and out of his chair and plopped down next to her. She pressed their shoulders together, relishing the renewed feeling of his love and trust. But perhaps this was too much to place on a boy’s shoulders. “I’m not sure if we're both discussing the same thing."

"Emma's acting weird," Henry declared.

The relief flooded her, and Regina nodded. "Perhaps we are discussing the same thing.” She peered at him. “Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Not really,” he said, and then paused. “She's just…not like she usually is. Weird. Something's wrong with her."

"Yes, that was my conclusion, too. But it's nothing I can put a finger on."

"Has anyone else said anything?"

"Both Snow and David have approached me recently."

"Really?" Henry said.

Regina pursed her lips, wondering if she should be offended.

"I don't mean like that, Mom,” he said, shooting her a smile. “I just mean, they usually see the best in everyone, and assume that nothing's ever wrong until it's really wrong. So if they've noticed something is off," he paused meaningfully.

"Then something must really be wrong," Regina finished. "Unfortunately, that was my conclusion as well."

"Did they have any ideas?" It was clear neither Henry nor Regina could point to anything in particular.

"David is fairly convinced that she has suffered a major concussion and undergone a personality transplant," Regina said wryly.

Henry laughed. "Yeah, that's a pretty good description. She's so completely different, it's almost like she was when I first met her in Boston."

"How so?" Regina said. Even before his curiosity was needed to solve any grand evil plans, Henry had always enjoyed searching out explanations for the unexplained. When he was little, they'd played detective, Henry with a deerstalker and magnifying glass, and Regina playing the straight man and asking all the right questions. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, it would be Henry.

"Well, she's snarky, and friendly but not really, and there's this edge to her, like she doesn't really care about hurting anyone's feelings," he said.

Regina nodded. There was the careful observation she expected. "I've experienced something similar. She's certainly got some bite to her, lately. Not as angry as she used to be, though."

"I think that might have just been you, Mom," Henry said, smiling broadly.

Regina snorted. "Possibly."

"You said David thought she'd bumped her head. What did Snow say?"

Regina picked at the bedcover, not wanting to share Snow's interpretation. It hit a little too close to home. "Snow seems to think that Emma has forgotten their love for her in some vital way," she said, not looking at Henry.

"What? How? That doesn't even make sense."

Regina exhaled. Clearly Henry hadn't made the connection; maybe she shouldn't have, either. "Snow wasn't able to explain any more than that. She just said that Emma was reserved with them, distant in some undefined way."

Henry frowned. "But when I had dinner at their house a few days ago, she was just the same as always."

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, the conversation was kind of weird," he said, staring into space.

"In what way?"

"We talked about sports, and about school, and about her new apartment."

"None of that sounds particularly weird, Henry." Although Emma did seem more invested in sporting events than usual, and it had dominated their last conversation.

"No, it doesn't. But it still felt weird. Like," he paused and screwed up his face. His look of concentration hadn't changed since he was tiny, and Regina spent a moment appreciating it. "Like she was talking around the stuff that was important, instead of talking about the stuff that was important. Does that make sense?"

Regina thought about it. Some parts of Emma were the same: the brash confidence, the easy demeanor. But some parts were completely unexpected, like the obsession with sports teams and the sudden lack of interest in food. "Perhaps. But it still doesn't explain what's going on with her."

“Snow thought she forgot something? That sounds pretty important.”

“I’m not sure, Henry. Your grandparents seem to think whatever happened was fairly vital to her well-being. Something inherent to her that is now gone.”

“Yeah, I think that's what it feels like, too.”

Regina nodded.

“Well, what are the clues?” He jumped up and grabbed paper and pen. “What day did you first notice the changes?”

Regina smiled at him, her author and hero to the last. “A week ago Monday.”

“At the diner, right?”

“Yes, first thing Monday morning.”

“What exactly was different?”

“She usually has a coffee waiting for me at her table, and we chat for a bit before I head into the office.”

“Okay,” he said, pencil scratching as he wrote. “The first thing I noticed that was different was also last Monday, when she texted me to see when I was going to come by the station.”

“She doesn’t usually do that?”

“Nope, she asks you.”

Regina frowned and fished her phone out and scrolled through past several weeks, before Emma’s changed behavior. Every day Henry was scheduled to meet up with Emma at the station, there was a text—sometimes a conversation—from Emma about when he’d be stopping by. The few days there wasn’t a text, there was a call in her log from Emma, at almost exactly the same time. “I hadn’t realized she wasn’t also coordinating with you,” she said.

“Nope,” Henry said. “Did anything else happen on Monday?”

“She didn’t stop by in the afternoon.”

“What does she usually do when she comes by?”

“She brings whatever paperwork she’s managed to finish that day, and another coffee. Sometimes a snack.”

“A snack?” he said, interested.

“Fruit salad, or granola. Sometimes a muffin or protein bar. A healthy snack, Henry.”

“Right. And she didn’t bring a snack or her paperwork on Monday.”

“No,” said Regina slowly. “She brought her paperwork to the Town Hall. She just left it with Paloma instead of bring it in to me.”

“That’s definitely different.”

Regina nodded. “Did she have a snack waiting for you?”

Henry nodded, guiltily. “Fries. And an apple!”

“Is that typical?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Sometimes it’s a sandwich, or sometimes she brings me fruit salad, too.”

“But there wasn’t anything different about your interactions with her?”

“Not really. Just, we talked about different stuff. And she seemed less interested in what I was talking about.”

“What were you talking about?”

“That show we watched on Sunday, that you liked so much, about the Universe? And how I want to go to the Observatory and maybe she could come with us.”

“Were you discussing the secrets of the cosmos, or were you discussing how startled I was to discover that 95% of the universe is unaccounted for by modern science?”

“Both, I guess.” He contemplated his list. “Was that it for Monday?”

Regina began to nod, and then shook her head. “I had forgotten—there was a confrontation—I’m not sure if we can count something that Emma would have no knowledge of or intention to engage in.”

“What?”

“Mr. Kersage was upset the town wasn’t compensating him quickly enough for the small incident regarding the snow plow last winter. He found me as I was leaving my office.”

“Is that normal?”

“It’s—usually, when people come to my office, after hours, they have questionable intentions. But lately, somehow Emma is usually there, too. ”

“The sheriff’s station is right there. Do you think she has video monitors?”

“I think she has impeccable instincts.”

“So usually she would be there, when someone comes up to you like that?”

“Yes. Sometimes I believe that your mother imagines I can’t take care of myself.”

“Yeah, most of the time it's you who gets her out of scrapes.”

“Yes.”

Henry tilted his head. “But it must be nice to have someone there, to help out. Or to make people think twice. She’s pretty good at standing up for people.”

As was Henry. “Yes. Yes, it is nice,” Regina said.

“And she wasn’t there on Monday.”

“No. She was not.”

“What else?”

“There will be a party, for Aurora’s baby. I heard about it on Monday."

“For the baby’s birthday?”

Regina nodded. “I heard about it through Robin.”

“How did Robin know?”

“He said Mulan had mentioned it to him.”

Henry frowned, confused.

“Mulan works at the station,” Regina elaborated.

“Oh! And usually, Emma would heard about something like that from Mulan, and she’d invite you first, right?”

Regina nodded.

“That’s a lot of differences from how she’d usually behave, just for one day.”

Regina waited while Henry worked through what he wanted to say.

“I mean, we can figure it out, and help her, but…it’s a lot of differences.”

Regina could only nod.

~~~

As always, the station was boring enough to only occupy half her attention: Emma caught up on filing missing persons reports, finished four and a half sudoko games, and dropped off a bloody jacket at the dry cleaners. By the time Henry arrived at the station after school she was surveying her office with quiet satisfaction.

“Hey, Ma,” Henry called, setting up his homework at Mulan’s desk. “Where’s Gramps?”

“He disappeared this morning; no idea what he needed, but he was pretty clear he didn’t want to tell me the truth. He’s been acting weird lately. Actually, a lot of people are acting weird lately.” She was pretty sure she said it pointedly, but Henry didn’t seem to notice.

“Huh,” said Henry absently. “Are you coming over for dinner tonight? We missed you last night.”

Emma threw herself into a chair and slid over to Henry’s side. “What’s all the desperation about my eating dinner? Do you guys think I’m going to starve if left to fend for myself? I can cook, you know.”

Henry looked up from his math, and in that moment, Emma fully understood the limitations of nature as an indicator of behavior. Because this kid was all nurture; the look on his face was the exact same one Regina had been spouting for the last week. Emma squinted, trying to read behind his eyes. He was confused about something, and maybe a little upset, and, just a little bit around the eyes, verging on sad. His mouth was all nascent anger, though, even if he tried to hide it.

“You know that’s not it, Ma,” he said, with a fair hint of accusation.

“Then what is it? Between Regina, David, and you, now, you’d think that I only ever eat dinner at your house.”

“That’s because you do.”

Emma shrugged. “Everybody gets into ruts. Doesn’t mean we need to stay in them.”

“Eating with your family is a rut?”

“Eating at your mom’s house is a rut. Don’t you think maybe your mom and Robin want to have some time alone? I was going to talk to Marian to make sure we have the custody thing all worked out, so when you’re with me, Roland’s with her.”

At that, Henry flinched and his face trembled. Honestly, he looked like she had smacked him across the face. That was twice today that she’d said something to stagger her family, but the problem was, she had no idea what she’d said. Something about Regina, obviously. More than that, she’d need more recon.

Emma slipped off the chair and tried not to crowd him; he looked terrified of something. Of her? “Henry? You okay, kid?”

“You think Mom and Robin want—“

“I know you probably don’t like thinking about your mom with someone like that, but you have to take some precautions.” Emma certainly didn’t enjoy thinking of her own parents as people with sex drives, but after walking in on them enough times, she was determined to save Henry the experience.

“But you think Mom and Robin,” Henry said again, and searched her face. “Mom and Robin,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” said Emma slowly. “Regina and Robin. Want time alone. You don’t seem okay, Henry. Was school alright? Did something happen?”

Henry nodded, very slowly, reaching for his phone. “Yeah, something happened. I don’t know what yet, but something definitely happened.”

“Okay.” Emma smiled at him dubiously and dropped back into her chair. “If you need any help figuring it out, let me know.”

~~~

When Marian stopped by to finish filling out the last set of forms for her hiring process, Emma figured it was worth a try. Of course, there was no way of making this subtle, and she wasn’t any good at subtle anyway, so a sledgehammer was going to have to do.

“So, Marian, Is everything okay with Robin?"

Marian blinked. "I believe so. Why?"

Emma shrugged, the skin between her shoulders shifting. ”It's just Regina's acting really weird, and so's the kid. I thought maybe something was going on with them. Any ideas?"

"Nothing that I know about, although I would not be the best person to ask."

"Well, I mean, you share Roland, right? So at least you see him sometimes."

Marian nodded.

"Has Roland said anything?" It felt skeevy to use a child—or a child’s mother—for information, but Regina was up her ass these days in a way she hadn't been since the beginning of Emma's stay in Storybrooke, and her parents weren’t any better. Emma just wanted answers.

"No, he hasn’t,” Marian said. “Is there something in particular you think I should be aware of?"

"No," said Emma. "That's the problem. I mean, she got over me bringing you back--"

"Because Robin and I agreed that he had changed too much when I died; he had finished mourning me and moved on."

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about that. I kind of fucked everyone over, didn't I?” Emma sighed. Figures even as a hero she’d be a disaster.

"You saved my life," said Marian, and her face was all reverence and gratefulness.

"I'm not sure that gives me a Get Out of Jail Free card, though, because I also messed you up pretty bad. He might have been over you, but you sure weren't over him."

Marian paused. ”At the time, no, but now I am… moving on."

Emma grinned. "Things are going well with that island prince guy?” Marian actually blushed, which made Emma laugh out loud. "Very well. I see."

"And you?" Marian asked.

Emma shrugged. "It's hard to date around here. We can't all luck out with famous seafaring tattooed warriors.”

"There is someone out there for you, Emma. We are from fairy tales and legends, after all. Everyone lives happily ever after."

Emma smirked. ”I’m pretty sure the sheriff in your story didn't come to very good ends."

"Yes, well, he gets his own story these days, completely separate from Robin's."

Emma laughed again. "Just wait, someone's going to reboot the Robin Hood story and the Sheriff of Nottingham's going to be a really sexy woman who lives happily ever after with Maid Marian, Disney be damned.”

"We'll have to hope that Disney keeps its hands well away from the copyright, then, won't we?" Marian said wryly, and walked off.

~~~

Five minutes later, Henry and his Mom strode into the station.

“Hi, Ma,” Henry said, smiling faintly.

Emma frowned. Henry saw the thought pass over her face: this didn’t smell like a set-up at all. “What’s up?”

“Henry,” warned Mom.

“There’s something wrong and you know it, Mom.” He leaned into her.

Emma smiled at them. “You guys look good together,” she said.

Henry gave Mom a look. “See?” This was getting to be too much.

“Is this about me not eating dinner with you guys?" Emma said. "Or is it about the mysterious missing coffee?”

“Robin will be there,” Henry blurted, unable to keep it in. “At dinner.”

Mom immediately shushed him, and then shot a glance at Emma, gauging her reaction.

“He keeps saying Robin’s name really weird,” Emma said to Mom. “Like it’s Rumpelstiltskin’s name or something.” She frowned. “Robin isn’t Rumpelstiltskin, is he? Like, a new Dark One that can be called by saying his name three times or anything, right?”

Mom didn’t answer, too busy staring at Emma as if she had just sprouted wings. Something incredible and unexpected and entirely out of the usual realm of possibility. She often looked at Emma like that, but she also usually spoke to her.

“See?” Henry said again, deciding conversation was going to have to be on him. “I told you, there’s something really weird going on. Something bad happened. Robin. Robin. Robin,” he chanted, and both of them stared intently at Emma, waiting for some sort of response.

“Is that a magic spell? Is it supposed to do something to me?” Emma tilted her head. “Are you supposed to be doing magic?” she asked Henry. Before he could respond, she turned to Mom. “Is he supposed to be doing magic?”

Henry shook his head, but Mom kept silent, arm clenched around his shoulder, and they both stood rigid. He was right: something had clearly happened, and it was freaking Henry and Mom out.

Mom cleared her throat. “Did you have any ideas about what it might have been?” she said, directing the question to Henry.

“Around you. She’s changed around you, Mom. And around me a little bit, but I think that’s because of you, mostly. Not me. I think—“ Wrapped in her arms, Henry knit his brow, thinking hard. Mom appraised Emma, obviously searching her knowledge of the other woman and the events of the last week. “She forgot about your coffee,” he said. “And dinner.”

Mom hummed in agreement, unwilling to open her mouth and comment. That must have meant that the morning coffee was really important, so important she didn't want to talk about it.

“She forgot afternoon tea in your office—”

Mom nodded, but her lips were still pressed together.

“—And she doesn’t stand up when you come in a room anymore.” They both looked at Emma, still sitting in her chair by David’s desk. She looked at the chair, and her in it, and then looked back at Mom and Henry. From the look on their faces, neither of them had even noticed that Emma always stood, but Henry knew he was right: it was something Emma used to do and no longer did.

“Am I supposed to get up?” Emma said. “I thought you weren’t a queen anymore; this is a republic, after all.”

Mom opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came out.

Henry kind of understood what she was thinking. It was crazy to categorize each of Emma’s interactions and behaviors. It was even more ridiculous to notice these things, and to miss them. Except that they did, because the things Emma did were important.

“What is it, Mom?”

Mom opened her mouth again, and then shook her head. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Every single bit of evidence, no matter how small, could help us.”

“She usually—I didn’t realize until just now.” Mom sighed. “I’m not sure it’s anything, Henry.”

“She usually what?”

“She usually takes my arm, as an escort. Not that I need one, but her hand—”

“Yeah,” Henry said, excitement lacing his tone. “Her hands are always hovering right by you, like, in case you fall, or need some support. Yeah, that’s a big one.” Henry furrowed his brow in concentration. “Did you tell her about the new plan for the teen center?”

Mom nodded slowly, face pinched. “It was in the paperwork I sent over on Tuesday.”

Henry frowned. He had been so sure that Emma would be thrilled by the decision, that she would be willing and eager to help Mom see it through. The idea had been in the back of her head for so long, and as soon as she was reinstated, she had leapt at the idea, and spent hours telling Henry all about it, asking for his advice.

“Tuesday!” Henry stared at Emma, gobsmacked. “Ma, did you even read it?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s a great idea,” Emma said. “I’ve been talking it up with some of the usual suspects whenever I run into them. It’s going to be a great asset to Storybrooke.”

Shock ran through him. Emma through it was a great idea, but hadn’t bothered to mention that to Mom. She had told other people, but not Mom.

“And it was all Mom’s idea,” Henry said, leadingly.

“It’s going to be good for the kids,” Emma repeated. “That’s what matters.”

“It doesn’t—” Henry spluttered. “It doesn’t—this is the first big thing Mom’s done since she’s been back in office; did you even compliment her for it at all?” Henry knew he got his outraged from his grandmother—no anger, just righteous fervor.

“Not really,” said Emma. “It was a great idea, and the sooner we put it into place, the better. It’s her job, as Mayor, I guess.” Emma gave Mom a sheepish smile, as if she was trying to figure out if not complimenting the Mayor for doing her job was a major faux pas. “Good job?”

It hurt.

The words burned through both Henry and his Mom, and he heard her gasp. A compliment, from Emma, when they had been missing for so long—when she probably hadn’t even realized that Emma complimented her all the time, always brought affirmations and admiration and blessings for Mom, no matter what, even when she failed again and again by her own standards, much less anytime else’s. The first compliment in what felt like eons, and it didn’t feel good. It didn’t make her feel supported, or understood. It was too impersonal, to detached, too false.

Henry stamped his foot. Emma was too busy trying not to laugh at him, and Mom was too busy trying not to stare at Emma, that they clearly wasn't listening to what he was saying. “You missed dinner and Robin and not talking our ears off about the teen center and didn’t even see us for two whole days except at the diner and Robin—”

Mom closed her eyes, desperately trying not to hear what Henry was saying. He trailed off.

They needed a new plan. He hadn't wanted to bring this up, hadn't wanted to admit to snooping. but maybe it was the only way.

Henry stormed over to where he left his backpack and pulled out an old piece of paper torn in half. Or possibly it was torn from a book; that was a better explanation. It was stained and dingy, and the text looked handwritten, with more recent handwritten comments in two different hands scattered across the page.

Mom took the paper delicately between a finger and her thumb, immediately realizing magic this old needed to be treated delicately.

“It’s a spell, isn’t it,” he said.

“Yes, it is.” Mom studied the page, reading the oldest writing first, and then the annotations. “Where did you find this, darling?”

Henry inhaled, and firmed his shoulders. “It was in Ma’s desk. Hidden.”

Emma blurted, “Were you going through my stuff, kid!? That’s not cool.” She sounded a little irritated, but not particularly upset or betrayed.

“I’m sure he’s sorry,” Mom said smoothly, but she wasn’t really sorry.

Neither was he. This was proof that Emma had done something, something magic and something possibly irreparable. He was relieved there was an explanation for the past week, but this wasn’t the explanation he was hoping for.

Henry nodded, looking glum. “I’m sorry, but not if it’s important. What kind of a spell is it?”

Mom frowned. “I believe it’s a memory spell, but it’s somewhat hard to ascertain. There are elements of regret, change—it’s not designed to make someone else forget, more to change the caster’s own sense of the past.”

Henry grimaced. “That sound dangerous.”

“Yes. Very dangerous.” Mom tried to keep her voice mild and nonjudgmental, but Henry could hear the warning in it, and by her reaction, so could Emma. This was old magic, and powerful. Memory spells were never something to take lightly. “This hand is Rumple’s, and this one, here,” she indicated the other handwriting, “adds a few twists that made it recursive.”

Henry pressed against Mom again and peered at the paper. “So if the spell was at Emma’s house, does that mean she cast it?”

Mom took a deep breath, and then said slowly, “I’m not sure.”

“Did you?” Henry asked Emma.

“Nope.” Emma laughed, light and free. It wasn’t a sound Henry had heard before, despite having hear Emma laugh often enough. “Pretty sure I didn’t cast any spells on myself.”

“I’m not sure you would be able to tell, if you had cast it,” Mom said.

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“Well,” Mom said, frowning at the spell, desperately trying not to look at Emma, “There is a clause, here at the end, one of the notes added later, that indicates the spell is recursive, to make it not only work on the caster, and only on the caster, but to mask itself so it can’t be undone.”

“What do you mean, can’t be undone?” Henry couldn’t hold in his distress, and from the look on her face Mom shared it. She laid the page on the table and pulled him closer. He shook in her arms, staring at Emma and blinking back tears. For a brief moment, Henry let gratitude flow through her: whatever had happened, whatever Emma had gone, at least he and Mom were together in unfolding the issue.

“Suppose I did cast a memory spell on myself, which I’m almost positive I didn’t do,” Emma said. “What in the world would I have been trying to forget? I still remember my childhood, prison, the year of forgetting: it’s not like there’s a whole lot left after that.”

“—She must’ve cast a spell on herself to forget but it backfired or something and changed her behavior, or maybe it’s even changed her whole personality—” Henry said slowly.

“Guys,” Emma said. “You’re reading way too much into this. It’s not a big deal. And even if I did forget something, intentionally, it was probably something I meant to do, hence the intentionality. I’m not that much of a disaster that I would cast a spell on myself by mistake.”

Mom didn’t scoff. She wouldn’t. Henry did.

“Look,” said Emma. “Whatever it was, it probably had nothing to do with either of you, or with David, or Snow. There’s a lot in my life that I’d really rather forget that’s still there, so whatever it was, it was just…something. That I forgot. Because I meant to. Because I wanted to.” She shrugged at them, obviously willing them to understand and just let it go. “That’s all. No big.”

Henry wouldn’t let it go. Mom had always said she was glad for Henry’s tenacity, for his determination. Because he wouldn’t let this go, and now she wouldn’t have to, either. Whatever it was that had changed Emma, what spell she had cast, and why, they would figure it out together and unravel the knot and things would return to usual. Go back to normal, and their world would stop feeling upended every moment of the day.

~~~

That evening, Robin and Roland made spaghetti with garlic bread. Regina wasn't sure where they had found the recipe, and it was the first time they had attempted anything of the sort, but the meal was passable, even if the kitchen was a mess afterward. Cleaning up was cathartic, meditative, and she let herself go through the motions with fill attention, repeatedly drawing her attention back to the task at hand rather than obsess over Emma Swan any more.

She slipped, of course. Tending to one's attention took a great deal of effort, and Emma's absence at dinner spoke loudly in Regina's mind as she cleaned. The leftovers, of which there were plenty, were Emma's fault. If she had eaten with them, she would have taken seconds or even thirds. She always did. And she brought more home, for a late-night snack or for lunch to heat up the next day.

The two wine glasses Regina washed brought her attention back to Emma as well: she didn't like reds particularly, preferring whites even with tomato sauces and meat. Regina didn't care either way, having struggled through enough of taste dictating pleasure in her lifetime. Old memories of the King proclaiming what she should eat and drink and when she should do it--the quantities and the flavors--made her more likely to tinker with things to make them more palatable, no matter the actual palate. Emma didn't have the worst taste, either.

Robin preferred ales to wines, but adapted for Regina. He often adapted for Regina, which was a novel experience. A welcome one. More proof that he was her soulmate, after all, was his willingness to try new things or retry things he didn't like for her sake. She loved that about him.

Emma didn't express her likes and dislikes as pleasantly; in fact, other than a few things that Emma proclaimed to love, she didn't express any dislikes. The wine had only come up when Regina realized that Emma never finished a second glass of red, but could put away a bottle of white by herself.

Of course, Emma might prefer ale too, or lager. It had never come up.

And Regina was supposed to be focusing on washing the plates, by hand because that was a more efficient use of her time right now, to calm herself and focus on what mattered. Whatever Emma had done to herself, it was not Regina's business if Emma wasn't asking for help. Regina had a family, happily playing a board game in the other room.

Their laughter filtered through the open door, and Regina smiled. The house was filled with happiness these days, and Regina's live was filled with happiness, too. Love, and laughter, and pleasant days and nights together. The three of them.

The four of them, she meant. Robin, Roland, Henry, and Regina. That was her family. Emma's family was another group of four, across town. Although Emma had her own apartment now, and Henry spent time with her occasionally. Regina encouraged him, these days, partially so that she could have time with Robin and not worry about Roland or Henry hearing them.

It was strange to not be a single mother anymore, although she was still responsible for the cleaning after dinner and most of the cooking. She didn't mind; her family was always complimentary. Perhaps she should make homemade burgers tomorrow, stuffed with bleu cheese. Emma liked those, even if Roland thought they tasted stinky. How something could taste stinky she didn't know.

Perhaps she should invite Marian over; maybe that would help Emma over this strange resistance to spending time with them together. Enlarging her family to bring it together; what a ridiculous concept. But there were more people that loved her now than she had ever had before, and it hurt when one of them slipped through her fingers.

It wasn't fair.

~~~

The first attempt to make things normal again was by purchasing a coffee from Ruby, and then giving it to Emma to give back to Regina.

Clearly, it wasn’t the coffee that had dictated the morning ritual, but the exchange. So preserving the exchange should be a step in the right direction. Even if Emma had forgotten something imperative, going through the motions would be a solution, of sorts. It wasn’t her best work, at all, and acknowledgment, again, from a person whom she’d never had to demand it from before, would be a salve and let her come up with a better plan. Fake it ’til you make it, after all.

But when Regina arrived at the diner on Saturday morning, hoping to see both her son and his mother, she was sorely disappointed. Henry was there, but Emma was not.

She slipped into at chair next to him at the counter. “Where is she?”

“Morning, Mom,” Henry said, and leaned over for a side hug.

Regina rested her head on his, relishing his preteen comfort at physical demonstrations of affection. After years of missing their casual contact, that he continued to seek her out, even as he grew older, was a balm to her soul. “Good morning to you. I’m sorry; I’m just worried about your mother.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Henry picked at his pancakes. “There was a note when I woke up, said she wanted to go for a run this morning and would meet me here. But that was,” he twisted around to look at the clock. “That was almost an hour ago.”

“She left you alone in the apartment?”

“Mom,” Henry said. “I’m not a little kid. When we lived in New York—”

“Yes?” she said tightly. The year without Henry or Storybrooke, forced back into someone she thought she had long left behind, pierced Regina. But clearly Henry and Emma had fond memories of their time in New York—their time without her—and she had to respect that.

“I don’t need a babysitter anymore, Mom. Not in Storybrooke, where everybody knows me and would never let anything bad happen. Especially not on the three block walk from Ma’s house to Granny’s.”

Regina smiled at him, welcoming the wash of adoration. He truly was growing up and coming into his own. Accepting the attentions of the town without complaint, even acknowledging his place as a talisman of importance, Henry somehow managed to balance the duty of his role as Snow’s grandson and his own sense of family as her son. She would never be so comfortable with that sort of attention. “I’m sure you’re right, Henry, but that doesn’t answer the question of where your mother is.”

Henry slumped again, but before he could answer, the bell rang. They both turned eagerly, but Regina wasn’t expecting the crush of disappointment.

“If she did cast a spell on herself, what are we going to do?” Henry said.

“I’m not entirely sure where she would have come across that particular spell, Henry, and even if I did know where it came from, I would need to investigate further to know whether there was a way to revoke or alter it. As it stands, however,” she said, not wanting to ruin his hopes, but unable to lie to him outright. “The notations were fairly clear.”

“Clear, like the recursive thing really means we can’t undo it?”

“It’s likely.” Regina ran over the language of the spell again. Assuming Emma undertaken the second person’s suggestions and cast the altered, improved spell rather than the original one, or even the Rumple-improved one, there was no way for Emma to even know what she had excised from her own memory, much less for Emma herself to return it. And if she hadn’t cast the altered spell, then she was lying to both of them, and whatever she had forgotten she clearly would refuse to ever remember. Either way it didn’t bode well.

“I just—did you know there was something she wanted to forget so badly?”

Regina met mournful Henry’s gaze, his eyes welling with tears. “It’s not your fault,” she murmured. “Whatever Emma was struggling with, you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He gave a watery laugh. “Yeah, and at least she still remembers all of us.” A thought passed over his face, animating it. “What if it was Hook, what if he was the thing she wanted for forget? They broke up; that might have made her unhappy.”

“I’m not sure, Henry. Has she seemed particularly unhappy with the break, the last few months?” Regina couldn’t tell, herself.

Nothing stood out in her memory about the end of Emma’s relationship with Hook. Nothing stood out about anything; Emma had gone along as usual, eager to engage Regina even at her most cynical, working hard at her magical capacities and at her self-proclaimed job of Savior. Their interactions had been entirely typical as well, since Marian had forgiven her and she and Robin had commenced their relationship at least since Emma and Henry’s return from New York. After proclaiming them first friends and then allies in Regina’s search for happiness, when Robin had resolved his marriage and come to her with words of love and permanence, had returned to Regina and left Marian, Emma had told Regina she knew that happiness would return to her and that she would do everything possible not to destroy her life again.

In fact, those had been the exact words: “I promise, I’ll make sure no one destroys your happiness, Regina. Not anyone, not for anything. Not ever again.”

For a brief moment, Regina had been worried about Marian, but Emma and Robin had both assured Regina she had settled down nicely in and was dating again. Regina wasn't sure who; there were so many more people these days, with the second curse swallowing up more people of their own accord that her first curse had.

But Regina was happy, and that colored her view of everyone else. Even if Emma had been miserable, Regina wasn’t sure she’d have been able to see it, not when everything in her life was so suddenly comfortable. When suddenly she had things to hold onto without constant struggle.

“I don’t think they were that unhappy together, but he didn’t really hang around when I was there.” Henry shrugged. “It wasn’t like with you and Robin and Roland. He wasn’t even trying.”

“No, I imagine not.”

Their pondering might have lasted all morning had Ruby not noticed Emma trying to slink in the doorway and shouted, “Emma!” so loudly the entire diner turned to look.

Emma scowled at Ruby, and then laughed. “Caught me, huh?”

“What were you trying to do?” Ruby handed Emma a mug of what could only be hot chocolate, although it lacked whipped cream, and as Regina watched, there was a flash of light, and then the mug topped off with white cream.

Regina’s stomach twisted. Emma could perform simple, at will magic, without terror or life-threatening situations to compel her. Emma had been performing magic, at will, for several days now, right in front of her. Emma had been practicing magic without her. Her heart pounded and her head grew warm, and she grimaced at the food still in front of Henry, choking on bile. Cast aside, again, once she had outlived her usefulness.

“Oh,” said Emma, “I was going to surprise Henry. Goose him.”

Ruby laughed. “Be glad I got her for you, Henry.”

Henry’s smile came slowly, and didn’t shine very much. Regina ached for him, as well. But they would power through, together, as always.

Regina stood up from the counter. “Emma, I see you’ve made some impressive strides. We should meet for your magic lessons again. You seem to be doing quite well on your own, but you had some questions?”

Emma’s jaw flapped; Regina was caught by the strong, smooth line from chin to ear. “Uh, no, thanks,” Emma said. “I talked to Tink, and she said she and Blue could set me up with the theoretical stuff, and I’m doing okay with the practical parts. Just, you know, want it badly enough and it’ll happen.”

Regina stepped closer to Emma, every part of her screaming to back away instead but compelled to at least offer the same sort of physical contact that Emma so often gifted her with.

Emma stepped back.

Regina moved forward again, and raised her arm. Just a touch, just a gentle hand on her elbow, that was all she wanted. A small return to what it had been like before. Perhaps a careful tucking back of the curl of hair resting on Emma’s cheek, nothing more.

Emma stepped back again, and twisted away. “What are you doing,” she said, looking at Regina suspiciously. “We don’t do that. You know I’m not a big hugger, Regina.”

It was true; Emma was deeply uncomfortable with contact, especially hugs, but it had been so long since she had bumped shoulders with her, since she had felt the ghost of a hand against her back, since Emma had leaned over Regina’s shoulder so close she could feel the heat even if they weren’t touching.

Henry said, “You hug me.”

Emma turned her head to him, but kept her shoulders square against Regina. It was a fighting stance, solid and lithe, no matter how relaxed Emma appeared to be. Part of Regina ached at how often Emma had to barricade herself against unwanted physical contact, while the rest ached at the idea that Emma thought of her as a threat. “Sure I do,” said Emma, “and remember how long it took for me to be comfortable doing that? I’m pretty sure we can chalk that one up to your mom’s uber-gift. It’s a lot easier to hug someone when you’ve got a decade’s worth of memories of doing just that.”

“You’ve hugged Mom,” Henry said.

Emma barely moved, yet it suddenly seemed like she was much farther away from them. “I’ve hugged you at the same time your mom was hugging you, Henry. Your mom and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Her voice was remote, and both Regina and Henry shuddered at it. This wasn’t their Emma, this person who refused to open herself to them. This person had denied her own pain so much that she turned to magic, even knowing intimately how Regina’s experience with that idea turned out.

How had they missed it?

Regina’s eyes burned, and her toes grew icy in her shoes, acutely aware of the vast canyon of space between her and Emma.

~~~

The ice stayed in her bones all day, even when she returned home to an excited Robin and an absent Roland. “So, how about date night?” he said. “I’ve made reservations. Henry will be fine at home by himself, or we’ll send him to Emma’s for the night.”

Regina heard the words, but through a strange fog. Robin was there, speaking to her, but there was no warm glow at seeing his face, no smile welling up uncalled when he spoke. “It’s my weekend,” she said absently. The ice wrapped its way up her fingertips, and holding onto Robin made no difference; it was Emma’s heated fingers, ridiculously warm for someone who regularly refused to wear gloves, that Regina craved.

“He’ll be here all week,” Robin said.

“I don’t want to impose on Emma again. Maybe I should stop by and talk with her.” Even knowing this was a terrible idea didn’t stop Regina’s need to see Emma again, to try to get through to her again.

Robin sighed and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Rumor has it you spent time with her already today at the diner,” he said gently. “Tonight, I want to go to dinner with you. Just you.”

Regina nodded. “I didn’t realize she was going through such a rough time. I should have been paying more attention.” Now that she knew what to look for, so many incidents over the last few weeks—months—made sense. Emma had been hurting for a long time, and Regina had been blind to it.

Robin sighed. “Why are you so obsessed with this, Regina?”

She blinked at him. “She’s my friend.”

“It seems there’s always something with Emma that you need to deal with.”

“She’s my son’s mother.” And her closest friend. Someone who fought for her, time and again. Someone who, most of the time, believed in the best Regina in a way that even Regina couldn’t believe. Emma was important.

“Yes, but she’s not your responsibility.”

A sudden wave of anger swept through Regina, and the words sprang from her mouth without warning. “Even if she’s probably been playing with deep magic she doesn’t understand? Magic that has fundamentally changed who she is, how she responds to things? Why am I concerned, Robin? Perhaps you forget my past.” As soon as she was done, however, the heat of anger was replaced by exhaustion.

He smiled, loving and caring and deeply devoted, and ignored her attack. “You don’t need to worry so much. Things have a way of working themselves out the way they were supposed to.” He grabbed her hands and swung her into an embrace. “Like this,” he said, nuzzling her cheek. “Like us.”

Regina shuddered and pulled away to stare into his eyes. “This is how we were supposed to turn out, you living apart from your son and seeing him every other weekend, and me with a, a partner, a friend, who was so miserable and so unable to share her hurt with me that she did something potentially disastrous? I’m not sure I like your idea of things working out.”

Robin sighed and loosened his hold. “What are you saying?”

Instead of walking away, Regina leaned into him again, letting him wrap her up, seeking comfort. “I’m not sure.”

“You’ve been complaining for months that she’s always around, that she comes over for dinner even when you want it to be the three of us, that she’s always bothering you at work, that she cleans the kitchen the wrong way, that she didn’t do a very good job on the gutters last fall. It’s an endless litany.”

“I know that’s what I said,” she said weakly. “I know. But now that she’s not doing any of those things…”

“Okay,” he said, holding her closer, drawing her into his chest. “Okay. We’ll figure it out, I promise. We can do this. Maybe I should talk to her, see if I can find out anything.”

That was a terrible idea, especially if Regina’s nascent theory was right. “You don’t know her particularly well, Robin.”

“No, but maybe fresh eyes could help. You and Henry are so close to the situation, maybe you need some outsiders to see if they spot any differences in her. You said she changed, her behavior is different.”

“Yes. She’s almost an imitation of herself. A facsimile.” A paper Emma, with none of the spark and fire of the real one. None of the love and joy and care.

“Okay, so I’ll start with that.”

But Robin’s unwavering support, something Regina had wished for during countless decades, stung. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

His heart thumped under her ear, solid and steady and comfortable, and his chest rose and sank, lifting her and drawing her down again as she rested on him. “But you don’t want to lose her, either.”

It wasn’t a question.

~~~

The second attempt was more thoughtfully planned out: no Henry waiting to ambush Emma, a pleasant snack picked up from Granny’s, several people ordered to stay away upon pain of death. Regina plastered on a grin, feeling the fakeness in her lips, and pushed open the Sheriff’s Department’s door.

“Hey,” said Emma. “What’d I forget this time, Madam Mayor?”

Regina’s careful smile froze, and her lips began to hurt from pursing. Was that a dig? Did Emma remember—no, that made no sense. “Nothing, Emma. I thought I’d bring by a snack.”

“What’d I do now?” Emma glared at her, suspicion and wariness painted across her face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the only times I’ve seen you lately have been when you want to ream me out for something—doing something, not doing it, whatever. So I’ve got to ask: what’d I do now?”

Even that first night, before Emma knew anything about Regina other than that their son was in pain and angry, she had never looked at Regina like this: the planes on her face were hard, her eyes shuttered. Emma looked nothing like the open-faced, interested woman Regina had learned through so many conflicts, both against each other and beside each other.

“You haven’t done anything. I merely wanted to return a favor you have done for me many times.”

Emma’s eyebrow rose. For a moment, Regina remembered what Emma looked like before the curse broke, when she hadn’t believed Regina possessed a speck of sincerity. Part of Regina wanted to sneer back.

“I’ve brought you bear claws before?”

“No. You tend to bring me things that are a bit healthier. But this is what you like, so I thought I’d take your preferences into account.”

Emma laughed. “Because the Mayor of Storybrooke has so much time on her hands that bringing snacks down to the Sheriff’s department is a thing you do.”

“In fact, I have in the past.” Except that she hadn’t. In all the months Emma had brought Regina coffee, snacks, books and flyers and once, a delicate filigreed watch, Regina had not once returned the favor.

Emma continued to look entirely skeptical, and Regina fought to keep her face blank. However, instead of reminding Regina about her superpower, instead Emma laughed and said, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Well, thanks, I guess. Keep up the good work.”

And with that, Emma turned back to her computer with coffee in one hand and bear claw in the other.

Regina had been dismissed.

~~~

For days, Emma’s light, meaningless smile and even temper refused to leave Regina, even as she was supposed to be allocating resources to the waste department or making notes on filings from Legal, or grocery shopping. Emma’s absence in her life was a presence, looming and heavy.

A month ago, Emma at dinner would have elicited a vague sense of unease and pressure, but today, the empty chair across from Henry drew Regina’s attention like a lighthouse and the unease had exploded into a wrenching in her stomach.

Waiting for water to boil in the morning, or waiting for the car to warm up, the images came fast and thick: Emma’s smile over a table at the diner, a head peeking around the door at her office, soft footsteps behind her, just a touch to fast to be entirely casual and then that ever-present hand on her arm and Emma’s voice asking gently about her day, about Henry, about the woods or magic or horses. Asking about anything and everything. Asking about Regina. There was the steadiness of Emma’s gaze when she talked to her, meeting Regina’s eyes with a lightness in her own eyes.

Regina suddenly couldn’t escape the ghost of Emma, around corners and hidden in hallways and on the sidewalk, even as the reality of Emma receded from her life. Whole hours went by without Emma’s voice, whole days without Emma’s crooked grin and hesitant posture waiting for Regina to acknowledge her.

Because that’s what it was: Emma waiting for Regina.

Emma had been waiting for Regina for so long, standing at the edges of Regina’s life, of her heart.

And Regina hadn't noticed until she was gone.

But now that she knew, she wouldn’t give up, either.

~~~

“I think I know what Emma forgot,” Regina said into the darkness that surrounded their bed.

Robin turned over; she could feel the weight of his stare, nothing like the stares of her past, yet still undeniably weighted nonetheless. He hummed, more to let her know he was listening than because he wanted an answer.

Regina knew this. She knew he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to talk about it. And yet he loved her enough to let her process, to be a sounding board for her. To be her partner, as much as Henry was. “I think it was me.”

“But she remembers you,” he said, confusion lacing his words.

“How she feels about me,” Regina said. It sounded too loud in the dark, cluttering the bedroom with knowledge that didn’t belong.

“How she…” he said.

Regina waited for Robin to catch up, to see where she was leading him. She hoped, anyway, because she wasn’t sure she could say it out loud.

“She loves you,” he murmured. There was no surprise, no astonishment. It sounded like the speaking of a thought that had crossed his mind innumerable times.

Regina closed her eyes and let the sadness come. Robin’s arms came, too, and wrapped her up. It was comfort, but it also wasn’t enough.

“She loved me,” she whispered.

“And then she forgot,” Robin said.

Regina nodded. “And then she forgot.”

They stayed awake for a long time, Regina’s despair soaking Robin’s chest.

~~~

“So, um, Robin tells me you think you know what happened to Emma.”

Regina peered up at David, standing in the doorway looking so much like his daughter. The way they held their bodies, the way they peered at her, wanting to help. So much like the Emma from before.

Regina couldn’t speak. This man whom she’d hated for what he had, for what he represented, for what she had lost, and who now reminds her of everything she’s lost again all unknowing.

“Hey, hey,” he said, and his hand wound around her arm. If he didn’t stand just the same as Emma, she might have flung him across the room. She was not weak. Except maybe she was, because David was so like Emma, or Emma was so like David, and she missed Emma so very much. Emma who never wrapped her arms around Regina but held her arm just like this. Emma who always held herself apart, or afraid. Emma who forgot.

“Take your time,” David whispered.

After a small eternity, it occurred to Regina that of all the people who’d noticed the changes in Emma, David and Snow were a close second to herself and Henry—they were as impacted as she and Henry were. “She forgot,” Regina whispered, unable to keep the truth from him.

“Forgot what?”

“I’m not…” she started, and then stopped. Saying the words out loud suddenly seemed ridiculous. An explanation that seemed so easy for Henry, or for Robin, or even for Emma herself would never do for Emma’s father.

“What did she forget, Regina?” David asked, his voice so quiet and gentle that Regina wanted to scream.

Everything. She forgot everything. Everything that mattered, everything that meant anything. She forgot her family, and her life, and her future. She forgot. “Me,” she whispered, instead.

David frowned, and even the furrow in his brow was the mirror of Emma.

He opened his mouth, and Regina couldn’t stand to be so close anymore. Distance gave her mind space, and once she was safely behind the conference table, she straightened her back and met his eyes unflinchingly. “She forgot me, or rather, much of our relationship.”

Regina saw David’s thoughts move across his face, slowly at first, as he slotted Emma’s behaviors with this new information, and then faster, understanding racing through his features and he knew exactly what she meant. As with Robin, there was no surprise on his face. It was more an acknowledgement of something long known but never spoken.

And David was so easy to read, right now, while Emma had been so much harder to read for so long. Hard enough that Regina had no idea of her suffering, of her devotion, of her decision.

“Huh,” he said finally, “that makes a lot of sense. She’s treating you just like when she first got here, before…well, before everything.”

Everything. Yes, that was one way of putting it.

~~~

Emma loved her kid, she did, really, but lately all he could talk about was whatever was wrong with her. Emma had had enough of that when she was a kid herself; she didn’t need any more now that she was an adult. “We were talking, Ma,” Henry said, not for the first time, “and the thing is, we miss the old you.”

Emma put down her sandwich and sat back, waiting for another round of “what’s wrong with Emma now?” Dread didn’t even begin to describe the feeling she had about this conversation. “The old me?”

He nodded and looked at Regina. “The one who loved Mom.”

“Henry,” Regina said. It could have been a warning, or it could have been something else; there definitely was something different in Regina’s voice than their most recent interactions.

“The one who accepted Mom,” Henry said, “and supported her, and helped her raise me.”

Emma let go of the whole “helped raise” thing, because even a well-intentioned curse didn’t really mean anything. Not really. Henry was all Regina, no more so than right now, fighting for acceptance and a fair shake. But she elected to let that one go. “You don’t think I accept your mom?”

He pursed his lips. “Not the same way you used to.”

Emma shook her head. “If I was in love with your mom, and I accepted her so totally, wasn’t that probably just a little bit, I don’t know, blind? I mean, she’s done some terrible things. Not just to me, to a lot of people. And I know she’s working on redemption and all that, but sometimes a little caution is a good thing.”

“Maybe. But the opposite isn’t true. Robin says he’s in love with Mom, but he doesn’t accept everything about her, or support her the same way. Somehow, you didn’t just forget that you loved Mom, you forgot that you liked her, too, that she’s a good person and has changed so much, and you forgot that you’re her friend.”

“I’m still her friend. I mean, we’re friendly.”

“Not like before,” he said, voice dropping and sounding more like the small, defiant child she had first met, rather than the person accustomed to the shades of gray in the world he was becoming.

“I can support her and not be following her around like a sycophant,” Emma said.

Regina huffed. “I didn’t know you knew that word.”

“It was useful to describe Sidney, back when I was writing endless complaints about his harassment to send to the Mayor,” Emma said. “And I’m not going to be like Sidney.”

The strangest look passed over Regina’s face; one that would speak volumes if Emma could just crack the spine and translate. For someone whose poker face was usually impeccable, it was an odd tell.

“We don't want you to be like Sidney,” Henry pressed on. “We want you to be like you again. You don’t have to think she’s, like, a nice person—sorry Mom—but you used to always be on her side. You were a team, and now you’re not.”

Emma’s eyes bounced between Henry and Regina as he spoke, taking in both how Regina tensed when Henry reminded them all that Regina was in fact not a nice person, but also the way he leaned toward her, not quite touching but clearly both drawing and giving support.

Emma couldn’t imagine doing anything like that with anyone, much less Regina.

“We’re a team raising you,” Emma said, ignoring any commentary on Regina’s likability, “even if it’s a little lopsided based on experience. She’s the seasoned veteran who knows all the tricks, and I’m still the wet-eared rookie.”

Henry shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, you used to be the kind of team where you always thought about each other, and worried about each other, and like, validated each other.”

“Validated?” Emma said. Regina’s kid, no doubt about it. Although a person who had cursed an entire realm to misery could probably do with some serious psychoanalysis.

“Yeah, Archie says that’s when you make someone feel okay about their emotions and let them make their own choices and don’t try to tell them they’re wrong even when you think they’re wrong.”

“I know what it means, I didn’t think you did.”

“Well,” Henry said, rolling his eyes just like his mother, “I do, and you guys used to do it for each other. Mom still does that for you lately, but you don’t. You’ve changed. You’re not you anymore.”

Emma sighed and tried to control her response. For her own son to end up as just another person telling her who she should be—it hurt. “I’m just me, Henry. I’m the only person I can be. I’m the person I’ve always been.” She wanted to say, I’m the person I’m always going to be, and I get to decide that, but she figured tearing into a kid, especially her own kid, was a non-starter.

“No,” he spat. “You’re not.”

“I have no idea what you want from me, okay?” Emma threw up her hands, but her anger was still right there under the surface. “Whatever it was that happened, whatever you think changed, whatever reason you’re even here telling me this, we can’t go back.”

Henry inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. Emma took the opportunity to try the same thing. The only one who didn’t seem to need it was Regina.

“Ma, we’re here because you forgot how to be our family, and that’s not fair to us. We want you in our family.”

Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?” demanded Regina.

“Because I don’t want to go back to spending my evenings being a fifth wheel at your house, just like when I’m an extra wheel at Snow and David’s.” She could recall with vivid clarity how horrible not belonging felt in both those houses, and it was exactly the same as her entire childhood. It was extremely solid evidence in the “didn’t forget anything” corner, but Emma wasn’t sure she could explain enough to convince them.

“No!” said Henry. “You’re more than that. Robin’s the extra one, not you.”

Emma noted Regina didn’t say anything, and she didn’t seem surprised at it, either. “Really?” Emma said. “Because that’s not the feeling I got whenever I’d come over. Which is why I’m not doing it anymore.”

Regina interrupted whatever Henry was going to say next, reaching out to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders. She stared at Emma, eyes boring into Emma’s. “Henry’s right. Robin, and Roland, are the extraneous members of our family. You are more fundamental than that.”

“You’re saying the words, but they don’t match my experience.” If she thought about it, the idea was kind of nice: coparenting with her son’s mom, a place where she was necessary and welcome and integral to a family unit. It was a nice idea, but the reality was very different.

“But you remember everything wrong!” Henry shouted.

“Henry,” Emma said softly, “I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

And now it was time to destroy her son’s imaginary family, like hers had been destroyed every time adoption had been on the table and then whisked away. “Besides, if I hadn’t changed something about how I was acting, you would never have noticed anything, would you? You’re so sure that I used to be someone different, that you like that person better, and you’re so convinced you want that me back, that you’re ignoring what it must have been like to make that choice. How unhappy I must have been to change myself.” There was no way she’d have done what they said, because if there was a forgetting potion the number of things she could choose to forget were legion. But for people who claimed to love her, they sure didn’t care much about seeing things from her point of view.

“But—we love you,” Henry said. “The real you.”

“This is the real me. Even if it’s not the me you want.”

~~~

When Snow wanted something but it was going to be a difficult conversation, she always took the same approach: hint dropping for weeks, then some vigorous faces clearly intended to convey meaning, and then, eventually, a certain kind of bluntness that even Emma could see ran in the family. So Emma had been expecting this conversation for a long time, at least since Regina and David had started acting weird and Henry had started his accusations. But since Snow had stayed out of it, Emma had allowed herself to hope, just a little, that her mother might possibly be on her side.

Fat chance.

“Emma,” she said, rubbing Emma’s arm, “you know we care about you and just want what’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” said Emma, “and somehow you think what’s best for me is to become best friends with the Mayor, who happens to also be my contentious co-parent.”

“Not become,” Snow said, sadness reeking out of her. “Stay. Get back to. You were so close, and now…. None of us knows what happened, but Regina’s theory is the best one we have so far.”

“Nothing happened!” Emma’s teeth ached from clenching them, and restraining her anger might not have been the best approach under the circumstances. But a fight with her mother the bandit, wasn’t something she wanted to give in to any more than she had wanted to fight with her son the truest believer.

Snow just looked at her, and the pity echoed through several decades. Emma hated that look. Emma had always hated that look.

Maybe she should let Snow know that. Let her validate a little.

“I hate when people think they know what’s best for me,” she snarled, throwing all caution to the wind. “I hate when people think they know better than I do what’s going on in my own head, and believe me, it’s happened enough times that I’ve gotten pretty good at saying, fuck you. I define me. Not you. And I’m telling you, nothing happened. I’m the same me I always was.”

“I’m not trying to define you, honey.” Snow gently pressed her hand to Emma’s arm, holding her down. Emma’s arm ached at the effort to not tear herself away, to stay and not put a room between them. “I’m not doing that, I promise. I just want you to be open to the idea that maybe you don’t have all the facts.”

“Because memory spells can be recursive?” Emma said, suddenly tired of all the magic crap.

Snow nodded.

“Yeah, that seems really convenient, don’t you think?” Emma said. “Magic is really convenient when it needs to be, and then suddenly, when it needs to make sense—like why in the hell would I make myself forget anything?—it doesn’t anymore.”

“Emma, we don’t make the rules. Magic is very complex, and if you did cast this spell—“

“At least you’re saying ‘if’. Henry and the Mayor seem pretty stuck on ‘did’.”

“—Then you wouldn’t remember any of it. And Henry did find that piece of paper.”

“While he was going through my desk at work! It could have been anything.”

Snow sighed. “What will it take to convince you that something happened? Maybe not what Regina suspects, but something?”

Emma bit back the immediate response, and instead observed her mother. Snow’s face was drawn, lined. Even though things were more or less peaceful, she seemed somehow fragile in a way that Emma had never seen Snow before. If it was somehow related to whatever people thought was happening to her, then Snow at least deserved some consideration. “I don’t know. What’ve you got?”

Snow stared at the ceiling. “You used to call her Regina.”

Emma blinked.

“You’d have dinner at her house four or five times a week, and stop by her office every day just to chat, not with paperwork or anything. You’d call Regina for things that had to do with Henry—“

“She’s his mother!”

“—Even when you could have called Henry.”

The list was familiar enough, from when Henry and Regina had been in her office before, but it sounded different hearing it from her mother. Snow wasn’t excited, for one. She looked and sounded exhausted, even sick, and Emma’s stomach twisted, wondering if Snow was worried about her brother or about her.

“Anything else?” she said. It came out a little hoarse.

“Probably. To David and me, to Regina and Henry, too, you seem like a completely different person. But not to yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, but Emma shook her head anyway.

Snow nodded. “I’m sorry. I won’t push. But Emma, we’re worried about you.”

That answered that.

“We just want what’s best for you,” Snow repeated. “We love you.” She kissed the top ofEmma’s head, and made her way out of the room.

Emma stared after her for a long time, wondering about her last words. We love you. Who loved her? Snow had listed people, and while Emma knew Snow and David and Henry loved her—they all said it often enough—there was one more person who was worried, and who was clearly upset about whatever had happened.

It was enough to make Emma want to scream. Because clearly they all thought there was something wrong, and she had no idea what it could be.

~~~

“I hate this, Regina, I really do,” Snow says, bursting through the front door before Regina has a chance to step aside.

She inhales deeply, deliberately, and turns to Snow, smile pasted on. “So nice to see you again, Snow.”

Snow spins around, mouth pursed. “I have been patient. I have been calm. I have been waiting for you to be happy again for a very long time. But I never thought it would be at the expense of my daughter.”

Regina merely raises an eyebrow. Of all the idiotic things to come out of Snow’s mouth lately.

Snow huffs. “Fine. That was a poor choice of words. But Regina, she is in pain, and none of us were there for her. We were all so wrapped up in your new story, in your happiness, that we completely missed what was going on with her.”

Regina jerked her head, indicating she wanted Snow to follow her. Instead of answering, once they were in the kitchen she took the opportunity to make coffee slowly, taking her time boiling water and grinding beans.

Behind her, Snow huffed at the delay but at least she held her tongue. Regina couldn’t express how happy she was for that small mercy.

Finally when they both had mugs steaming in front of them, Regina met Snow’s eyes. “I’ve parted ways with Robin.”

Snow’s eyes bulged pleasantly and her jaw dropped. As good as their relationship had gotten, pulling the rug out from under Snow White would never be anything less than satisfying. “You—why?”

“You’ve just explained that my choices, my happy ending, directly contributed to your daughter’s misery.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you ought to dissolve your relationship entirely.”

Regina shrugged delicately. “Perhaps it does mean that.”

Snow gave her a look so mothering Regina almost laughed. “Disappointed in my choices again?”

“You know that I want to see you happy and in love.”

“Soulmates,” Regina murmured.

Snow waved her hands. “Whatever. I want you to have what I took from you all those years ago. But I can’t help but wonder if you’re running from happiness again.”

“Again?”

Several emotions passed over Snow’s face, and Regina was unhappily reminded that this woman probably knew her better than anyone else, and loved her despite it.

“Happiness means opening ourselves up for hurt,” Snow said.

Regina nodded. “Which I have never been particularly good at.”

“You know too well what that feels like,” Snow said.

Regina stared at the counter, recalling her conversation with Robin. “I am not interested in getting hurt again,” she said slowly. “However, I have come to the conclusion—and Henry agrees—that Robin has never felt as much a part of our family as Emma. And while it might have taken me too long to realize this, now that I have I cannot continue to devote time and energy to people who are not my family when my family is hurting. When my family is in shambles.”

“But if you’re right about the spell, and Emma never remembers?”

Regina set her jaw and looked at Snow with all the poise of a dozen years as the Queen to end all Queens. “She fell in love with me once. I imagine I can persuade her to do it again.”

~~~

“Regina,” Emma said, when Regina confronted her, armed with her new theory and Snow’s acceptance. “It’s a fairytale. This is your happily-ever-after. It’s your happy ending. You’ve got the prince—prince of thieves, whatever—you’ve got the kids, maybe you’ll have a baby and a wedding soon. Why would you break up with him for me?”

For once, Emma sounded not at all like her father but like her mother. Fairy tales were easy in this telling, easy in a way they never were in real life. “Maybe I want more than that,” Regina spat, and enjoyed the flinch from Emma.

“More than a fairytale ending?”

“More than what’s given to me,” Regina said, desperately trying not to remember all the times when Emma had told her to fight back against fate, to claim her own path instead of letting other people dictate her actions. All the times Emma had tried to help and Regina hadn’t listened. “More than my destiny. Maybe I want a more nuanced story, with depth and understanding.”

“What does that even mean?” Emma said, head tilted and brow furrowed. Regina cursed herself for finding it appealing.

Instead of pursuing that thought, though, she called images of Henry to mind, and his anger during those dark years. “I would like to imagine that my ability to cast curses and set things on fire is not the sum of my story.” There had to be more, especially now, with the first curse broken and her own new path. She wasn’t merely be a pawn of a poorly told tale. She couldn’t be.

“Uh, happy ending?” Emma said, skeptically. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about? That doesn’t sound so much like curses and fireballs.”

Regina sighed. If this worked, she would never take Emma’s easy acceptance and understanding for granted again. “Maybe I don’t want this to be a story of white to black to white again. Maybe I want more than a simple narrative.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Regina.”

“No, and that’s the problem.” Tears welled up, and Regina fought to keep them at bay. This was already going so badly, she wasn’t about to let Emma Swan see her cry.

Emma’s face scrunched up and she tilted her head, looking alarmingly like Pongo. The two creatures invariably on her side were a dog and a dog-lookalike.

“A few weeks ago,” said Regina slowly, “you would have know exactly what I was talking about.”

Emma’s expression didn’t change.

“Or if not known, at least cared enough to try. To imagine. To listen to me when I tell you. You’ve changed; what you did to yourself changed you in a fundamental way, and it is impacting my life.” Regina could feel the tension in her throat, the tears begging to be released. She focused on deep breathing instead, on maintaining calm.

“I’m sorry?” Emma said. “I’m sure that wasn’t what I intended.”

Regina snorted. “No, because your unintended actions somehow always end up worse than your intended ones.” Her entire family were all the same: always believing that they could change the world for the better somehow, that their actions were always the right ones no matter what the results, that intention trumped all. And despite herself, she was stuck with every single one of them.

“That’s not fair,” Emma whined.

“No, Emma,” Regina said, channeling her best small town official voice. “What is not fair is that I thought I had something—I did have it, for once—and now I don’t. I always lose, and it is never through my own actions.”

Emma raised her hands imploringly. “You still have Robin, and Roland, and you still have Henry. That seems a lot like winning, to me.”

And she really did seem confused, as if Robin and Roland Hood were somehow a winning hand when one could have had the Savior. It wasn’t an act. Regina could fight many things, but ignorance and misaligned belief in fairy tales was not one of them. “Yes, but you’re the one who thought that altering your memory was a good idea.”

Emma shook her head. “I still don’t think I did that.”

“Then explain to me why you’ve changed. How you’ve changed,” Regina said, hoping she hit the reasonable tone she was striving for, and the not pleading one hiding just behind it.

“I don’t think I have,” Emma said.

Regina shook her head. “And yet everyone around you agrees: you have changed, in a fundamental way.”

“Nobody else is as worried about it as you, I don’t think,” Emma said, but she sounded uncertain. Perhaps Snow had gotten to her as well.

Regina paused, trying to rearm herself and marshal the right frame of mind for this next part. Admitting her theory to Emma carried more weight than admitting it to anyone else. She knew she was right, but to approach knowing the rejection had already occurred; well, Regina was not known for taking rejection well. And for good reason. She said slowly, “That’s because at the heart of these changes is me. How you treat me. How you feel about me.”

“It’s always all about you?” Emma said, and damn her, she was nearly laughing.

“Yes, and I hate it.” Regina said it softly, without anger. It wasn’t an attack, it couldn’t be. It was a statement of fact. She hated what had happened to Emma.

Emma’s laughter stopped dead and she leaned forward, face intense with concentration. “How? I mean, what don’t I do anymore? How do I act now? How do I feel now.”

“You—“ Regina stopped and closed her eyes, half-formed imaged floating through her mind. Interactions from the past, memories never examined, they all came together and painted a blaring picture. “You treat me the same as everyone else. You feel the same way about me as everyone else.”

Emma examined her. Regina felt a little like an insect, stuck under a microscope.

“I treat you normally now,” Emma said slowly. “And that’s a bad thing?” She clearly didn’t believe it to be a bad thing at all.

“Yes.” It was the only thing she could say.

Emma shook her head. “How is it bad if I treat you the same way everyone else does?”

“It’s not that you behave the same as everyone else,” Regina said, grasping for words, “it’s that you act around me the same way you do around everyone.”

“How’s that?”

“Guarded. Aloof. Contained. Cynical.”

“Yeah, well, that’s who I am.” Emma didn’t sound defensive, about it, either, just matter of fact.

Regina’s heart bled a little at how lonely Emma must have always felt, even before Storybrooke. No wonder she hadn’t come to any of them with her pain; she’d never had people to share it with before. “It isn’t, Emma. You are much more than that scared, lonely little girl. You are strong, and sure, and so courageous that you can let other people see your uncertainties. You can let me see them.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Except you just said I don’t do that.”

“You don’t, anymore.” Regina smiled despite herself. “You’ve cheated us both out of something precious.”

Emma clearly didn’t know what to do with that, so she ignored it. “So, I wasn’t so cynical anymore?”

“No. You were open, willing to share, to expose yourself in way that might be painful.” Those memories, too, were painful, but also beautiful now that Regina could see clearly what they truly had been. It was a type of intimacy neither of them had experienced before, and that let Regina forgive herself a little for not realizing. They were both bumbling fools, sometimes.

“Why would I do that?” Emma said, drawing Regina’s attention back to the present. “Pain is painful.”

Regina laughed, knowing exactly what Emma was thinking of. They really did share a great deal. No wonder they were so well matched. “It truly is. But, maybe, for a connection? To reach out to someone and know that you are seen for who you really are? Seen and accepted?”

As Emma had seen her for so long. And as Regina saw Emma now.

“I don’t really… that doesn’t sound like something I’d do. People are just—“ Emma broke off, and shrugged. “People are just out to hurt you, even if they don’t mean to. They’re selfish, and self-centered, and don’t really think about anyone else. It’s not their fault,but they’re not going to protect you, so you have to do it yourself.”

Regina nodded. “I used to feel much the same.”

“You don’t anymore?” Curious Emma was back. Even if she didn’t believe Regina and Henry about the spell, at least she was interested enough in emotional healing. That was something.

“Not since Henry brought you to home,” Regina said gently. “To Storybrooke.”

“Sounds like I used to trust you,” Emma said.

No matter how hard she tried, Regina could not decipher that tone. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it. Amongst other things.”

“And now I don’t? That’s weird. I mean, it doesn’t make sense that someone would have to be in love with you to trust you.” She said the words as if she didn't really believe them. As if Regina was playing a trick on her, to pretend that at one point Emma Swan had loved Regina Mills.

As if people were so eager to love Regina, or to trust her. As if anyone but Snow and Emma had ever thrust such goodwill on her, again and again even when she might not have deserved it, waiting for the day when she would deserve it again.

As if Emma wasn’t an extraordinary person.

“I think you’re wrong that I forgot something like being in love with you,” Emma said, “if I even did forget anything. It just sounds really unlikely.”

Regina was suddenly swept with a wave of anger. “You have consistently, emphatically, and idiotically insisted that you didn’t forget anything. Look at the data your son gathered! Think of it like an investigation: look at the evidence.”

“Yeah, I know,” Emma said. “But it doesn’t make sense. If I wanted to forget something, there are so many more things that I could’ve forgotten, stuff that I still think about all the time. Stuff that keeps me up at night. If being in love with you was such a good thing, why would I have forgotten that, instead of something bad?”

“You pride yourself on knowing if people are lying; am I lying?”

Emma tilted her head, examining her, and Regina’s chest collapsed. That look was so familiar, so intimate.

So missing from her life lately.

~~~

The second time Regina confronted her, armed with a new plan of attack, went equally poorly.

“But you love him,” Emma said. “I know you do. It’s all over your face every time you see him. You smile with him, Regina, and Henry, David, Snow—everybody!—says they’ve never seen you smile like that.”

“I won’t let you sacrifice this,” Regina said.

“You’re not letting me do anything. If I did it, if I cast that spell on me like that, then I meant to. I wanted to. I mean, it doesn’t seem like a thing I’d do, except that maybe it is.”

“You misunderstand me,” Regina said. “I won’t let you sacrifice my happy ending, distort it for your own means.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Emma yelped.

Regina raised her chin. “You don’t get to take my happy ending—my son’s happy ending—away from me. Not again.” Even though it was Emma standing in front of her, Regina had the distinct feeling that she was saying this to many more people than just her. To all the people who’d ever tried to take her happiness away. It felt freeing.

Emma threw up her hands. “I didn’t take anything away from you! You said you didn’t even know, that you didn’t even suspect, until suddenly it wasn’t there anymore. Until suddenly I wasn’t falling all over you like a lap dog.”

Regina tilted her head. “Are you admitting that you did cast the spell?”

“I can read between the lines. You want me fawning all over you, even while you snark at me and try to get me to feel like shit for horning in on your family, but you also want to be happy with Robin Hood, Soulmate.”

“How in the world did you come to that conclusion?" The last time, Emma had been curious and open, but today her emotions were spiking out of control.

Emma visibly struggled to bring herself under control. “Henry and I were talking about Operation Mongoose yesterday, and I have to say, this is your happy ending, the one you’ve been waiting for, and you shouldn’t let anything stand in the way of that. Not even yourself.”

Regina frowned, wondering what Henry was up to. “Anything like someone who loves me, who accepts me, who has always championed my right to be seen for who I am and not what I was?”

Emma just looked incredulous. “Robin seems to accept you pretty well, and he’s not even mad that you’re doing—whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

“Not the way you do.” Regina huffed. “The way you did.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Regina,” Emma said. Pleaded. It didn’t feel as good as Regina had imagined it might.

“You took my choice away from me!” She couldn’t help her own plea. She’d never had to fight so hard with Emma to have her understand. Usually Emma was right there with her, understanding where Regina was coming from and happy to meet her there.

“What?” Emma said, confused on schedule.

“I didn’t—you didn’t—you let me believe that Robin was my only option. I turned away from him once—“ Regina knew it had been the right choice then, and it was the right choice now. She wasn’t ready for a new love when Tinker Bell had stolen the dust, but she hadn’t needed a new love when she had met him again in the Enchanted Forest with Henry and Emma gone.

“You turned away from happiness—“ Emma said.

Regina didn’t let her finish. “I decided not to let fate determine my life for me, the same way my mother, and the King, and Snow White had determined everything for me. I wanted to choose!”

“Yeah,” Emma said, and it sounded so tired, so broken. So determined. “But if you’re right, if I was in love with you, you did choose. You chose Robin, and Roland, and a happy family. There’s nothing wrong with that choice.”

“Your sense of self-sacrifice is unbecoming,” Regina spat.

Emma smiled instead of taking umbrage. “Because you think I gave up something that probably made me miserable so you could be happy?”

“I know what you gave up. You gave up your family, and mine.”

“You still have a family, Regina,” Emma said gently.

“Not the one I want, anymore. Not the one I’ve chosen, again and again. Not the one that my son wants.”

Emma shrugged, but this time the puppy confusion was put upon. It wasn’t sincere. Regina wanted to snarl.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Emma said.

“Admit that you were wrong.”

“I don’t even remember doing what you’re accusing me of doing. I have no idea how I can admit to something I don’t remember.”

“Why else would you have cast that spell?” Regina said, and the plea was back despite herself.

“Maybe I didn’t do it. Maybe it was just sitting in my desk for some other reason. All the shit that I’ve been through, with Neal, and the homes, and giving up Henry: I still remember all of that. And it’s pretty awful stuff, most of it. So why, out of everything, do you think I would have forgotten this if you think there was even the slimmest possibility that it could have turned out the way you say?”

The words swam in Regina’s head, but she couldn’t force them to her tongue. Emma’s certainty and pain stopped her.

“I know I look like it, but I’m not that impulsive, that’d I give up a chance at a family. Not when it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

Emma had said that Regina still had a family, but she never mentioned whether Emma still had a family. Regina knew Emma, and for the first time, Regina wondered if perhaps Emma was right. To have given the very idea of her own family up, to have forgotten that, must have been a last resort for Emma. The alternative must have felt a thousand times worse than turning your back on a long-held dream.

“Emma,” Regina said. It came out a whimper.

“Regina, I don’t think I cast that spell, and if I did, I don’t think it was because I was in love with you. I’m sorry.” Emma paused. “But if that was what happened, can you at least admit that it was probably the right choice? You have your soulmate, and your son, and an adorable step-son, and they all adore you and think you’re awesome. You have everything you wanted.”

The look on Emma’s face spoke of calm certainty in the face of chaos. Regain wasn’t sure she should pursue it and pull Emma back into the chaos. But she couldn’t help one last try. “If it were what I wanted, I would have made the decision. Not you.”

“If you’re right, you did make that decision. Because I've been standing right here the whole time."

Regina couldn’t argue with that.

~~~

“You said you’d help me find my happy ending, Emma,” Regina said the third time she confronted Emma, with no plan and very little hope. “You promised me.”

“Okay, so I might be totally off base about this one, but isn’t that what you have right now? Had? Your soulmate? Isn’t that a happy ending?”

Emma sounded both bewildered and desperate, and it infuriated Regina. “No. It is not. It’s—“

“Isn’t that what everyone always wants?” Emma pleads. “Someone who truly knows them and loves them. I thought that’s what a soulmate was. It’s right there in the name.”

“Don’t try to pacify me,” Regina snarled.

“Then explain it to me. How is this not your happy ending? How is Robin Hood not the one you were supposed to end up with? Because the last time I fucked up your life, it was because I took him away. And now you’re telling me that I fucked up your life again by…what? I didn’t do anything to Robin, and a month ago, you were thrilled with everything in your life. You told me you were happy with how things were going.”

That is something Emma does remember, although it hadn’t quite happened as she’s describing. All Regina can muster is a bitten off, “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not. You said it, and even I remember that. Which pretty much means your theory about me forgetting anything about how I felt about you gets blown out of the water.”

“I don’t care! You should have asked me first!” Regina knows she’s nearly shouting, but Emma isn’t listening. Not like she had the first time Regina tried to have this conversation with her. But Regina doesn’t know if Emma’s anger is a good sign or not.

“I couldn’t have asked you,” Emma said, snarling a little herself, “because you had already decided to be with him.”

“I hadn’t decided anything. He was there, he was willing, magic foretold it. That’s not a decision, that’s—” Regina squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment. “That’s not stepping out of line.”

“Regina, you’re smart,” Emma said, and nothing had ever sounded less like a compliment. “You can read people. If I were in love with you, you would have noticed. I’m not that good at hiding.”

“You’re good enough that neither Henry nor I—nor your parents—noticed how much you were hurting,” Regina tossed back.

“Well, we know how bad my mother is at noticing other people having emotions she doesn’t want them to have.”

Regina spared a brief smile at that. Emma returned it. But commiserating over Snow White wouldn’t get them anywhere. “Emma, you made a choice that affected all of us, not just you.”

“By the time Henry and I returned from New York, you were in love with Robin,” Emma said, and Regina couldn’t argue with that. “Even if I were in love with you, that’s not about you.”

“That is a misrepresentation of the truth, Emma, and you know it.”

Emma just looked pained. “I messed up you and Robin, and then you fixed it and Robin came back. No matter what I did to my memory—if I did anything—I probably wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.”

“I can only assume those precise events are amongst the many things you forgot when you decided to excise me from your heart.”

“Regina, it doesn’t matter,” Emma tried again. “What’s done is done, and you can’t just throw away something good for something that might not ever happen.”

But Regina wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “You don’t get to make decisions about what is best for me! Your whole family does this, again and again.”

“Yeah, you already compared me to my mom. You hate both of us, we’re terrible people. Which is why it’s a little weird that you’re suddenly arguing that somehow we should be together instead of you being with your soulmate and me doing my thing.”

Of all the stupid things to be arguing about. “You are terrible people when you assume that you know what’s best for everyone else. Not even anyone else: when you assume you know what’s best for me.” Why couldn’t Emma understand this one point? They’d been ever it time and again, and Regina felt like she was battering a brick wall with all the progress she was making. Maybe a stone wall. A rock quarry. Something immovable and inanimate.

“Maybe I was making a decision about what was best for me,” Emma said softly.

Regina jerked out of her pity fest, examining Emma’s face. They’d talked about how miserable Emma must have been, but this was the first time Emma had indicated she remembered anything about it, or had an opinion. Regina wasn’t sure how to deal with that. “And it just so happened to make me miserable? I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you.” Unfortunate lashing out it was, then.

“Regina, maybe it wasn’t about you.” Still soft, Emma’s voice held more pain and regret than Regina had ever heard before.

Even in Neverland when her past and current identity had come up, Emma still had fight in her, determination to power through. But now, something of what Emma had felt in order to cast this spell bled through in her voice, and Regina was powerless not to meet it. “You can’t possibly believe that. You cannot be so stupid as to believe that your decisions happen in a vacuum, that there isn’t history weighing down your choices. That there aren’t other people’s decision and other people’s lives involved. That other people can’t also offer help.”

“Just because I might’ve made a dumb decision—“

“That changed everything!”

“You didn’t even know!” Emma shouted. “If I was in love with you, you didn’t know, or you didn’t care, or it wasn’t important! If I loved you, I wouldn’t have done it if you loved me back.”

And of course, the worst part was that Regina knew she was right. “Perhaps you never gave me the opportunity to love you.”

“Because you have a soulmate!” Emma said, exasperated. “Why am I the only one who remembers that?”

“Because you’re the only one who’s forgotten everything else.”

“Why is this suddenly all my fault?”

“Emma, for the third time, a member of your family has taken something from me. Taken happiness, love, a family. And I refuse to simply accept that and let it go. Especially now that I know it’s caused you as much pain as it’s caused me.”

“You didn’t let it go the first time,” Emma snarked.

“And this time,” Regina said stoically, as if she hadn’t heard Emma, “the one you took from me was you. I will have you back.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Emma deflecting with jokes was only marginally worse than Emma torn apart and bleeding. “It will happen. I promise you that.”

“You’re not very good with following through on your promises.”

“What?!”

“‘I’ll destroy you if it’s the last thing I do?’ My mother’s floating around on her happy ending cloud, and you’re still sitting here, doing other things.”

“It was supposed to be the last thing. Not the first. I have time.”

Emma laughed. It didn’t sound happy. “Time to make me fall in love with you again?”

Regina raised her chin. “Something like that.” Yes. Exactly that.

“I just—I really don’t think I did anything wrong. But if I did, if I was in love with you, and if I did cast this spell on myself, and if I really did take something from you, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. My only excuse—“

“I don’t care about your excuses.” And she didn’t. Once Emma remembered, she wanted to know her every thought that lead to this decision, but excuses were not on the table at the moment.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t. Excuses don’t change things. Not remembering things that are important to you doesn’t change things. And I am sorry. But I was sorry before, and that didn’t change anything, either.”

“No, it didn’t.” Regina sighed, wrung out from their conversation. Emma was clearly done talking, and Regina would walk away with nothing resolved, again, and even less hope than before.

“I don’t know what to do,” Emma said. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

Regina closed her eyes, drained. Less hope, but not none. “I expect you to grant me some measure of autonomy over things that influence my life and my happiness.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all up to you. It’s all your choice.”

“At the moment, no, it is not. Because what I would choose refuses to remember that she would choose me, too.”

~~~

“Henry.” Regina wasn’t entirely sure how to have this conversation. The ache in her chest, the throbbing behind her eyes, it was all culminating in a sort of emotional wreckage that she was fairly sure she couldn’t live through again. At least Robin was not the King, but, Regina thought—not for the first time—it wasn’t fair. Life was not fair.

Henry looked up at her, waiting.

“Henry,” she said again.

Her dear darling boy, her sweetheart who only had her best interests at heart and who had the heart of the truest believer, patted the bed next to him. “C’mon, Mom.”

Regina sat next to him, shoulders touching. She wished she’d thought to bring a comic, or a drink. Anything to keep her hands occupied while her mind spun restlessly, obsessively going over the things she’d throw at Emma, the ones Emma had thrown back.

“What’s going on?” he said, after the silence had gone on too long.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Regina said.

Henry frowned. “Do what?”

“I keep trying to talk to her—“

“I know! And I think she’s getting it. I mean, she keeps asking me questions about what I think’s changed, what’s different. Like, she’ll do stuff and then say, ‘did I used to do it like that? Or did I do it differently?’ So I think you’re getting through to her.” Regina paused. Emma hadn’t given her any hope, but if Emma was talking to Henry, that must mean something. “It’s been two months,” Regina said.

“Yeah, but, I mean, we don’t know how long she’d been planning, right? And we don’t know how long she’d been—“ he paused.

“In love?” Regina asked delicately. “In pain?”

Henry shrugged. His face clearly betrayed how little he knew of love, how little he understood of what Emma had gone through. But it also shone with hope.

“Henry, I’m not sure it’s fair to either of us to keep beating against this wall.” Wasn’t fair to her, dangling something she wanted but might not ever be able to have.

“Because of the recursive thing?” Henry asked.

Regina sighed. “Because she will never remember what she’s cursed herself to forget, yes. But more than that, because she doesn’t want to remember.”

Henry screwed up his face, ever thoughtful. “You made that potion, when Emma and I forgot. The one Emma drank.”

Regina nodded, pushing away the memory of that episode. Not fair, she thought again, that one family could cause both such happiness and she misery. But clearly Henry had other ideas in mind, and Regina wondered where he was going with this line of thought.

“I know it was from ingredients from the Enchanted Forest,” he said slowly, “but maybe you could, like, make something similar?”

“I tried, Henry. For you.” She smiled.

“Before I remembered?”

Regina nodded, tears welling. Before their kiss, when he loved her as much as she loved him.

“Oh,” he said.

“It failed. I failed.”

“Oh.” Henry sounded stymied, and Regina leaned against him. Using her son for solace in this wild goose chase seemed incredibly low, especially since Emma didn’t have the same opportunity, but Regina didn’t have many options. True love’s kiss seemed like a long shot in this case, especially given Tinker Bell’s conviction about Robin’s place in her life. And of course, there was very little chance Emma would let her get that close.

“Do you know which part didn’t work?” Henry asked, still focused on solutions when there were none to be found. He was the truest believer, she reminder herself. He would keep pressing, keep hoping, keep believing. But he didn’t have to keep approaching Emma, and keep being rebuffed by her.

Then Regina frowned, considering his actual comment. At the time, the emotional devastation of failure had inhibited her thinking, but looking back, with the added information from the spell Emma had performed, perhaps… “Do you have any paper?”

Henry leapt up and grabbed pen and paper from his desk, and a book to write on.

Regina started sketching out the process and the eventual earlier failure, searching her memory desperately for every sliver of information she could recall. Emma had been watching that time, but somehow rather than further push her into despair, she drew strength from the memory of Emma’s belief in her. Ten minutes later she put down the pen and stared at her notes. Henry peered over her shoulder, hand resting on her back. “Any ideas?” he said.

Regina didn’t want to hope, didn’t want to even begin to think there might be any. But—“Maybe. I’m not sure. I’d have to—“

He grabbed her in hug as tight as any he’d given as a toddler, crushing the paper clutched in her hands. “You can do it, Mom. I know you can.”

But this would be the last time. There would be no more begging, no more pleading. Emma had made her choice before, and now she would make a second, more informed choice, and Regina would live with it.

~~~

“What do you want from me?” Emma said again, feeling just as exhausted as Regina looked, although there was a set to Regina’s face that sparked concern in Emma. She looked like she was headed to battle, but into a fight she couldn’t win. Regina was preparing for them both to lose.

Regina took a deep breath and steadily met Emma’s eyes. Softly, she said, “I want you to say you’re sorry.”

That was different. Emma blinked.

She continued, “I want you to accept that you did something wrong, and admit it. I want you to stop making excuses. To stop saying that just because you didn’t mean to forget me it should mean I wasn’t hurt. Because I was hurt, Emma. I am hurt. Once again, I am hurt by you and your family, and again, you deny that you ever hurt me.”

Regina visibly trembled as she said it, but Emma wasn’t sure whether it was pain or anger. Emma had no idea how to respond, so she inhaled, feeling every bit of air as it entered her lungs, and then slowly let it go. There was only one thing to say. “I’m sorry.”

Regina started, something that looked like wonder slowly moving across her face.

Emma took another deep breath. She had the feeling that she had one chance and that was all, and then it would be over. For better or for worse, this was it. And once someone had told you very clearly what they needed, you’d be an asshole not to give it to them. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry I’ve been denying that you were hurt. I don’t remember hurting you, I still doubt that your take is the best description of what I did and why, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t do something that hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. Whatever it was, it was wrong. I was wrong.”

Tears welled up in Regina’s eyes. Pain, then, not anger. Not any more.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Emma said. “It wasn’t fair, and I should have talked to you first before I tried anything like that, without knowing the consequences. I’m sorry.”

Regina’s eyes closed, and a few tears slipped under her lashes. It looked like her apology hurt Regina to hear it just as much as it hurt Emma to give it, which probably meant that it was a whole lot worse for Regina. Emma’s arm involuntarily twitched, to sooth Regina, or something, but Emma couldn’t close that final inch and make contact. She’d never wanted to touch someone else so badly, though, and that had to mean something.

“The thing is, Regina,” Emma continued, “I don’t love you right now. I’m getting to like you, and I think you’re worth knowing. I might even be willing to get to know you better, especially since Henry is such a huge fan of the idea and so’s my mother. But even if I did love you before, even if that’s why I cast that spell—and I’m not going to argue with you anymore about whether I did it or not—I don’t love you now. I don’t feel that way now. And I have no idea why you’d give up your soulmate, someone who does love you right now, for someone who doesn’t love you.”

Regina delicately wiped her tears away and snarled, “You know exactly why. Or you should. You did.”

Emma tensed; the look on Regina’s face was so at odds with her tone, and Emma wasn’t sure which one she was supposed to pay attention to.

Regina continued, her voice pouring out anger and tears glinting on her cheeks. “My entire life has been dictated to me by other people, by other powers. Just as yours has been. My choices have been constrained, my options limited in every way, my feelings ignored. You chose this decision to change your life, and you must at least grant me the same opportunity.”

“To forget?” Emma guessed, at sea with what Regina was asking for.

“To remember.”

Emma jumped, startled. “How?”

Regina gently wiped under her eyes again and composed her face. Her voice dropped to a smooth cadence, strangely velvety and seductive. “I may have recreated the original spell, the one which can be reversed. There is a possibility that a memory enhancing potion could reverse the effects of even the altered spell.”

“A possibility?” Emma said, because for Regina, possibilities were often something much more than that. Her magical prowess far exceeded anyone else Emma had heard about, even if she tended to underplay her own abilities when it came to heroism. Which was now: the heroic thing to do would be to save herself and Emma in the bargain. To give Henry his happy ending, to save the child of Snow White and her Prince, to finally close the chapter of this particular fairy tale.

“Nothing is ever certain,” Regina hedged.

Of course, Emma scoffed. Regina still couldn’t admit that she was a hero and one of the good guys. That she was deserving of a win, even if it came at Emma’s expense. “You can make this potion?” Emma asked, already knowing the answer. Regina wouldn’t have brought it up if she weren’t certain she could do it.

Regina nodded. “I believe I have already done so.”

Like Emma thought. Which meant: “I’d have to take it?”

“Yes.”

Regina looked wary. Too wary, for someone who was searching for a different happy ending than the one she already had. Too hurt. Her eyes still glimmered with tears, but her breathing was even and her body relaxed. Maybe it was for a good reason, though. “What if I take the potion and that’s not what I forgot? What if it wasn’t about you at all?”

Regina raised her chin, looking every inch a queen. “Then we’ll both live with that.”

“But you already told Robin that you didn’t want to be with him,” Emma said, for the millionth time. “And then we might wouldn’t be together. And you’d be—“

“Alone?” Regina interrupted. “Yes. But it would be my decision.”

Emma heard the unspoken rest: not your decision. Not your mother’s decision. Not my mother’s decision. It would be up to Regina if she took on this pain, much like it was up to Regina to take on the pain of never seeing Henry again in the face of Pan’s curse, so many months ago.

If Emma took this choice from her again, if she refused to take the potion just to spite Regina, or to protect herself from some imaginary horror that she was better off forgetting, that would be worse than anything else Emma, or Snow, or even Cora had done to Regina. Because this time, Regina was asking Emma not to hurt her, even knowing that Emma had done just that over and over again. Even knowing that Emma had hurt Regina horribly by forgetting her.

Well. Some choice.

Except, if this was the thing she forgot, if she thought Regina and Robin were happy, if she wanted what was best for Regina no matter what, then it really wasn’t a choice. Or rather, it was a choice she’d already made.

Okay, then.

Emma sighed and held out her hand for the potion. “Bottoms up, I guess.”

THE END