Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey, Kid, I need your help with something," she says as she comes around behind him in the kitchen, observing him with the same sometimes almost suffocating wistfulness that she often sees shining brightly almost fearfully (if still a bit proudly) in Regina's bright brown eyes.

The same understanding of how time marches on, and never seems to stop no matter how much you might desperately want it to.

At least not without an active curse in place.

She's not thinking about such depressing things tonight (she refuses to, she tells herself, even though she more than anyone else besides perhaps Regina knows how impossible it is to stop those terrible thoughts when they start up). But no, tonight is Christmas Eve, and being that it's the first quiet one she's ever gotten to spend with her family, she means to make the best of it in every way possible. Which means she has a plan; one which she needs help with.

So she grins at her fourteen-year-old son and when he rolls her eyes at her and turns away to reach for his bowl of cereal (he's up earlier than usual, owing to the fact that he's been walking a "friend" of his to school as of late, and oh she thinks that will eventually be a really interesting conversation). With a soft chuckle, she nudges him with her shoulder. "I know you have more interesting plans, but I could super use your help; it's my first Christmas as part of this family and –"

He turns towards her suddenly, and if she'd been joking around and trying to charm him before, she quickly grows somber when what she sees him from him is surprising seriousness. "It's not your first Christmas with us," Henry insists, his voice cracking just slightly. "You've been part of this family for four years now, Mom; this is just the first year that we get to actually celebrate it."

"Without random trips to different world and crazy dimensions, I know," she laughs, a wry but not exactly humorous smile on her pale lips. "I know. But, I want this one to be special. Your mom is going out of her way to make it memorable and I want to do my part, too. But I need your help for that."

He sighs. "Will this get me 'oh Henry'd' at?"

"No," she says quickly. Too quickly.

"Mom."

"Maybe. But I promise it'll be worth it."

He narrows his eyes. "Will I end up traumatized?"

"Kid, when have I –"

"Two weeks ago when I came home for lunch and found you and Mom. On the kitchen table. On my kitchen table. Where I wanted to have my lunch."

She winces. "Yeah, that was unfortunate."

"Horrifying," he corrects. "You two were both supposed to be at work, and all I wanted was a nice turkey and cranberry sandwich with some chips and a glass of orange juice and after seeing that, all I wanted was really strong bleach."

"It was pretty mortifying for us, too."

"You didn't have a friend with you."

"Technically –"

"If you want my help, you won't finish that sentence."

She smirks. "So you'll help me?"

"Of course. What do you want?"

"Something that is super hard to find in Storybrooke: a Santa Claus costume."

His eyebrow lifts. "Why?"

"Because neither you nor your mother have ever gotten to experience it. I know you guys have always done Christmas and all that, but she told me Santa Claus was never part of any of your rituals because she didn't know how and –"

He smiles warmly at her, almost indulgently. "You know I'm fourteen, right?"

"I know." She drops her head. "I mean, of course I know, and if you don't –"

"I think it's cool," he tells her. "You already checked around?"

"With me working a full shift today, there's no time to head out of Storybrooke to get one, and people here still aren't all that willing to take non-official calls from me," Emma answers. She forces a smile onto her lips, but he knows better; it's been almost a year since she was the Dark One and so very much has changed since then, but much hasn't as well and even now, Emma is still struggling with finding forgiveness from many of the righteous citizens of the town that she is the unwanted sheriff of.

She's tried to quit a dozen times, and only the steely will of his other mother has kept her from it; only Regina's determination that the person who has done so much for these people should not be refused the chance for redemption (especially if a former Evil Queen can find it and even be called a "hero" and a leader by those whom she had so horribly injured for so long) has kept Emma from throwing down her badge and gun and walking away from the office.

Still, he knows – and sees with the eyes of a boy who is rapidly becoming a man (much to the obvious chagrin of both of his ever watchful and wistful mothers) instead of the wide-eyed child that he'd once been – that Emma is still at war with herself, still fighting against the many dark doubts that she has.

The fear that maybe she doesn't deserve the forgiveness that her family so freely offered her. The forgiveness that they'd given her in their arms when she'd finally crumbled, her knees cracking against the ground, her breath leaving her chest as she'd sobbed until she hadn't been able to do anything but shake.

They'd been there - her parents and Regina and Henry.

They'd been there, and they've been there.

And they're still here.

"I'll find one," Henry promises her, pulling her from her darkening thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His lips turn upwards and his green eyes sparkle with mischief. "We need a name of course; I'm thinking Operation Ho Ho Ho."

She laughs at that, the sound loud and real. "That's the worst."

"But it made you laugh," he notes, and then with sincerity (too much and it aches that he's using it on her right now), "And I like it when you laugh."

"I laugh a lot," she insists.

"Less than you did when I met you, more than you did a year ago."

She swallows. "Kid –"

"I'm fine," he promises. "You're not."

"I'm…better. Being here, having all of you…"

"Having Mom."

"Having you," she says softly.

"I'm here." He steps forward and hugs her, and even though she knows she should be strong enough to not need comfort from her teenage son, she accepts it all the same. Because being so tough and trying to always go at everything alone is what had led to…what had almost been.

The end of her family.

The end of hope.

But she has both of those things again – her parents, her son and…Regina.

Love.

Actual real and passionate love. The kind that invades every part of your soul, and makes you feel like you're flying; this is different, though, because both of them have been indulgent and selfish before, both of them have let love and the idea of it consume them and burns them all the way to the ground. There's a maturity about them both now, a wariness that makes them cautious even as it allows them to see and understand each other in a way few else could.

They have always understood each other better than just about anyone else, but now, now after suffering so much losses and having spent so many times watching the shadows close around the few chances that they'd thought they'd finally earned a right to, now they're both just trying to find a way to live.

Live and love and hope for the best.

Because even if they'd never believed that they would have another chance at love, here they are and they do have it, and she means to make the most of it. Even if she can't ever completely believe that it will last (too many times, too much pain), for however long she has this, Emma Swan intends to ensure that every moment with these people is something special.

Something that she will be able to hold close to her heart no matter what else happens. And for now, that starts with…Operation Ho Ho Ho.

She laughs once again, lets Henry out of her arms (reluctantly, and only because she knows she can't use her son to keep her afloat; she has to find the strength within herself and God is she trying to) and asks, "What's your game-plan?"

*** ***

Regina Mills' meticulously constructed game-plan for this coming Christmas Eve is supposed to start with having the Charmings over for a nice cozy family dinner. Snow and David and fifteen month old Neal who never stops moving or babbling and who has an apparent magnetic affinity for his godmother.

The plan is honey-baked ham and the best wine that she has in her cellar.

A nice meal, some family time (she still chuckles when she thinks about how strange it is to consider Snow and David her family, and to actually be happy that they are such), and then after they leave and Henry is in bed, she'll put down the presents and maybe she can sneak some time with Emma if the sheriff isn't too tired or hassled from a full day of dealing with people (she's working until almost six even though it's Christmas Eve, and she'll be on-call).

Anyway, that's the plan that she'd made for the night, and she's always been rather fond of sticking to her plans as much as she possibly can.

But then her phone rings and Mother Superior is pissing and whining and good God (no pun intended, not really, anyway) does she despise the woman; she's certain that the former infinitely powerful fairy is up to no good, but well Snow is insistent that she's just the nicest and most trustworthy once omnipotent creature ever born so they should all definitely believe in her…and dammit.

In any case, there's a plan that had involved dinner on the table by six-thirty at the latest and unless she can make move quickly, it's shattering everywhere because suddenly fairy magic is going haywire, and even though the still bizarrely chaste nuns continue to loathe her like they think she eats their kind as party snacks, they need her help to stop this absurd little crisis of theirs.

Which apparently since she's one of the good guys now, she actually has to.

She groans and mutters and slams the over door closed.

And then calls out for Henry.

He comes down the stairs, his hair wet from a shower, his clothes wrinkled in a way that reminds her of his age. "What's up?" he asks, and there's something in his tone – something different, but she doesn't quite know what – that tells her he's up to something, but she doesn't have time to worry about that right now.

"Ham," she sighs. "I need you to keep an eye on it while I try not to bug-swat some fairies." A strange almost sadistic look overtakes her face for a moment.

"Mom," he says with a smirk. "We've talked about this."

"Yes, and if I happen to step on one or two wings and they just happen to cause some strange side-effect, I promise it'll be a complete accident."

He laughs. "Go on, I got this."

"Okay. If I'm lucky, I can get this dealt with quickly –"

"Are you meeting Emma?"

"Yes; she's on her way there already."

He nods. Then, "She's really looking forward to tonight."

"I know." A small frown creases her brow.

"What?" he asks.

"It's nothing."

"Mom."

She sighs. "I worry that it – that all of this - won't live up to her expectations."

"Does she have anything to compare it to?" Henry asks.

"Dreams and daydreams are a powerful thing," Regina replies, stepping forward and placing a hand on each of his shoulders. "I grew up…with a difficult mother –" she pauses for a moment after she says this, knowing how much she is underselling the torment of her youth, but even though Henry knows of Cora and has even been face to face with her thanks to their brief journey through the Underworld, he still doesn't really understand, and Regina desperately hopes that he never will. "But even then, I got to celebrate the holidays and festivals of our land. Even with my mother being relentlessly strict, I still had moments when I was allowed to feel for a moment or two like a child. Emma's memories of Christmas are all tainted by the things going on around her, and the belief that none of what she had was hers. The best of what she knows comes from the stories of others; I just want us to be able to live up to that."

She laughs then.

"You're thinking you shouldn't have said any of that to me."

"I know that I shouldn't have; I forgot sometimes that you're only –

"I've been to Neverland, Camelot and the Underworld; I'm not a kid, Mom."

"I know." She leans in and kisses him on the top of the head, holding her lips against his forehead for a long emotional beat. "I should probably get going."

"Emma is going to love tonight," he tells her. "And…so are you."

"Oh honey, of course I am. I never thought I would be able to have any of this, but I do. I'm here," she answers quietly, meeting his eyes, and then again reaching out to touch his face, making sure that he's looking at her. "I have all of this around me. All of you. No matter what else happens; it's enough."

"It is for her, too."

She nods slowly, feeling the moisture on her eyelashes; damn these two and their ability to make that happen – as a former Evil Queen, she thinks that she should be immune to such frivolous things like easy simple emotion.

But no, and really, she never has been; the ones who get to her always have.

"I'll keep an eye on the ham," he assures her as he makes a shooing motion with his right hand. "Go take care of the fairies. And Mom –"

"I won't accidentally disintegrate any of them."

He gives her a cheeky thumbs up; she grunts in petulant annoyance and then leaves the kitchen, the front door shutting a few minutes later. Once she's gone, he reaches over and picks up the phone, dials a number and says in a hushed voice, "Hey, it's Henry; whenever you're ready, you can come over."

*** ***

Emma's already waiting for her when she gets to the convent, standing next to the police cruiser, her hands shoved into the pockets of her too-tight indigo blue jeans; it's a fairly chilly late December afternoon in Maine, and so Emma is wearing one of her thicker jackets, the bulk of it hiding away the rest of her lean features. "Sheriff," Regina drawls as she approaches.

"You're in a skirt in this weather," Emma notes. When she'd left the bedroom that morning (not hers, not theirs; she technically has an apartment of her own that she visits once a day in order to insist that she and Regina aren't actually living together), her lover had still been dressed in her silk pajamas. Now, though, she's in a black pencil skirt, a red blouse and a dark overcoat.

She looks fantastic if a bit…domineering in appearance; she's definitely making a statement, and Emma doesn't think that it's one being made to her.

"It annoys the hell out of that Blue Fairy twit when I show off my legs," Regina states with a defiant smirk that is one hundred percent the Evil Queen. "She apparently thinks that only slutty fairies should be able to flaunt what they have even if what they have is...well, never mind that." She rolls her eyes in disgust.

Emma laughs. "Well, I can't say I'm complaining with what you have."

"I didn't think you would be." She steps closer to Emma, close enough that they're practically sharing the icy air in front of them. "How's your day been?"

"Irritating; I got a call about a missing snowman's head."

"Did you find it?"

"In a refrigerator."

"Morbid."

"Yeah," Emma laughs. "I suppose we should go take care of the fairies, huh?"

"If we must."

"Sooner we do this, sooner we can do Christmas Eve."

"You're nervous," Regina notes.

"A little."

"What are you expecting?"

"National Lampoon's?"

"I don't understand the reference."

"We'll correct that," Emma promises. Then, stepping closer, she slides her arms around Regina's waist and leans her head in, lightly kissing Regina's shoulder. "I have no expectations. I just know I want to spend tonight with my family."

"And you will be." She thinks about her conversation with Henry, thinks about the words that she'd said to him and him to her. "Will that be enough?"

Before Emma can answer the question, they hear David's voice calling out to them from the steps of the convent (Emma had sent David up ahead, knowing that the fairies have an almost even stronger aversion to her due to her time as the Dark One than even the one that they have to Regina). "Hey, need help!"

"We should…do that," Emma sighs, moving back.

"I love you," Regina tells her.

Emma tilts her head. "What was that for?"

"It's our first Christmas together," Regina tells her, a small smile on her lips.

Which isn't at all an answer to the question asked, but it seems like the only one that Regina intends to give her because before Emma can push, Regina is leaning up and very lightly kissing her on the lips – chaste and gentle and so terribly tender that Emma almost thinks her heart will explode from the emotion of it all – and then she's sliding away from Emma, and moving towards David.

Saying loudly and with maximum snark as she struts up the steps, "We're here; tell me we were too late to save at least one or two of the fairy bitches."

And in spite of how entirely and absolutely not funny that is (and it's really absolutely not...totally), Emma laughs loudly and genuinely.

But it's her cell buzzing – and the words there which read: OPERATION HO HO HO IS A GO; THE SUIT HAS BEEN OBTAINED – that makes her smile from ear to ear.

TBC...

Chapter Text

The first thing Regina feels as she and David enter the convent together, Emma trailing behind them, the anxiety that has been dogging her for months covering her up like a thick cloak, is a blast of energy that just does manage to skip past her left cheek. It lightly singes the skin there, sizzling atop her flesh for just a brief moment and she sighs thinking about how she’ll need to treat that spot with some of her disturbingly smelly specialty oils when she gets home. Either that or risk waking up to find out that she’s grown something strange and unsightly at the point of impact.

“What the hell?” she growls as she throws up her hand and blasts back some of the magic; it scatters against the wall, thick green vines growing where the sparkles of white dust land. One of the vines tumbles forward, reaching for her, and she immediately saws it off, smirking as it howls in protest.

“They tried to cook the fairy dust,” David notes.

“Cook the dust?” Emma echoes. “Like as in they tried to make fairy meth?”

Regina chuckles. “More or less, though I expect in this case, they were attempting to return themselves to full power as opposed to getting high.” She catches Emma’s lifted eyebrow, the surprise clear in her eyes. “I had a lot of time to watch TV while Henry was living with you and your parents at the loft.”

“So you watched Breaking Bad?”

“What’s Breaking Bad?” David queries.

“A show about amoral and immoral drug dealers,” Emma replies, her eyes on the shields that Regina is tossing around; she could technically be helping and she’s sure that eventually she will, but she finds her willingness to indulge in magic to be something that comes slow and cautious to her.

Because the line between light and dark magic is dimmer and thinner than most people will ever know.

“You watched a show about –“

“Yes, yes,” Regina sighs. “I was bored and it was complicated and interesting, and it was either that or get or poof my way over to your apartment and kill everyone; I found that the show sometimes helped me with those urges.” She smiles at that, wiggling her eyebrows in the most macabre and twisted way that she can manage.

“Regina,” Emma chuckles because she knows that her lover is trying to un-nerve her father.

They’ve always had a somewhat strange and occasionally adversarial relationship (what with the whole signing off on executing her thing and then of course the casting of the Dark Curse but hey water under the bridge, right?), but it’s gotten even odder since she’d started dating with and then practically living with Regina (she’s not living at the Mansion, she attempts to convince herself, just occasionally struggling to climb out of bed in this morning). Now, it seems like David and Regina are constantly trying to irritate each other. And far too often succeeding.

The Queen rolls her eyes and then sends another blast of magic up, dust glittering off of it.

“Nice show,” David murmurs. “But it keeps coming; got a plan on how to stop it?”

“Where are the fairy twits? Hiding and letting everyone else clean up their messes as usual, I imagine?”

“Yes and no,” the prince sighs. “One of them – Orange, Magenta, I dunno which one this is, actually – tried to consume some of the freshly cooked fairy dust, and it might have made her…hulk out a little bit?”

“You watched The Incredible Hulk?” Regina asks. “That’s about right for you.”

“Argue about which TV shows shows are right for you guys later,” Emma grunts. “Right now, let’s figure out how to stop Super Crack Fairy and get home. I was hoping this would be a quiet Christmas not…the usual kind of madness and gut-wrenching bloodshed.”

Both Regina and David turn towards her at that, their eyes so serious and worried, and she almost immediately regrets her words, regrets the concern she sees there, but then Regina is smiling at her (and she thinks how had it taken so long for her to notice how stunning the Queen looks when she’s not holding anything back) and saying, “Oh tonight is going to be perfect, my dear; the ham is in the oven and I have the perfect Christmas present for you.”

David immediately makes a face at that.

Which Regina laughs at, thick and throaty. “Look where the shepherd’s dirty little mind went to.”

“Exactly where you wanted it to –“

“Hulk Fairy up ahead,” Emma cuts in. “Maybe we try to focus on it and not my…uh…yeah.”

“Sorry,” Regina and David mutter, both turning to face the incoming fairy – apparently Purple considering the exploded overly colorful dress and the monstrously glittering cleavage that she’s rocking (thankfully, she's covered, but like many of the Evil Queen's outfits, this one is leaving little to the imagination).

“Wow,” Emma says. “That’s –“

“Impressive,” Regina finishes, her eyes keenly sweeping over the enraged and high as a kite fairy. She turns towards Emma, meeting her eyes and quickly making sure that the Sheriff is on the same page with her (she is; these days, she always is). “But also an opportunity, I do believe.”

“You’re going to –“ David stops and shakes his head.

“Yes,” Regina answers. “Not exactly progressive, but the idea is to knock her backwards and right now, her chest is where she’s exposing the most skin to us so that’s where we go.” She says this just as a sharply focused blast of energy cuts right beneath her left ear, opening a wound there; blood flows out quickly, nearly whistling as fairy dust mixes with it and corrupts it.

Yeah, definitely going to have to treat that when she gets home; she still has memories of an infected wound many years ago that she hadn’t bothered to treat (in fairness, she hadn't really known to) and the six days of hallucinations which had followed, and while those had been somewhat entertaining (afterwards - they hadn't at all been so during the time and in the immediate aftermath thanks to her strange actions and the absolute displeasure of her unwanted loathsome husband) she wants better for tonight.

She wants better for Emma and for Henry and for this weird little family of theirs.

But that’s for later and this is for now, and so with one more look shared between them, she and Emma step forward, moving in front of David (who has pulled his gun and is holding it up, ready to fire should this magic show of theirs fail to stop Purple) and then lifting their hands.

“Ready?” Regina asks.

“Yeah,” Emma nods and then she’s shoving her hands out and trying not to throw up as magic sizzles up from her palms and explodes out of her fingers; it feels good and she hates that it does because when she sees the gold light swirling in the air, tiny threads of black mixing in, she remembers days and weeks and months spent as the Dark One. She remembers the sound of screaming and the heat of blood, and she remembers the way that people had looked at her.

The way many people in this town still look at her.

Not like the street rat that she has come to accept herself as, but rather as something evil.

Evil and wretched and meant to be destroyed.

She remembers all of that and her head swims, but then one of Regina’s hands is finding hers, and squeezing tight and they’re both just throwing magic out of one palm now, but somehow it seems even stronger than it was before. Somehow, their combined magic seems ferocious.

And unbeatable.

Still a surprise, but less of a revelation.

Still something magnificent to behold, though.

The magic turns white and red and spins together before bursting and shoving into the front of Purple’s chest; yes, it collides against her exposed cleavage, but then it burrows under, using the revealed skin and flesh to attack the muscle and organs beneath. One more blast, and then the fairy it toppling with a loud groan, sparks flying upwards into the air, bouncing chaotically.

“Well then,” Regina announces. “That’s that.”

“Is she alive?” Blue asks from somewhere behind a wall. Which earns her a glare from Regina.

“Oh, you’re here. I thought maybe you went out and got some sun,” Regina snarks.

“Fairies are not allowed to use magic on each other,” Blue defends as she approaches.

“Does Tinker Bell know that?”

Blue ignores her, bending down instead to check on her…whatever Purple is to her. “She’s alive,” she says after a moment, sounding like she’s actually relieved. She then looks up, her eyes sweeping over to David who has stepped forward, his gun holstered once again. She stands up and addresses him, “I very much apologize for the inconvenience, Sheriff –“

“Emma is the sheriff,” Regina says sharply.

“Regina," Emma says softly.

“David is her assistant sheriff, but Emma is the sheriff. Which you’re well aware of.”

“Apologies,” Blue says archly, looking over at Emma. “The matter appears to be finished.”

“We still don’t know what caused…the matter,” Emma replies. “Why were you…cooking dust?”

“With all due respect, Sheriff Swan, after what happened with you becoming the Dark One and rampaging through this town, we thought it best to protect ourselves, and the most efficient and obvious way to do that would be to regain our old powers outside of just our wands. Which while useful are hardly powerful enough to completely stop a Savior gone mad. So we tried to concentrate pixie dust into something consumable, and well, it appears to have failed.”

“Appears?” David asks in surprise. “I’d say that it more than appears.”

“I’d also say you meddling good-for-nothing twits have no business powering up,” Regina snaps.

“No, of course not, Your Majesty, better that just a few like you and our former Savior have full magic available.”

"You really want to keep pushing on this, Reul; remember, I know most of your little secrets as well, bi-"

“And that ends this friendly little session of Meet the Mayor,” Emma chirps. “We’ll be going.”

“Yes,” Regina agrees suddenly, an absolutely feral smile on her lips as she adopts an almost sickeningly sweet tone. “We have Christmas to celebrate. You know what that is, don’t you, Reul? Family? Lovers? People who actually want to be with you.”

“How new for you,” Blue retorts. “Make sure you hold on tight to that.”

“Emma,” David says quietly, his hand circling her upper right arm; he knows his daughter well after all that they’ve been through, and he can tell when her anger is starting to build. Since her time as the Dark One, she’s been working hard to control her emotions, so deeply afraid of the things inside of her that had allowed the darkness to almost win. But family and the threatening of it seems to break away those locks, and this second chance she’s received, it’s sacred to her.

But here is neither the time nor the place, and Regina can more than handle her own.

Also, part of this fight is happening because Regina had been defending Emma’s honor.

David almost wants to laugh as he considers the weirdness that his life has become; the woman who had led to him sending his newborn child away is now sleeping with that baby as an adult.

Yeah, weird.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Regina promises. “In the meanwhile, do try to keep your drug making experiments controlled; I would hate to have to order the destruction of the convent because it had suddenly become unsafe for...human occupation.”

“You could try.”

“Still the Mayor,” Regina answers with a grin. “Have a wonderful evening...Mother Superior.” Then, turning slightly (but never really taking her eyes off of Blue and the still unconscious Purple), she says to David and Emma who are both watching her with equal measures of exasperation and bemusement, “I do believe that we are done here; I have a ham to get back to you and you two need to finish up.”

“We do,” David agrees.

“You should really see about getting these walls patched up,” Regina notes as she starts to walk away. “I do believe you might have some vegetation growing in through the cracks.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Blue answers. “And as my own holiday gift, do remember to clean out that cut behind your ear, Regina; who knows exactly what kind of magic got into your blood. Such a shame that your Christmas Eve has been ruined by your...heroism."

She whirls her hand, then (her wand hidden under the cuff) and vanishes, taking Purple with her. And leaving David and Emma looking at Regina, Emma’s eyes slightly wide with worry.

“Regina, what did she mean by that?" Emma demands.

“Mostly she meant to annoy me," Regina drawls, flipping her hand dismissively. When that doesn't work, she sighs. "It’s nothing; a small cut that I need to clean out and I will when I get home. You two get to the station and finish up. We’re still on schedule for dinner and I’d like to stick to that if possible.”

“Copy that,” David says, and moves away, intentionally allowing the woman a few moments alone. Because yeah, it is weird, but it’s also good for both of the, and that’s enough for him.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Emma asks, stepping forward and lightly tracing her finger over the small ear cut just below Regina's ear, the tip of her finger coming away with a spot of oddly reddish-green blood. She tries not to think about Camelot and a seemingly innocuous wound which hadn’t healed when it had seemed to, but it’s hard not to, and it’s hard not to feel fear mounting and it’s hard to breathe and to think that –

“I’ve dealt with this before,” Regina assures her, moving her hands away and then placing a palm lightly on each of Emma’s cheeks. “I learned my lesson and actually have de-tox potions at the house; the treatment is simple if a bit maddening, and there are almost no real side effects once it's completed. It's a fast fix.”

“Really? I thought all magic –“

“Comes with a price. Yes, but this is a potion; Purple cast the magic is already paying the price.”

“You promise you’re okay?”

“I have a present that I’m really looking forward to giving you tomorrow morning,” Regina tells her, a finger lightly trailing over Emma’s face, sliding along cheekbones and then over lips.

“Promise?” Emma urges again.

“I promise. If you didn’t have paperwork to finish, I’d let you come home with me and –“ she chuckles then, her eyebrows wiggling. “But then I have a feeling the ham would end up burnt.”

Emma laughs at that. “Yes.” And then leans forward and kisses Regina hard on the lips. “I’m sorry,” she says after a minute. “Sorry that you’re having to deal with how much these people hate me -"

"It's not an unknown thing to me, Emma; most of them still loathe me, and I could really care less. The people I care about...care about me, too."

"We do," Emma concurs. "I do. But still, I'm sorry for me being so damned needy –“

“If you’d been the one cut, we’d be having this argument in reverse,” Regina assures her.

“I know that holding on too tight is what caused the last problem. And that living afraid isn’t good for either of us. I don’t want to do that. I just want to be –“

“Happy. Me, too. And tonight –“ she leans up and kisses Emma on the tip of her nose. “We will be. And tomorrow. And the day after. We have worked too hard not to allow ourselves this.”

“When did you become the optimist between the two of us.”

“When you needed me to be.” Another graze of fingers, this time over Emma’s jaw. “That’s what we do for each other, Emma; when I needed you to give me hope, you did. Now it’s my turn to do the same. We make each other strong; we have always been stronger together.”

“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to tonight,” Emma says with a tired sigh.

“Oh I know,” Regina answers. “I know you’re hoping for…well…I don’t know, but I hope it’ll be enough.” She smiles awkwardly at that, allowing just the smallest bit of doubt onto her face.

“It will be,” Emma tells her, leaning her forehead in to touch Regina’s; they hold like this for several seconds, until it seems indulgent in a way that neither of them is comfortable with.

Not in public, anyway.

Emma steps back. “I’ll see you at ho – at the house.”

“Don’t be late,” Regina tells her, smiling through Emma’s near slip, trying not to think about it.

Well aware of every morning that Emma has struggled to crawl out of the bed they’ve shared.
“I won’t,” Emma promises and then she’s down the steps and joining her father; they bump shoulders and it’s nice to see how easily the two of them continue to fit. Emma and Snow still struggle with that, and there are times Regina thinks that she might interfere, but she thinks that it’s not her place especially considering the role that she’d played in their estrangement.

All in the past, but still a truth, and eventually she thinks they’ll find their way to each other.

Family always does.

Especially the Charming Family.

With a chuckle, Regina descends the steps, stopping herself from scratching behind her ear.

Ignoring the bright dots of orange-white light that she can already see in front of her eyes.

*** ***

The police cruiser pulls up in front of the garage and Emma gets out, patting the tap of it and reassuring her father that she’s got this. He asks again and she chuckles and says, “Go.”

But once his car is driving away, she’s staring at the garage, taking deep breaths.

Like she always does before she has to speak to someone she hasn’t talked to since…before…

Not that she and Michael Tillman had ever been anything close to friends, but she had helped him out once upon a time and well…still, he assuredly knows everything everyone else does.

Knows about the blood on her hands.

Knows that even after all she’d done, she’d somehow ended up with a second chance.

Maybe…

“Emma!” a voice calls out. She turns and Michael is walking towards her, a smile on his face.

“Hey,” she says softly. “I was just about to –“

“Stand outside all day?” he asks. When she reacts with awkward surprise, fidgeting as she recognizes how obvious she was, he adds, “I saw you out here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just…people sometimes get uncomfortable when they see me.”

“You didn’t hurt me or my kids,” Michael replies. “And you’re why I have my kids.” He chuckles. “And you look at me like I’m not just some grease-monkey that can barely spell his own name.”

“Who am I to judge?” she says.

“Yeah, definitely. Anyway, Henry sent you over, I assume?”

“He did.” Then with a frown. “You have a Santa Claus costume just hanging around?”

“Weird, right? Found it in a box up in the attic. It’s like the curse half-ass created a bunch of shit, but didn’t know what to do with it. There’s weird Easter Bunny stuff up there, too.”

“I assume Regina doesn’t know?”

“I like you, Emma,” Michael tells her, his voice solemn. “And I meant it when I agreed with you about not judging, but me and the Queen, we’re never gonna be right with each other.”

“That’s totally your right,” Emma assures him. “I’m sorry, I…that was stupid.”

“Nah. You love who you love.” He shrugs. “But no, I assume she doesn’t know.”

“You mind if I come back and look through the stuff sometime after the holidays.”

“More than welcome,” he says. “Costume is over there. Bit faded, but it looks clean.”

“I can have it back to you –“

“Keep it; my kids don’t believe in it, anyway. We do Christmas now, but our own way.”

“I get that,” Emma answers with a small smile. Then, her voice quiet and trembling just a little bit, she says, “Thank you. And not just for the Santa suit but…for looking at me like I’m not someone who you’re afraid of. Aside from my family, I’d almost forgotten what that was like.”

“Me and the Queen, we’ll never be right because of what she did to me – because of how she took my kids away from me, and what she made them go through. But the opposite side of that, Emma, is that you and me will always be right for what you did.” He smiles, then. “And besides, I’ve done some really awful things, too. I have a pretty good idea what hate feels like.”

“Not good.”

“No,” he agrees. “Now get out of here; the kids want to try that whole deep fried turkey thing.”

“Be careful,” Emma cautions. “Don’t burn your eyebrows off.”

He laughs. “Merry Christmas, Emma.”

“You, too, Michael.”

*** ***

“Mom?” Henry asks as he steps into her bedroom; he finds her in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and it’s a bit of a surreal moment to see his usually very proper mother lounging here, the medicine cabinet behind her swung open and the water faucet dripping warm and steady.

“Hey,” she mumbles, dropping her head forward a bit. She sounds drowsy, a bit drugged up, though still mostly coherent (Henry is reminded of seeing one of his school buddies like this..."buzzed" he'd called it, nothing all that major).

“Are you okay?” he asks, coming up beside her and looking down; from where he’s standing, he can see a slightly jagged wound just beneath her left ear, the color around it deep and mottled. It’s not bleeding, but there’s a strange glittering fluid that appears to have been spread over the open cut. “What is this?”

“I got hit by fairy magic,” Regina tells him. “In the blood stream, it can be…powerful. So I needed to counter-act it before it could really get going.” She looks up at him and smiles, and that’s when he notices a similar smear of the oddly colored fluid on her face, covering a scratch.

“So…this is…first aid?”

“It is, and I’m fine,” she assures him. “It just feels really strange. Like my blood is actually alive.”

“So you’re on drugs?”

“Not quite. This is what happens when I stop it. Had it actually gotten all the way into my blood, I would be on the floor of the bathroom challenging the shower head to a magical duel.”

“Weird,” he laughs. Then, growing serious, “Are you going to be okay for tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll be able to wash this off in about twenty minutes, and then I’ll take a shower, and I should be fully back to myself by then. It’s just…while this is mending that I feel…oddly.”

“So if it’s not like you’re drugged –“

“It kind of is,” she corrects. “Just not completely. Everything I’m seeing is distorted. You’re blurry and colorful in the middle and then dark around the edges. And you sound like a chipmunk.” She laughs at that and then quickly apologizes because no boy wants to hear that.

“It’s fine,” he chuckles. Then, “Do you want me to stay with you until you can wash it off?”

“The ham –“

“Is out and cooling. I just talked to Grandma and everyone is where they should be and completely on-schedule. Mom and Grandpa are finishing up their paperwork now.”

“Good.” There’s a pause and then, “Yes, I would love for you to stay with me.”

TBC…

Chapter Text

Much to her chagrin, Regina finds that she has to extend herself out on the bathroom floor after a few minutes, and if her head wasn’t swimming and there weren’t so many weird and colorful things happening in front of her eyes, she thinks that she would actually be humiliated by the fact that she’s sprawled across the cool tiled ground with her arms pretty much lifted over her head (a voice in the very far back of her mind compares her posture to something out of one of those magazines she found in Henry's room, and good Lord that's a horrifying thought). She thinks she would find this entire situation something to shade her face with shame if she wasn't so bust trying to keep the room from spinning around and her lunch from making an unfortunate reappearance.

All of this caused by spray of magical dust inside of a stupid little cut behind her ear.

An insignificant little gash (it's a bit bigger than it was thanks to the corrosive magic, but still small) and nothing more (she's realizing now that the placement of it, perhaps just a bit too close to her neck and therefore close to her brain is somewhat more problematic than she'd first realized, but she's trying not to think about that).

She’d told Emma – promised her – that this was nothing to worry about, and even though this is far more dramatic an effect than she'd anticipated, she believes that it still isn’t anything to be concerned about, but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable; she feels like she’s going through what one would very generously describe as a very bad acid trip and right now, she’d absolutely like to get off the ride. What this actually is is fairy dust magic poisoning and it's toxic and potentially even deadly when unchecked. It's checked here, though; the potion she'd treated the wound with is working through her and she can feel it fighting against the effects of the dust.

But it will take time and meanwhile...meanwhile, there are colors and shapes and the kind of vertigo that they make movies about.

“Are you sure that you’re really okay, Mom?” she hears from somewhere above her, and oh there’s the other reason to be humiliated – Henry is in here with her. Because she’d asked him to stay. And for a few minutes, everything had been fine. He had been telling her about a girl he liked (in that shrugging trying to be cool way a teenager does it) and she’d been smiling at him and thinking about how quickly he’s growing up and then…and then everything had been flipping upside down and his face had been contorting into something out of one of those weird twisting phone apps and well…now she’s here on the floor and he’s bent over her with a hand rested against her warm forehead. A cool cloth is pressed against her temple a moment later, and she can't help herself from groaning in protest even as she moves into it.

Because even though she's horrified by the fact that her son is now taking care of her, she has to admit (at least to herself) that doesn’t feel particularly well right now. Still, that said. she’ll be damned if she lets a little bit of fairy crack in her blood ruin this evening for either her or Henry. But most especially not Emma.

A year ago, she and Henry had been standing beside Emma when the blonde Savior-turned-Dark One-turned Savior Once Again had traveled into literal Hell to try to save the life of a man who she’d fallen for. The mission had failed (mostly because Hook had once again begged her to finally let him go, and this time, she had chosen to listen to him) and they’d all come back empty-handed, but worse than that, they’d come back with a woman whose spirit had been shattered. Not necessarily just by losing Hook but by the futility of every gamble that she’d taken. She’d put everything on the line, justified every bad choice and in the end, it had led her to open arms and a heart that was once again broken. She’d crumbled to her knees, sobbing, shattered, apologizing and unable to stop shaking. Snow had held her, and then David.

And she and Henry had watched. And waited.

Knowing that their time and place would come. Knowing that this moment needed to belong to Emma and her parents, and that eventually, Emma would turn to her son and his other mother. Knowing that eventually, Emma would seek the comfort of the two people who have been her stalwarts when everything else has gone to hell.

Sometimes literal hell.

And she had; one typically cold Maine evening, she’d arrived with frozen tears on her cheeks, and asked if she could stay the night. It’d been a strange request, but Regina had understood it for Emma needing to not be alone. To be allowed to want to have people in her life even after all that she’d done…and her desperate hope that those people would want her there as well.

Regina had heated up milk and made three mugs of hot cocoa, and Henry had set up a Monopoly board and the three of them had just gathered around the little board, not talking about their painful pasts but only the things that could make them smile and laugh easily.

Not all of the conversations had been so easy – especially between Regina and Emma – but that hadn’t stopped Emma from coming back. She’d asked for the truth – always that – and Regina and Henry had given her a place where she knew she would always be welcomed and wanted.

Regina had meant it when she’d told Emma that there was nothing that she couldn’t come back from, and over the weeks and months that they’d spent talking on the back porch together, Emma had come to understand the honesty of those words; Regina really had forgiven her.

Long before Emma had even been able to think about doing the same for herself, Regina had been willing to see past the mistakes and the bad choices, and had seen the friend there. The person that she’d always been able to see and recognize just a little bit better than anyone else.

Two months after that first monopoly game, Emma had kissed her; they’d been sitting together on the porch like always and the conversation had been about about Henry or something like that and Regina had been smiling and then…and then Emma had just leaned in. It’d been a soft and quite tentative thing, and it’d taken every bit of strength, but Regina had pushed her away.

“I need you to be sure,” Regina had told her, a palm rested on Emma’s cheek. “You mean far too much to me for this to be just some kind of emotional rebound.” It’d been exposing herself entirely, alluding to far too much of the thoughts within her own head for her own comfort.

But Emma had been wrapped up in her own mind, in her own self-loathing and fear, and had missed the words entirely. She’d blushed, apologized and before Regina could stop her, she’d stop up and excused herself (apologizing once more) and then turned and rushed quickly away.

A week had passed, and then two and just as Regina’s patience had been snapping (and her anxiety had been flaring because dammit how could Emma not understand how much this relationship meant to not just the blonde but also to the woman who had been someone else entirely before the prophesied Savior had swept like a bulldozer into her house and though her well-order life), Emma had reappeared. On the front porch of the house, shuffling and shifting.

“If I want something to happen between the two of us, is that wrong? Is it too soon?” Her hands had been jammed in her pockets and her cheeks had been red, her eyes large and worried, but her words had been forward and sure. An honest question. Finally that again.

So Regina had answered in kind. She’d stepped forward, closing the space between them. “I want you to heal, Emma. I want you to be whole.” She’d stepped even closer. “The Emma Swan that I want to choose me –“she’d taken a breath, throwing it all out there. “Is the one that I know would fight be tooth and nail…and also fight beside me with the same strength. I want the Emma who knows who she is and stood up against a Queen…and fought her to a draw.”

Emma had laughed loudly then, a wonderful sound. “A draw? I kicked your ass, Your Majesty.”

“It’s a start,” Regina had replied, the words strange but right. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

That had been her own kind of promise to Emma – an assurance that she would be there down the line if Emma still wanted to pursue something…more between them - and six months later, Emma had made another move; after dinner one evening, she’d caught Regina’s hand while they’d been putting away dishes and said, “You were right to stop something happening before because it would have been building on the whole mess that is my life, but…I know I want this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

She’d made the move, then.

She’d pushed forward and she'd kissed Regina, and this time, Regina hadn't pushed her away. This time, Regina had pulled her close and kissed her back as hard as she'd been able to manage, letting Emma know definitively what the blonde had been too full of self-loathing before to recognize: she is very much wanted.

Henry had walked in on them a few minutes later, the two of them pressed up against the refrigerator door, Emma's hand just under the hem of Regina's blouse.

Unfortunately for him, walking in on them would become something of a theme for him.

In any case, it’s been four months that they’ve been together and four months where they’ve been discovering new things while using the old knowledge to heal each others’ many wounds.

One of Emma’s wounds is Christmas – the lack of it, the lack of simple perfect family moments.

Considering the role that she’d played in Emma not having those moments (Emma is quick to insist that many people played a part in the awfulness of her childhood, and she doesn’t and will never blame Regina for what had occurred there, but Regina isn’t nearly as quick to let herself off the proverbial hook when she sees the wistful way Emma looks at Christmas trees) she will be damned if she’ll allow anything to take Christmas away from Emma ever again.

So even if her head is swimming and her vision is spotty, this evening is going to happen.

Which is why she forces herself to meet Henry’s eyes, forcing her own bleary eyes to focus on him (it hurts to do this, stings more than she will tell him, but she does it, anyway, because she doesn't want him to worry unnecessarily - not tonight) and replies, “I’m fine, sweetheart; I feel better already. But I could really use a cup of tea.”

She doesn’t need to see her son’s face to know that he’s skeptical of her words. So she reaches out and takes his hand and squeezes, and then he sighs and says, “Sure.” He stands up and brushes off his pants and then adds, “If you’re not feeling okay, Emma would understand.”

“No, honey, she wouldn’t,” Regina replies, thinking about the cut on Hook’s neck and how it hadn’t been there until it had. About how all of Emma’s hope had bled out because of a scratch.

This isn’t like that – she understands fairy magic, and though this feels like hell right now, it will pass – but she knows Emma, and knows the way Emma will respond to any sign of danger.

Knows that Emma will feel like it’s all just repeating once again for her.

“Mom –“

“This has to be her night,” Regina says, sitting up and forcing her back against the toilet.

“Don’t you think that we’re enough for her, even if Christmas isn’t perfect?” His head is tilted, and she thinks there’s something deeper and more to his question, but she can’t quite get to it. Not in the muddled mental state that she is in thanks to the fairy dust poisoning.

So she lets these thoughts pass, and she smiles up at her son (and hopes that her expression doesn’t look too bizarre). “Emma will always think that anything is enough for her - perhaps more than she deserves, but we know better; after all she has been through, she deserves this night to be perfect and that, my little prince, is what we’re going to give her.” She tosses him another loopy smile and then says, “There’s some orange-honey tea in the pantry.”

“Got it,” he sighs, understanding when he’s been excused and that this isn’t an argument that he’s going to win. “Try not to move too much, okay? If you want us to actually pull off Emma not knowing that you’re high as a kite and not loving it, it’d be best if you didn’t bash your head in.”

It’s a not-at-all-gentle rebuke of this plan of hers, and he’s a sassy little shit, and she supposes that that’s her fault entirely (and perhaps some of Emma’s too, but mostly hers, to be honest).

Regina laughs – and ignores his concerned expression – and then closes her weary bleary eyes.

Better than watching Henry suddenly grow three additional heads.

*** ***

Snow arrives about a half hour later, a steaming dish of green bean casserole tucked under one arm, and little fifteen month old Neal slung over the other one. Dressed as always in a sweater bright and audacious enough to make Richard Simmons gasp in horror, she smiles widely at Henry as he yanks the door open. “You don’t need to knock,” he reminds her.

“Mm, considering the things that I’ve accidentally walked in –“

He makes a face. “Good point.” Reaching over, he takes his uncle from her and then leads her into the kitchen. “Mom is taking a shower; she should be down in just a few minutes.”

“How is she?” Snow asks as she puts the dish down and then leans over to inspect the ham which has just been removed from the oven. “I heard that she got hit with some fairy dust.”

“You know what it does?”

“I’m aware. And aware what your mother is like on it. How out of it is she?”

“I don’t think she feels good, but she won’t admit it. She’s dead set on tonight being –“

“Perfect for Emma. And Emma is dead-set on tonight being perfect for the rest of us.”

“Why can’t they just see that they make each other happy?”

“They know that they do, but they’re both carrying around a lot of guilt and regret; for as much as Regina claims that she doesn’t, the more she’s come to terms with her past, the more she’s realized that she has a lot of things that she’s not proud of and can’t just rationalize away.”

“But she’s done so much good –“

“She’s not at peace with herself,” Snow tells him. “And neither your nor I can help her get there.” She shrugs. “I think your two moms might be the only ones who can help one another.”

“Not if they keep thinking that they’re not good enough for each other.”

Snow offers him a thin smile. “Give them time,” she says.

“I know,” he admits. “I just want them happy.”

“And today? They’re happier than they were yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Snow assures him. Then, “You got Neal for a few minutes?”

“Gonna check on Mom?”

“Aside from when I saw Regina on it many years ago, I’ve seen the effects of fairy magic on others a time or two, and while your Mother might be the strongest woman that I’ve ever met, getting a shot of that right into the blood is…odd.”

“You’ve been –“

“Unfortunately, yes. And it’s best that I don’t give you any of those details,” Snow laughs.

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Then, growing a bit more serious and a bit more like the worried son that he becomes whenever his mom is in any kind of jeopardy, “She’s all right…right?”

“She is. If she treated the wound, the symptoms should pass within twenty-four hours.”

“She did. And she said it was pass quicker than that."

“When has your mom ever been willing to admit weakness?" Snow asks gently. After Henry scowl, she says, "Don't worry; she’ll be fine. Ideally, she should be sleeping this off –“

“But it’s Christmas Eve,” he finishes for her.

“And she wants to be here for you and for Emma. For all pf us but especially for you two.” She points to Neal. “Keep an eye on him; he’s getting into everything these days.” And with that said, she turns and heads up the stairs, her footsteps typically soft, but still strong.

Like someone who has decided that it’s her job to lead and protect her family.

*** ***

“What’s in the bag?” David asks when he looks into the back seat of the cruiser; she’d returned to the station on foot, but apparently had obtained a garment bag from whatever she’d been doing over at the station with Michael Tillman. David had meant to ask what the need to see the mechanic had been about before, but the need to finish up paperwork had been far more pressing. Now, though, he’s curious and the slightly odd and uncharacteristic shyness which he sees from his not-quite-as-confident-as-she-used-to-be daughter is making him even more so.

Because try as he might, he can’t think what Emma could possibly have in the bag.

“It’s silly,” Emma shrugs, shutting the door to the car.

“Okay –“

“It’s a Santa Claus costume,” she tells him. “Because I know none of us have ever really celebrated that way. I mean I sat on a few mall Santa’s laps when I was a kid, and I got some socks and underwear and a few pink dresses to make me the perfect little girl, but it wasn’t ever like it is in the movies. I don’t think it’s ever really been that way for any of us, right?”

“Well, we didn’t celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest.”

“But you had holidays.”

He nods. “My family was poor. Snow’s father was rarely around and she celebrated mostly with her nanny’s after her mother died. And Regina…well, I’m guessing it wasn’t really Cora’s thing.”

“I know Regina and Henry celebrated Christmas, but…” she shakes her head. “It sounds kind of dumb when I say it out loud, actually. I just…they have all of these Christmas memories, and they mean something to them, and I’m not…” she shakes her head. “This is stupid; what was I thinking? How am I supposed to explain my intent to Regina if I can’t even explain it to you?”

David pauses for a moment, and then gently asks, “What is it you want for them?”

“To get to celebrate Christmas like normal people do. Like a normal family does.”

“And in this world –“

“People wear Santa hats and sometimes someone wears a costume to hand out presents.”

“That sounds like fun,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Who’s wearing the costume?”

“I was going to do it.”

David smiles warmly at her. “Good. So about these Santa hats –“

“What about them?”

“What if someone else besides the one in the costume wanted to wear them?”

She looks over at her father for a moment, looking for any sign that he’s humoring her – they aren’t from this world, and though their minds have memory and knowledge from here, none of it is emotional or real – but he’s not; he’s grinning at her and seems genuinely excited.

Like he’s happy to learn about this new way of celebrating a holiday with his family.

“Maybe I can get Regina to magic some up,” Emma says. She knows she could probably do it herself (she likely could have done the same with the costume itself, but if she’s wary about using magic for true acts of defense of the town, she’s outright frightened about using it for anything as frivolous as reproduction of clothing). “I bet Little Dude would look great in one.”

“I bet he would,” David agrees, and starts up the car. He casts one more look over at Emma.

And she says softly, “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “You never owe me that. Never. I know we haven’t always done a good job of showing it – or proving it to you – but I love you more than anything in this world, Emma.” He reaches across and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You’re my little girl. Always that.”

Her eyes close and she lets out a shaky breath, nodding several times, blinking back tears.

“Emma –“

“I’m okay. I just…it’s been a weird last year and a half. A very weird last year." She shakes her head and chuckles, but there's no humor in the sound. "I killed someone, then took on the darkness and turned into the Dark One to protect Regina. Then fucked up when I had the chance to get rid of the darkness and threw away everything for the chance to keep love. I went to Hell to get someone back after they sacrificed themselves. Was asked to let them go again. Finally listened. Came back up here and had to look in to the eyes of people who once called me a friend and now see me as pure evil...and then I fell in love again with my former enemy.”

“Your best friend,” he says. Then shrugs. “I want to argue a whole lot of what you just said, but since I know you won't let me, then I'll fight you on the easy one. You falling for Regina...you loving her and her loving you...it's not that weird. I mean, Regina and me…we have a long and strange history, and even though we're good now, we will always be trying to irritate each other, I think, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t see what the two of you are to each other. You have been friends for a long time and I think you two have always understood each other in your own kind of way. I know this is weird for you and it probably should be super weird for your mom and I considering everything that’s happened, but it’s not. Not as much as it should be; you fell in love with your best friend. That makes total sense to me."

“And what if it all comes apart again? What if I lose Regina -"

“No more looking down the road,” he says. “Just today. Just what’s in front of us.”

“And that’s –“

“Our family. Christmas Eve. That suit there. And tomorrow morning.” He smiles at her.

“Okay,” she says. Then nods her head several times, getting herself under control. “Okay.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s…let’s go do Christmas,” she says with a nervous laugh.

TBC -

Chapter Text

“Regina?” she calls out as she steps into the master bedroom, her green eyes flickering around a couple of times and taking in both the tasteful décor as well as the signs of her daughter that are slung throughout the room; it’s neat and orderly in here, but there’s a faded hoodie on the dresser and a dog-eared crime novel on the nightstand. After living with Emma for several years, Snow knows her not-quite-a-little-girl-anymore’s things and knows that what she’s seeing is the evidence of just how serious things have gotten between she and Regina.

Not that this is news to Snow; she’s had front row seats to the evolution of their relationship and has seen it change from enemies and to friends and then grow into something more. She has seen the way they watch each other, observed the way they stand next to each other and witnessed the many different ways that they have held each other up and pushed for strength.

She’d been worried about Emma after Hook’s death, but even more worried after they had returned from the Underworld without him and Emma had had this horrified look on her face, like she’d been wondering if she could justify anything that she’d done if her arms were empty.

Her knees had buckled and she’s fallen and oh, Snow would give anything not to remember the sound of Emma’s sobbing as she had clutched at her mothers’ shirt (she recalls looking up and into David’s stormy blue eyes, seeing her own heartbreak echoed back at her there – both of them shredding in sympathy for their daughter). But she does remember, and though she hates that Emma had been so very hurt, she also realizes that they’ve become stronger for all of that.

Of course, strength doesn’t mean immunity from the pain of loss. Or fear of heartbreak.

And Snow has a feeling that so much of what is happening right now between these two women is based on both of those things; they love each other and are committed to each other if not yet the idea of being able to be together. And that means missing the forest for the trees.

She sighs and calls out for Regina once again, clocking the sound of water coming from the bathroom. Which is a good thing; Henry had said that his mother was already in the shower, but in her drugged up state, absolutely anything would have been possible. And knowing just how much this evening means to everyone involved (even if Snow thinks that perhaps too much pressure and emphasis is being put on one night), well that would have been –

“Oh Regina,” Snow sighs as she steps into the bathroom, her hopeful gaze immediately shifting to one of exasperation as she takes in the surreal sight of her former enemy sprawled across the tiled floor, her hands flickering helplessly against the buttons of her shirt as she gazes almost drunkenly up at the lights shining down on her. Steam is filing the room, covering every corner of it, but there’s no chance Regina is making her way into the shower stall on her own.

“Snow, why are you in my bathroom?” Regina queries, her voice unnaturally high.

“Because it’s Christmas Eve, Regina and my husband and daughter – and your girlfriend –“ she allows herself a small chuckle of amazement at that. “Are on their way here. And you –“

“Aren’t dressed yet!” Regina says suddenly before she abruptly lurches forward like she she’s going to grab at the stack of clothes that Henry had left behind for her (Snow notes them: beige slacks and a red sweater, a very mom kind of outfit; she also notes with more than a little bit of bemusement that neither any underwear nor a bra are anywhere to be found in the pile). She doesn’t get too far before her knees buckle and she’s tumbling forward; thankfully, she’s still on the ground and all she manages to do is collide with Snow’s knees, pulling the younger woman down. This would all be very funny, Snow thinks, if not for how incredibly absurd this all is.

That and she hadn’t been lying to Henry when she’d told him she’s no stranger to fairy dust poisoning; she’s aware of exactly how warped and weird everything is for Regina right now.

And also aware of how entirely possible this evening is going to be for Regina because of it.

But she knows – knows – that Regina would want to try, anyway. Needs to try.

For Emma. For this family that is hers.

Theirs.

So Snow sighs softly and leans over. “You feel awful, don’t you?”

“You look like the Queen of Hearts from that awful Johnny Depp movie. By the way, my mother would have been insulted by that. Especially by the huge head. And the crazy. I mean, Mother was crazy. We both know that, but I would say that her heard was fairly proportional overall.”

“Very proportional,” Snow agrees. “Now how about I help you up and into the shower?”

“You think I can’t shower on my own?”

“I think you can’t stand on your own because you are stoned out of your mind on fairy dust right now and me having an overly large head isn’t the only strange thing you’re seeing.”

“The faucet is singing to me,” Regina agrees. Then scowls. “That’s a weird word, isn’t it?”

“Very weird. I’m putting an arm around you now, and then we’re going to stand up.”

“I can do it on my own,” Regina insists.

“Not unless I want to have to explain to Emma why we’re spending Christmas Eve in an ER.”

Regina cocks her head to the side, an absurd look for such a typically proud woman.

“An Emergency Room,” Snow explains as she loops an arm around Regina’s waist. “Whatever you got hit with earlier seems to have been pretty extreme; this is way worse than last time.”

“Last time –“

“Last time was when I was all of fifteen years old, and if I recall right, you ended up getting exposed to fairy dust poisoning thanks to an initiation ceremony gone wrong –“

“That wasn’t the last time,” Regina smirks. “And it wasn’t an initiation ceremony; Rumple made them all think if they didn’t spray dust everywhere, they’d be killed. He was having fun.”

“Well that’s…disturbing. But even if my memory of why isn’t quite right, everything else is. You were so out of it that you were just about scandalizing the entire court; they’d never seen you dancing around and singing and shouting. And then, while everyone was staring wide-eyed, you almost bankrupted the entire kingdom in one night because you tried to put on the party of the century and give away the entire treasury; my father was not very amused. I was, though.”

“Snow,” Regina whispers, leaning inwards. She shakes her head gravely, like she’s telling a great secret, one that could change the fate of entire worlds and possibly damage relationships.

“What?”

“Your father was a giant douche,” the older woman whispers, seeming almost sad. “I know you think otherwise because he brought you back those hideously ugly dolls, but he was –“

“I know who he was, Regina,” Snow says gently. “Again, my memory of how and why might not be exactly on-key, but I see things better now and I know who my father was. To you and to me. I know what I didn’t see then. And I’m sorry for that. More than you know.” She smiles somewhat sadly. Then adds, “I would, however, prefer to never hear you say that word again. It doesn’t sound right coming from you. Now on three, we’re standing up so take a breath.”

“Why?”

“Because the whole world is about to sway for you.” She smiles kindly and then says in a tone that is far less so as she jerks the wobbly Queen to her feet, “Three.” Immediately, Regina pitches forward again, only Snow’s grip keeping her upright. And then before Regina can say or do anything else, Snow turns and pushes them both towards the shower, shoving Regina in.

She hears sputtering and knows that she’s not going to get out of this so easy; no, she’s going to end up in the shower with Regina, and good Lord her life just keeps getting weirder.

She thinks that maybe when this is all over and everyone is calm and okay and not so worried about every step they take being something terrible and scary, then maybe she’ll thank Emma for the practice that her daughter had given her during the year that they’d lived together as best friends. Because Emma had been quite the hard drinker during those days, moving fast and hard and doing everything she could not to allow her feet to stop moving. She’s changed so much since then, and she wants to stay still in a way she hadn’t before, but the fear is there.

Still, those nights of helping Emma through the shower are helping right now with Regina.

“Hang on,” Snow sighs as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket.

“I’m drowning.”

“You’re not. And later tonight you’ll probably make me swear this never happened,” Snow says with an exasperated groan.

“Too much water.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in a shower.” She dials a number quickly. “Hi, it’s me. I need a favor. Is Emma with you?” She pauses and listens. “Yeah. Tell her I got sauce on myself and need a change.” A pause and she chuckles. “I’ll explain everything later. I just need some time.”

She hears another sputter, and tries to pretend she doesn’t see Regina shaking her head..

She also sees the vibrant shimmering glitter of the anti-toxin that Regina had slathered on the open wound just behind her ear; Snow presumes that the antidote is working its way through her bloodstream slowly and eventually the poisoning will fade out, but for now at least, Regina remains completely susceptible to the bizarre reality altering effects of the fairy dust.

Snow hangs up the phone and then puts it down on the sink. “Okay, I’m coming in.”


“No, save yourself!” Regina calls out; apparently the hot water isn’t helping – time to go cold.

Which…well.

Snow takes a breath and then steps into the shower.

*** ***

“Did you get it?” Henry asks when he sees his mother and grandfather walking toward the kitchen. Emma has a gym bag slung over her shoulder, but he can’t imagine that the suit would fit in that so he frowns and regards both of them with curiosity. They’re both covered in flecks and flicks of snow, each of them shivering from the rapid chilling of the December night.

“I did,” Emma assures him. “It’s in the car; if it’s going to be a surprise, I don’t want your mom seeing it before morning.” She gestures towards the gym bag. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Upstairs with Mom.”

“Everything okay?” Emma presses, noticing the cautious way her son is speaking. Like he doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to say without potentially saying too much. She glances over at her father, checking for the same curiosity there, but he’s just watching. Like he knows.

At the very least knows more than she does.

“Yeah,” Henry nods. “Everything’s good.”

“How’s your Mom feeling?”

“Uh –“

“We should probably get those clothes up to Snow,” David cuts in. “She told me she got grease or sauce or something all over her –“ he looks pointedly at Henry, as if for back up on this.

Henry almost sighs and wonders – not for the first time – how any of these people had managed to beat the Evil Queen at her worst. When he’d been only ten years old, Henry had assumed that basic heroism and nobility were enough, but now as a teenager he recognizes that to win most battles, you need more than bit of savvy and wit and a little duplicity, too.

His family – save his mothers who both know how to work angles when necessary – isn’t exactly at the top of the list of people he would look to when planning any kind of surprise party.

And tonight isn’t even that.

Still, he does what any fourteen-year-old kid knows how to do just a little bit too well, and he smiles at his mother and lies, “Yeah. Turns out being a klutz is something biological.” His expression widens into a full on grin when he says this, and yeah, he might be manipulating her.

Because Emma is good at this kind of stuff, and even if her super-power really isn’t anything close to a power at all, she’s skilled at reading people and everyone is acting just a little bit weird right now so Henry figures if he can distract her, that should be enough to keep her from thinking too much about what’s happening upstairs – or more importantly, about his mother.

Sure, it’d all be easier if they tried that whole truth thing, but in fairness, in his mom’s current state, Henry isn’t all that sure that she knows the truth from a fanciful story about singing pigs.

“Nice, Kid,” Emma laughs and then shoves his shoulder. “Okay, I’ll take these up –“

“I’ll take them up,” David corrects. “If your mom is naked –“

“She and I were roommates,” Emma reminds her. “I’ve probably seen her naked more times than you have.” She wags her eyebrows when she says this…and then quickly thinks better of it.

“Exactly,” Henry groans. “Emma, help me cut the ham up. Dinner is supposed to be on the table in ten minutes and you know how Mom gets if we go off-schedule. And we’re already way off.”

“I’ll get your mom dressed and your girlfriend downstairs,” David assures Emma.

“Okay,” Emma agrees, but she’s frowning just a bit. Because why would Regina need help…

Before she can think too much on that, though, Henry has her arm and he’s pulling her towards the massive honey-baked ham, and it smells so goddamned good, and it’s Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve, and she’s here with her family.

Everything is okay.

She takes the electric knife from Henry and leans in.

"So what's the plan?" he asks. "With the suit."

She grins and then lowers her voice as she tells him all about how Operation Ho-Ho-Ho will go down.

*** ***

What David sees when he steps into Regina’s room is a bit of a surprise.

He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but Regina standing up (kind of, she's leaning slightly against the end of the bed, her knees supported by the mattress) and dressed in beige slacks and a bright red sweater with her hair not exactly perfect, but not out of control isn’t at all it. But it’s good.

It’s good and he exhales when he she looks up at him and smiles.

That is until Regina Mills – the once feared and loathed Evil Queen – giggles like a pre-school girl who's just mainlined a glass full of sugar.

“Crap,” David says.

“Yep,” Snow sighs, stepping out of the bathroom and looking like a drowned cat. “This –“ she gestures to Regina. “Has taken me most of the last hour to make happen. And I have been groped, cuddled, babbled at and I think climbed more times than I would care to ever remember.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. What exactly did Regina get hit with?” Snow asks as she comes around behind Regina, glancing at the wound there again; it keeps leaking which isn't all that surprising, but thankfully hasn't seemed to swell or show any signs of infection or physical worsening. Just...lots of temporary mental deterioration.

“The fairy dust that they cooked up to try to super-charge themselves again. I’m guessing her reactions are even more extreme than usual?” he asks, his eyes flickering back over to Regina who – despite looking put together – is gazing at the wall in mouth-half-open amazement.

“Well, I remember she was pretty bad after what happened when I was a teenager, but this is…she was acting back then like someone who was seriously drunk with no inhibitions. This isn’t no inhibitions, David, this is someone is who legitimately stoned out of their mind and seeing an entire dancing carnival in her head. I doubt that she has seen a single thing that’s real in front of her eyes for the last few hours.”

“Is she in any kind of danger?” he asks, glancing over at Regina who is as anxious and un-still as he has ever seen her be. He wonders if they should be whispering here, but Regina seems completely unaware of their conversation, instead moving over to intently study the wallpaper.

“I don’t think so. She knows this stuff and knows how to treat it. We can give Belle a call just to be safe, but I think it's probably okay; we just need to get through tonight and she should feel somewhat better in the morning. The problem is –“

“Tonight,” David sighs. “We could just tell Emma. She’d understand.”

“I agree,” Snow concurs. “But we both know that –“

“No,” Regina says suddenly, swinging around. “We’re not telling Emma anything.”

“And there she is,” David murmurs. "Don't mean to the bearer of bad news - Your Majesty - but you look like hell right now."

“I’m fine,” the Queen snarls in response, but it's not at all imposing or dangerous sounding. She looks down at herself and pats her chest, perhaps just a more aggressively than is necessary. “I look fine and tonight is going to be fine. Because Emma deserves it after everyone dying on her and her never getting to have a Christmas. I owe her that much. I owe her fine and that's damn well what all of us are going to give her. Do I make myself clear?”

“I doubt you make yourself clear," David mutters.

Snow throws him a look, but quickly returns her attention to the Queen. "Regina–"

“It’s my fault, Snow,” Regina cuts in sharply, shaking her head dramatically. “All of this is my fault. She wouldn’t have grown up without family if not for me and that stupid curse and she wouldn’t have lost Neal or Hook if it weren’t for me. Neal died trying to let everyone know who my sister was and Hook died because we were in Camelot thanks to Emma stupidly saving me from the Darkness. If it weren’t for me, she could have been happy in three different ways –“

“She loves you,” Snow says gently.

“I owe her happiness.”

“I think just being with you is what makes her happy,” David insists. "You don't need to force yourself -"

“Oh for God's sake, be her parents,” Regina replies, her voice slurring even its vehemence. “Want more for her.”

“We want more for you, too, Regina,” Snow reminds her, refusing to rise to the bait. “Emma is my daughter and I love her more than anything in this world, but you matter to me as well – I want you happy as well. You can’t be happy if you’re not doing this for the right reasons. If you’re not doing it for each other.”

Regina flips her hand dismissively, looking entirely like she’s drunk and sloppy and heading towards a monstrous meltdown. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about; you never do. If I can’t make things right for Emma, if I can’t make her happy on a night like this one, then how can I ever be enough for her?” She frowns, then. “By the way, did you know you’re blue?”

“We should tell Emma,” David says, looking at his decidedly not-blue wife. Who is wearing an expression of extreme sadness on her face. To Regina, he says, “We can do this tomorrow.”

“No! We’re doing…we’re doing it tonight. Christmas Eve. We are!”

“Regina, you’re in no shape for this right now. You can barely stand up, and you’re not thinking straight,” Snow insists. “I know you have all these fears about whether or not you’re enough or if you owe Emma, but you more than most people know that’s not how love works. You know.”

“Do I? And how would I? From the hundreds of times love has worked out for me?” the older woman snaps back, her words becoming angry and broken, the self-loathing pouring off of her.

“Regina –“

“No. We’re going downstairs, Snow. I might be seeing seven of you, and your husband might look like Rumple after he’s gotten too much son, but I can do this. I can make tonight…right.”

“We’re not stopping you, are we?” David asks.

“No way. So get your wife dressed and then let’s go have Christmas Eve with our family.”

The words sound right. And good. Normal and sane.

But Regina is breathing hard and her eyes are wild; there’s no way that this works.

There’s no way that this night goes off without a hitch.

*** ***

Emma knows immediately.

She’s known Regina for four years now, has been friends with her for three of those, and has been sharing a bed with her for the last several months. She’s seen Regina hurt, angry, sad and everything in-between. She’s seen her happy and flirting, victorious and triumphant. She’s seen the Queen be quiet, wistful and thoughtful and has sat beside her when their whole world has been crumbling around them. She’s broken apart in Regina’s strong arms and felt herself come together in them as well, the sound of their exhausted breathing mixing with erratic heartbeats.

She knows this woman better than she knows herself, she sometimes thinks.

And right now, she knows that Regina is off.

Way off.

Maybe it’s the fact that she looks like she’d fail every sobriety test known to man or the way a tendril on the left side of her hair is curling upwards like she’s used gel to get it to do that, but whatever it is, it only takes Emma one look at her brunette lover to see something’s wrong.

“Hey,” she says, stepping forward and ignoring the looks that her parents pass between them.

“Is the ham ready?” Regina asks, a hand coming up to touch Emma’s cheek. The contact is too strong, too firm and there’s none of the typical tender delicacy Emma has come to expect.

But the careless rough touch isn’t intentional; she rather doubts Regina is even aware of it.

Which says everything because Regina is always aware of her – as she is of Regina.

“It is. Are you okay?”

“Emma, my love, I am fine.” She smiles at that, but it’s off; too big, too wide. Too forced.

“You don't look fine; what’s going on?” Emma prompts. She looks over at her parents and then back at Regina. "Tell me the truth. Please."

“The fairy dust,” Snow says immediately, not willing to allow Regina’s pride to damage things for them; she understands (not completely, but enough) why they need this evening together, but pretending that the Queen is better than she is purposeless because she’s clearly off.

“I feel fine,” Regina says immediately.

“Mom, how many heads do I have?”

“Irrelevant,” Regina snaps back.

“Pretty sure how many heads our kid has is always relevant,” Emma replies. She steps forward, then, reaching out for Regina’s hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I feel fine. Like I said. Everything is just a little bit more colorful. But it’s the season for color, right? And we are not letting a little bit of – do I smell pumpkin? Snow, did you bring over pumpkin? It’s not the right night for pumpkin. That’s a Thanksgiving thing. Red Velvet, Snow!”

“It’s a sweet potato pie, Regina. And you told me it was okay when I asked yesterday.”

“It’s not. But we can make it okay. I’ll grab some peppermint and cream and –“

“Ew,” Henry puts in, wrinkling his noise.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, catching Regina’s hands again just before the smaller woman escapes, presumably to find some peppermint to assault the sweet potato pie with.

“Regina, stop.”

“This night is going to be perfect, Emma.”

“It’s okay,” Emma insists.

“No, it’s not. I’m not letting this be ruined for you. Not again.” She pushes away hard.

And promptly stumbles, falling to her knees and then, as the world spins, curling into a ball.

“Guys,” Emma says softly as she kneels down, a hand settled on Regina’s back.

“We’ll be in the other room,” David tells her. “You need us to do anything?"

“Call Belle or Gold or whomever; make sure there's not something we don't know about this stuff.”

"On it," Snow states as the two of them slip from the kitchen, moving into the Family Room instead.

"Good." Then to Henry. “I got this; don't worry."

“You sure?"

“Yeah. I’m just going to take her back up to bed.”

"And what about, you know -" he makes a motion around his body, look he's showing her the shape of a suit.

"Still on," Emma tells him. "We just skip phase one and go right to phase two."

“No,” Regina says even though she has no idea what they're talking about. "No skipping."

Emma winks at him and smiles and then jerks her head as if to tell him to follow after his grandparents.

“Okay.” He casts one more look back at his mother, at the misery he sees on her face even as she curls herself tighter into a ball (that anyone is seeing this at all is more than enough proof of how out of it is she is; his mother is prideful and strong and even in her worst moments she has always tried to maintain her dignity). “We can still do dinner with just the four of us,” he says.

“And we will,” Emma promises. “Go on.” She doesn’t wait for him to reply this time, just turns her attention back to Regina, her hand again settling on her lovers’ back, her fingers turning in circles as she tries to soothe and calm her down. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says as she hears Henry's footsteps disappear. “You’re okay.”

“I can do this,” Regina mumbles, a hand flattening against the ground. "I just need to get back up..."

“Don’t.”

“Emma, I need to -"

“And we are. We're going to get up together like we always do, Regina, and then I’m getting you into bed. And you’re going to sleep this off.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina tells her, the fight bleeding out of her.

“Don’t be,” Emma replies, and then slips an arm around her lovers’ body and gently lifts her up; she’s strong certainly, but not enough so to carry her all the way up to her bedroom and so instead she loops an arm around her and then guides her down the hallway, up the stairs and into the Master Suite. Regina’s head is lolling by the time they get there, and she doesn’t put up even a slight fight as she’s lowered down onto the mattress that they’d woken up together on just that same morning. “You should have told me,” Emma says again, brushing hair away from Regina’s sweaty brow. “I would have understood. I do understand. I can handle…weird things.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Regina slurs, reaching for Emma’s hand (it takes several times and Emma wonders just how insane things are in front of the Queen’s distorted and drugged up vision right now). “You deserve so much better than nights like this one. Better than me.”

“Well first, I get to decide what I deserve and I am perfectly happy with what I have...and with you. And second, what’s wrong with this night?” Emma asks as she carefully inspects the wound behind Regina's ear, finally reassuring herself of the same thing that Snow previously had - it's kind of gross thanks to the poison and the anti-toxin merging, but it's not showing any signs of infection. “No, I don’t get to eat Christmas Eve dinner with you, and I hate that, but our family is downstairs and ham is even better on the second day. And tomorrow morning, hopefully you’ll feel better and we can all open our presents together. That sounds like perfect to me.”

“Does it?” Regina asks, for a moment seeming completely lucid.

“Yes,” Emma replies and then leans in and gently kisses Regina on the lips, holding it there for just a moment – cognizant of the distortions in Regina’s mind but wanting so desperately to let her know that this night hasn’t been ruined; that they haven’t been ruined by toxic fairy dust.

She figures if wives back from the dead, alternate universes, the Dark One and a trip to hell couldn’t tear them apart, then a little bit of poisonous glitter in the blood isn’t going to do it.

“I’m sorry,” Regina says quietly once the kiss breaks.

“The only thing I’m sorry about is that I won’t get to watch my mother try to force you to sing Christmas carols with her,” Emma replies as she pulls back and away from Regina.

“I can still sing.”

Emma laughs at that. “I bet.” Then, growing a bit more serious. “But for now, why you don’t try closing your eyes and sleeping; I want you to rest, and get this crap out of you; I have a surprise for you for tomorrow morning and I’m nervous as hell about it so I’d really like you to be my Regina and not someone who thinks that the number of heads that I have is irrelevant.”

“Your Regina.” Her eyes close, but just before they do, the Queen asks quietly, her voice becoming a mumble near the end, “Does that make you ‘my Emma’?”

“Yes,” Emma answers without pause, a hand on Regina’s cheek again, her fingers rubbing against soft olive skin that she's kissed a hundred times. “It does.”

TBC...

Chapter Text

She comes down the stairs with her hands in her pockets, and a smile that doesn't nearly reach her eyes plastered across her pale lips. Because it's Christmas Eve – the first one that she's ever really gotten to spend with this strange family of hers – and already they are down a person; Regina is crashed out upstairs on the bed they often share, sleeping off fairy dust poisoning that has her seeing doubles of everything as well as too many colors.

Emma tells herself that it doesn't matter; she has the rest of her family down here waiting for her, and the four of them can have a just fine evening. She reminds herself that it had been her obsessive need to hold the ones she loves close to her that had previously wrecked her.

It's why she wakes up some nights screaming in horror and heartbreak, the glint of red in her eyes and Hook's quietly resigned voice saying softly, "It's time to let me go now, love. Time to live."

She'd finally let go of Hook several months ago, made her peace with his loss and allowed her heart to open up again, but she knows that even now, she still hasn't let go of why he's no longer here.

Because she had destroyed him.

Even if what they'd had together was likely to come apart (when she's reasonable and right in the head and thus able to step outside of her guilt, she knows that the feelings though real would never have been enough for thirty years down the line; it was the whole burn hot and then out thing, but she angers and hurts that they'd never been allowed to do that naturally), she finds herself unable to forgive herself for the reckless way she'd torn him apart all in the name of love. All in the name of being too afraid to be alone and to find herself unloved.

She thinks about earlier in the day and standing side by side with Regina, her once explosively powerful magic stalled, the brilliant energy within her sizzling just beneath her skin and at the tips of her fingers, unwilling and unwanted, her desire to use it even for good reasons chilled.

She finds herself wondering if she could have done something more; could she have kept Regina from getting hit by the dust? She doesn't know, can't remember, but the fear is there.

The fear is always there, and she hates that because if she can't move past the fear, then how can she and Regina ever be healthy? How can she ever hope to heal if she struggles to find joy in the most obvious of things…things like spending the holidays with her family?

"Emma?" she hears and then Snow is walking towards her. She's frowning and worried, and all Emma can think is that she's once again ruining everything for everyone – her hang-ups, her –

Snow hugs her.

Tight. Hard. Fierce.

"Stop it," Snow says.

"What?" Emma asks, her voice soft and thin.

"Regina may be the one you asked to tell you when you're being stupid, but she's drugged out of her mind at the moment so I get to take over for her: whatever doubts you're having about yourself right now, whatever you're thinking: stop. This is where you belong, Emma. Here."

"I don't –" she swallows. "This is Christmas Eve."

"It is," Snow nods as she steps back to look at her daughter. A beautiful young woman who seems so unsure so very often. Shifting and anxious, second-guessing every step she takes.

"You guys deserve for it to be an amazing night."

"Why can't it be? Because Regina is sick? Is she the only one you wanted to spend tonight with?" Snow asks. Emma expects these words to be said angrily, but curiously, they're not.

"No. Of course not. I want to spend it with all of you. I just…want this to be…perfect."

"Perfect is what we make of it, Emma."

"I know and…I'm doing a pretty awful job of making anything of it, aren't it?"

"Oh, my little girl, why is it that everyone else is allowed to struggle with their skeletons and their doubts, but you aren't? Why is it that you refuse to allow yourself to not be perfect?"

"Because the last time I wasn't perfect, my actions led to someone I love dying."

Snow steps forward again and places a hand on each of Emma's cheeks. "You made bad choices. So have I and so has Regina. You know that. If we can find forgiveness –"

"I don't want to let anyone else down."

"Then don't."

Emma's eyes widen in panic, a thousand entirely to vivid (and to Snow's mind, deeply disturbing) thoughts whirling through her head as she tries to retreat. "I'm –"

Snow holds her tight; her fingers soft in keeping her in place, but firm and unrelenting. "And the best way you can stop letting us down? Stop letting yourself down. Stop worrying about us and about things not being perfect. Worry about being with the people who love you. Let us help you smile tonight. And tomorrow, Regina will be feeling better and all of us can do Christmas together. Tonight is just one night and tomorrow is a different day and all of it…has you in it."

"Mom," she whispers, her voice trembling, tears in her vivid green eyes.

"One of these days, you're going realize that that's more than enough for us. That you're more than enough. It took me and your father a very long time – too long – to understand what we had in you and how lucky we were to have exactly the person who came into our lives. We'd always thought that we needed to control the story and how it looked; we always thought that we needed to be the ones who decided who you'd become and in doing so, we failed to see that the story – that you, Emma - had turned out more beautiful than we could ever imagine. In strange and unexpected ways, true, but all the same and…that's perfect for me." She leans in, then, and kisses Emma very lightly on the forehead, holding it there. "You are perfect to me."

"You and Dad are going to make me cry tonight, aren't you," Emma manages.

"As long as they're good tears."

Emma nods; about the only thing she can manage to do without becoming a blubbering mess.

"Good." Another soft smile. "Then how about we go eat the wonderful dinner that Regina made, and we spend this evening remembering how lucky we all are to be together. And then, you can go curl up next to her upstairs and before you know it, it'll be Christmas morning."

"I'm not a little kid," Emma notes. "You make it sound like I should be excited."

"You should be," Snow replies. "Because tomorrow morning is our first real Christmas, too."

"Yeah," the sheriff agrees and then reaches out and loops her arm around her mother, enjoying the soft squeeze she gets in response from Snow as they walk. "I'm hungry," she says loudly.

She meets the eyes of her father and her son (her baby brother has his hands in his dad's milk and Emma makes a mental note to pour that out and get David a new glass) and then nods.

She smiles at her mother one last time, aware of the absence of the woman she loves, but vividly aware of how much love there is around here. And how much these people want her.

She sits down and says, "Dig in."

*** ***

Tonight is all about laughter and teasing and good food and telling ridiculous stories.

It's about finally and completely allowing her heart to be light and buoyant and even full.

She glances over at the empty spot where Regina should be and she feels her loss.

But it hurts less knowing that Regina wants her to be down here enjoying this instead of upstairs care-taking for her. Regina wants her to be happy and so…she chooses to be.

*** ***

"I'll see you in the morning," Emma says, standing by the front door of the mansion, Henry at her side. Her parents and sound-asleep baby brother are already outside (though she'd had to convince Snow not to check on Regina; if Her Majesty is resting, she doesn't want her woken up) and now all there is left is saying goodnight. Which she's done already, but there needs to be more.

Emma suddenly has an intense need for them to know what the last few hours have meant to her. So she places a hand on Henry's forearm, squeezes it lightly, releases and then steps forward, throwing an arm around both her mother and her father. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Oh, baby," Snow says.

"Thank you," David adds.

The hugs last for several more minutes, none of them eager to break it. Finally, Emma steps away. "So, tomorrow morning. Assuming Regina is feeling well, we still on for breakfast?"

"As soon as the three of you are done opening gifts here," Snow replies.

Emma smiles awkwardly at that. "Barely been one place before," she answers when she sees their questioning looks. "Much less two different ones." She shrugs. "But yeah, that works."

"What about the suit?" David queries.

"That's still happening. Plan is to wear it while putting the gifts down and then in the morning."

"Well, good luck then," David says before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

She laughs, shoves him in the shoulder and then grins at both her parents, watching them all the way down the icy walk. Watching until they drive away, the large broad smile on her lips.

*** ***

She shares a cup of hot cocoa with Henry, mountain high with Reddi-Whip (Regina isn't fond of the stuff personally, but nor is she fond of making homemade cream three times a week). They don't say anything, just sit together and enjoy the cool quiet evening. Bright Christmas lights twinkle around them, red and green and sometimes blue and yellow. "Should we bring a plate up to Mom?" Henry asks finally, eyeing the mounds of food that still need to be put away.

"Probably, but I really don't want to wake her up; I'll go and check on her, but she's finally sleeping soundly. She had a couple weird dreams, but she's okay; even snoring a little bit."

"How do you know that?"

Emma chuckles.

"Mom."

"Baby monitor. Found in the trunk. I think we took it away from someone last week or the one before that; someone who was using it to spy on women in the bathroom. Classy dude."

"Whale?

"I don't think even he's that pervy."

"Yeah, he is." Henry corrects.

"Yeah, he is," Emma agrees. "But no, not him. Anyway, I set it up just so I could listen in from time to time and make sure she wasn't having any other adverse effects from the fairy dust."

"She's okay?"

"She is."

"Did knowing that help you tonight?"

"This is where I tell you that I'm fine."

"And this is where I tell you that I was standing there when you started crying." He looks down at the empty mug and frowns. "I don't like you crying. Your or Mom. I don't handle it well."

"Sometimes life sucks."

"Could it suck less?"

"Kid, I think all of this –" she gestures around the room. "Shows us that it can."

"Yeah," he agrees. "You need help with the Santa thing?"

"Nah. I want some of it to be a surprise for you, too."

"I could remind you how old I am."

"And I could remind you how much of that I've missed. I don't have regrets anymore because everything has worked out – I have you, your mom and this family and…but still, humor me?"

"Of course." He yawns, not even bothering to throw a hand over his mouth. "All right, then I'm going to bed. You want me to whisper in the baby monitor? Tell you that she's okay?"

"Nah. I got it," she replies, reaching out to ruffle his hair; he's too old – and cool for that now – but he lets her do it. And to be honest, it doesn't really bother him. Because it reminds him of her before all of this darkness had come into her life. It reminds him that she's fighting back and continues to fight back; that even being lost doesn't mean you are lost. "Sleep well, Kid."

"You, too, Mom."

*** ***

He stops in his mother's room, anyway – even if Emma doesn't want him to confirm her status.

He needs to see for himself.

And perhaps not have just memories of his mother all cracked out to send him off to sleep.

She's curled beneath the blankets when he enters (looking adorable and he almost laughs at that; he knows she sometimes sleeps sprawled out and he's happened by and seen Emma leaning against her, but he's never seen her all balled up like this). He steps closer to the bed and yep, sure enough he hears very soft (almost delicate) snoring coming from his mother.

Henry drops to a knee and looks at the wound just beneath her ear; the sparkling is less now, just a few speckles of glitter. That probably means that it really is working its way out of her.

"A few more hours until Christmas," he tells her softly. "You probably don't remember, but when I was seven years old, we were watching a movie on Christmas night and there were these scenes with so much family and I said that I thought that looked cool. You just nodded and I think now it was because you were worried that you would lose me. But Mom, we made it and tomorrow morning, we get to have that big family Christmas morning. And it's fantastic."

She lets out a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttering.

He waits, but that's all there is.

He wants to kiss on the forehead, but doesn't dare to wake her.

Just turns and leaves the room.

Because it's just a few hours until Christmas morning and he wants to be fully rested for all of it.

*** ***

She cleans up the dinner mess (giving Henry time to check in on Regina; she hears the beginning of what Henry is saying, but flips off the receiver, refusing to infringe on them) and then heads up the stairs, quietly entering the room she has so often shared with the Queen.

She kneels – just as Henry had – and leans in to check the wound, her palm sliding across Regina's brow. It's slightly warm, but not terribly so, and Regina's breathing is calm and steady – and also deep; it might take the sound of a crane destroying her room to wake her up.

Which means it's time to get the show on the road.

*** ***

Emma realizes rather quickly that the red, black and white Santa Claus coat is heavy and hot and so even if it's kind of icky, she makes the choice to wear just boxers and a white cotton bra beneath it; yes, it itches, and maybe it's a little bit strange (especially considering the jacket is closed up only by a half-cinched belt and she's showing a ton of leg), but the suit is hers now.

And it's after midnight and she's bent over the tree perfectly arranging gifts. By size and color (but not by name, she wants everything spread out between the gifts for Henry and Regina.)

There's nothing here for her yet, but that doesn't matter and never has; besides, she has everything that she wants. She's been out this for almost an hour now, and her back is starting to ache from having been bent over so long. But it's all worth it, Emma thinks, and continues.

"Do I even want to know what you're doing?" she hears suddenly (too suddenly and she jumps up a bit, causing her to lose her balance and end up splayed out in the most undignified pose).

Her head turning slightly, she says, "This is all just a delusion. You're still hallucinating."

"Am I?" Regina laughs, stepping down the stairs delicately. She's dressed in her gray terrycloth robe, the tie pulled tight around her. Her hair is wet, and that causes relief (and also some embarrassment) to wash over Emma as she realizes that this is much more her Regina now.

"Yes?"

"I feel pretty lucid," Regina insists. "Though I admit, I am a bit confused by what I'm seeing."

Emma groans. "You weren't supposed to be seeing this." Gingerly, she stands up, rubbing at her right side and trying not to think about the massive bruise that she is sure to find there later.

"Your lovely ass up in the air? My dear, I have seen that many –" she smirks. "Many times. Though, never before in that particular outfit." She steps forward again. "Care to explain?"

"Surprise?"

"Explain…more."

"I wanted to surprise you," Emma answers awkwardly, standing up and trying desperately not to think about the fact that she's wearing a massive red and white felt and fake fur Santa suit.

Or that it's itching the hell out of her at this point; she's regretting her lack of clothing now.

"With a Santa Claus outfit."

"You know what it is?"

"The curse put a lot of this world's culture in my head," Regina reminds her. "Some of it useful and some of it strange. Like big jolly men breaking into your house to leave presents."

Emma chuckles. "It's sweet."

"It's creepy."

"It's creepy," Emma agrees with a sigh and drooping shoulders. "And this was a terrible idea."

"Oh no, you doing this is far from a terrible idea," Regina corrects with a grin that still seems just a little bit loopy. "What was a terrible idea was attempting to force my way through last night which led to me allowing myself to be showered by your very very handsy mother."

"Ew." The mirth fades away, and then, "So we should talk about that. About you not telling me that you weren't feeling well. You think that I could handle something happening to you?"

"I think you have always been able to handle more than you give yourself credit for."

"Don't make light of this."

"You're right; I'm sorry. But I was never in danger, Emma. I swear to you that I wasn't; I know what you went through with Hook - I wouldn't do that to you." She reaches for Emma's hands. "I felt terrible and like I'd gotten myself accidentally stuck in Wonderland, but I was never in danger; I treated it and just needed to ride out the effects. I thought that I could handle it better than I did, but they were just a little bit stronger than I had anticipated."

"You said it was irrelevant if our kid had extras heads."

"Did I really?"

"Yeah, you really."

"Oops."

Emma frowns at the unusual flippancy she hears, her eyes flickering across Regina; she's a bit more loose-limbed than usual but her eyes seem steady and entirely aware. "Regina –"

"So, my dear Sheriff, I can see plenty of your legs." Her hand drops down and she lightly trails a nail up. "But tell me, what are you wearing under that coat?" she asks, reaching for the belt.

"Uh uh. You're still high, aren't you?"

"No." Off Emma's still worried look, Regina drops the belt and steps back, openly pouting as she elaborates. "All right, because you're clearly overly worried and…" she takes a brief moment to collect herself. "And I understand why: I have a rather nasty headache and I feel still a little bit like I'm fuzzy in the head, but to be entirely honest, it just feels like being hung-over. And this isn't nearly as bad as going drinking with Maleficent and those two worthless wanna-be bad hags. But I'm no longer seeing colors and there is only one of you. Which is more than enough."

"Is it?" Emma asks, trying not to let the question be as loaded as it is within her own head.

"Oh, yes," Regina replies, drawing closer once again. She runs her hand down the front of the suit. "Wherever did you get this from? In all my years here, I've never seen one in town."

"Michael Tillman has a whole attic full of strange stuff."

"Mm. And he let you have it? I was under the impression he still loathes me."

"He does. But he likes me."

"I can live with that," Regina says and then leans up and kisses Emma on the lips. It's from from gentle, instead passionate, and needy, a declaration of lust and of absolute desire. The kiss deepens and then a hand is sliding up the front of the coat, grabbing for the belt to loosen it.

"Wait, wait," Emma groans. "This wasn't the plan. And I'm still not satisfied that you're actually okay. You're still acting a bit weird and as much as I would love to do…anything with you…"

"How do I…satisfy you?" Regina asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

"By not saying things like that," Emma laughs, a hand lifting up to cradle Regina's cheek (she notices that the heat that had been radiating off her earlier is gone now). "You sound like me."

"I missed you," Regina tells her, arms sliding around Emma's waist. She leans in and nuzzles the blonde's neck, running her face past rough fake fur. "And I think I have some making up to do."

"No, you don't. You were sick because you were with me stopping bad guys. You don't owe me anything at all, but definitely not for that; I just wish you could have been with us tonight."

"So do I. Was it nice? Did David behave himself?"

"It was. It really was. Everything that I'd ever hoped for. Minus, you, of course."

"Well let's see if I can't make myself into a mutually beneficial addition," Regina replies and then she's surging forward for another kiss, her hands yanking at Emma's belt and with little effort, she's pulling the coat open. The moment it parts, she takes in the cotton bra and boxer shorts and laughs, her look quickly turning from amused to one that is downright predatory.

"Regina –"

"You know, there are many traditions in this world," Regina notes as she leans in and starts to press kisses on the skin just above Emma's breasts. She listens for the gasps, leaving her lips there longer each time she hears the blonde let out a little sound of whimpered satisfaction.

"Such as?" Emma manages.

"Yes. One in particular involves Christmas Eve. It stipulates that one is allowed to open up a single gift the night before. And well, I would like to do that now." Her hands drop down to the boxers and she starts to push them down. "And in return, you can open…yours as well."

"You sure you're up for this."

"The only concern I have at this moment is how to get you out of that bra without taking the coat off." She shrugs. "I suppose I could just use magic if you're amenable to it."

"You want me to leave the coat on?"

"Oh yes."

"Kinky."

"Stop talking, Swan. And let me open my present."

"Wait," Emma says and then she's twisting and moving and she's clearly a woman who has to had to change and alter clothing in many tight spots (Regina feels a flash of guilt at that, but it's quickly washed away by the flashes of skin that are revealed to her) because she has her bra in her hands just a few moments later and the hideous coat is still on her. "That work for you."

"You work for me," Regina answers and then she's reaching for her sash.

"No," Emma says, drawing a curious look from Regina. "My turn." She reaches out and pulls the sash free, her hands moving under the lapels of the robe as it separates. Gently, she parts it and watches as it floats away from Regina's slender toned body, leaving her completely naked. She licks her lips and says in an almost breathless tone, "We should really take this upstairs."

"Stop worrying so much. Henry was dead out, his feet sticking out the end of his bed. Which means that as long as we're quiet, we won't be interrupted. And I promise not to scream."

Emma snorts. "When you're fully back in your right mind and not just halfway there, you're going to whine so much about doing this…here." And then she's the one leaning forward and pulling Regina forward, a crushing frenzy of lips and tongues and nipping teeth. She continues on between kisses, "But that's for later and I really really like my Christmas present."

"So do I," Regina replies and then she's shoving Emma towards the ground and straddling her.

Which is only strange because usually that's Emma's move. Her eyebrow lifts. "Feeling feisty?"

"Mm, did I forget to mention that one of the side-effects of fairy dust poisoning –"

"I get it," Emma chuckles and then leans up and kisses her. "But if I am the Big…Guy...Gal…then I uh, should definitely be the one –" she shakes her head and laughs as she flips them both around, changing positions so that she's the one straddling Regina instead now. "Delivering presents."

"That's terrible," Regina says, reaching up and palming both of Emma's breasts greedily. Her hands are soft, though, and within seconds, the touch has gentled to a more exploratory one.

"It is," Emma agrees, leaning down and kissing her. "But you don't keep me around for my puns."

"No," Regina murmurs between kisses. "I keep you around because I love you."

Their eyes meet and Emma's ducking her head just a bit, but before she can, Regina catches her face, placing a hand on both of the blonde's cheeks, making sure that their eyes are meeting and that Emma hears her. "I love you, Emma? You are loved," she says softly.

"Regina –"

"You. Are. Loved." She punctuates every word with a soft kiss to Emma cheeks, then her nose.

"I want to make love to you not break down in tears," Emma whispers, gulping emotion back.

"Oh," Regina agrees, taking one of Emma's hands and bringing it down between her breasts and then down her belly and right to the edge of hip-bone. "I think that can be arranged."

"Good." Emma surges forward again, pushing Regina down, the fake fur and felt rubbing roughly against Regina's bare skin. "Promise me that you're not seeing five of everything in this room and I'll make you scream until you go so hoarse that you can't speak for a week."

"As lovely as that sounds, I thought we agreed no screaming?"

"Right. Henry."

"Henry," Regina confirms, a leg sweeping around Emma's waist and yanking her back down so that they're bodies are flush. Both hands go up to Emma's face and then she's pulling the blonde down in a sizzling kiss, deep and passionate and then sweet. "I only see you, Emma."

Emma's eyes close and she inhales the scent of her lover – the lavender of her shampoo and the slight sweat of the fever that is still just a little bit there - and then she's moving down Regina's body, kissing her way across warm soft skin. She stops at Regina's breasts and –

"Oh my fucking God." Unfortunately, it's not coming from either of them, Emma realizes.

"Tell me that's not –"

"It is," Emma sighs, dropping her head against Regina's chest, the rise and fall of it alluring.

"No! No, don't do that," Henry says. "Ugh. When you said you wanted to wear that suit to give Mom a present, I didn't think you meant like that." He grimaces. "And all over my presents."

"Henry," Regina starts. "What don't you give us a minute –"

"Lots of minutes. Mom, I can still see your leg and…do we have any whiskey?"

"No," both of them say at the same time, Regina opting not to remove her leg for fear that it will accidentally reveal even more to Henry that frankly no one wants him to see.

"Right. This is worse than whiskey. This is like…what made it better after a dementor attack?"

"Chocolate," Emma supplies. "Pantry. There's a whole new box of it in there."

"Yes. Good. I'll be eating chocolate in the kitchen. You two…get off my presents."

They hear his footsteps and then it's just the two of them.

"It was a thought," Regina murmurs as she unwinds her leg and then sits up, pulling Emma towards her so that the blonde is almost sitting her in her lap, the two so very close again.

"Yeah. But to be honest, I'd really rather do this when you're not just mostly you." Her fingers run over Regina's skin. "You're better, but no matter what you're trying to convince me of, I know you Regina; better than anyone. You're not feeling completely on your game and I don't want you 'playing' through a headache. I want you one hundred percent here with me."

Regina chuckles. "Mm. But the idea of you wearing that jacket –"

"Let's see if you still have that kink tomorrow," Emma laughs.

"I have many kinks for you and your hideous jackets," she informs the blonde. Off the raised eyebrow she gets in return for that, she laughs deep and throaty, and then leans in and kisses Emma again. When it's over and she's reluctantly pulling away from Emma and the warmth of her still half-naked body, Regina says, "I suppose we should dress and go comfort our son."

Emma snorts. "Lots of chocolate, Your Majesty," she replies, then slips backwards and stands up. She offers a hand down and when Regina takes it, she pulls her up and into her arms, arms wrapping around Regina. "I know I'm not always the easiest person to love, "Emma starts.

"You're the easiest person to love," Regina corrects, moving forward so their foreheads are touching (she ignores dizziness that passes over her). "But loving me isn't your problem."

"No," Emma agrees. "But I am trying."

"so are we both. The one thing both of us have always had in common is…that. And I hope you know you don't need to do anything other than be yourself with me, Emma. Strong, weak, I'll always be here with you and for you. I have seen both of those things in myself; I have seen both of those things in you and loved you through them." She moves hair away from Emma's face. "It's hard to believe, but what we have right now, it's the chance for real happiness. With each other, with our son and with this family. Yours. Mine. Ours. It's ours, Emma. And it's real."

Emma almost asks, almost asks if it's enough for Regina, if this is happiness, but then Henry is calling out for them to stop doing whatever they're doing and come make his eyes better (she's not entirely sure how they'll do that). So instead of asking, she steps back and picks up Regina's bathrobe. "It's Christmas morning," Emma says then, watching as Regina covers herself up.

"Yes, it is," Regina grins, and then steps forward, kissing Emma softly on the lips, her hands going down to cop a quick (and rather gratuitous) feel before she pulls the Santa coat closed.

"So I guess…Merry Christmas," Emma says once the kiss has ended.

"Merry Christmas, my dear Savior."

Another kiss, a reluctant pull-apart, and then hand-in-hand, they enter the kitchen.

To find Henry with an entire package of Hershey bars in front of them.

They laugh and then move to either side of him.

A kiss on each one of his cheeks.

And Merry Christmas from both of his mothers.

He's too old for this; too mature, but he doesn't stop them. Doesn't even think to.

Because this moment? This perfect moment when his two mothers are happy and content and everything is okay and right in the world, It's almost enough to help him forget what he'd seen.

Almost.

TBC…

Chapter Text

Emma doesn't wake up like most people tend to on Christmas morning; this is a woman who has had very few of these in her life, and so the day is largely just another one that exists on a calendar. One that she's often glanced at with a degree of unmistakable sadness (and yes, bitterness, too) but then pushed herself past. Because it hadn't ever mattered before – hadn't ever meant anything real.

This year, it does.

This year, she has a reason to wake up early and with energy and enthusiasm (of course, she was up terribly late with Henry and Regina laughing in the kitchen, but these are things she will never regret and even the fatigue yanking at her mind means nothing when she has the memories she now has – her arms wrapped loosely around a still slightly out of Regina's waist as the three of him had just…been there).

She rolls over slightly in the bed, and then almost laughs. Because Regina – her typically so tightly put together lover who somehow manages to look entirely stunning even when first waking up – looks like she's coming around and down from the bender of the century. Her dark hair is splayed out everywhere, her face jammed up and into the pillow and when she looks up, she seems confused and disorientated, her head likely pounding thanks to the lingering effects of pixie dust poisoning.

She lets out a soft whimper, and it's a sound that is hopelessly adorable.

Emma thinks that former Evil Queens shouldn't be capable of such things, but then, Regina has never been just that, anyway. Rolling slightly to her side, Emma reaches out for her and very gently pulls her lover closer to her, so that Regina is looking up at her and their eyes are meeting. Regina's are bleary and slightly blood-shot, but she's aware and doesn't seem like she's drugged out like she had been.

Fucking atomic pixie dust.

"Hey, good morning," Emma says, reaching up with her hand and then tracing her thumb down the length of Regina's jawline. Her fingers dip inwards and curl across the Queen's soft lips before softening into a cupped palm against her cheek.

"Is that what this is? Morning?"

"Christmas morning."

Regina smiles sleepily, a lazy smile perking up her lips. "I thought we already did that. Beneath the tree."

"We tried; we didn't get too far," Emma reminds her, leaning in and kissing her, her tongue lightly running over Regina's bottom lip (she can feel some unusual imperfections there, and thinks that Regina likely bit her lip a few times during her hallucinatory fit). "And we probably don't have time for it this morning, either. But tonight…"

"Promises, promises," Regina replies, a hand slipping down and against the cotton of Emma's red and black plaid pajama bottoms. A finger dips just below the band, and it takes everything Emma has not to go with this, but…but this is Christmas morning.

With Regina and Henry.

And with her mom and dad.

She has spent an entire lifetime wanting this.

Her hand catches Regina's, weaving their fingers together. "Tonight," she promises once again. "Tonight, I'm going to make you see entirely different things than the pixie dust did." She leans in and kisses Regina again, furiously passionate, which quickly becomes incredibly sweet. Deep desire and then honest need and want.

This is love and she's spent her entire life trying to understand it, grab it and hold it.

It always seems to run away from her, leave her, but this one…this one isn't.

This one – this woman – is fighting the same battle to hold on that she is.

She feels Regina's hands on her cheeks, nails lightly tapping at the skin, and then Regina is the one drawing her deeper into the kiss. Soft and tender and so not what anyone would expect from two women who had once been such bitter enemies.

But life is strange and they've been to Neverland, Camelot and the Underworld.

"Shall we do this?" Regina mumbles against her lips, her teeth nipping for a moment.

"Yes," Emma sighs. "But we probably shouldn't shower together."

Regina laughs – her eyes are still pinched, and the headache she has is still apparent, but she's smiling and she's happy and Emma thinks there's nothing more beautiful than that – and says, "Indeed; if we do, Henry might never get to open his presents."

Emma echoes the laughter with a chuckle of her own, and then – after one more kiss - reluctantly rises from the bed, allowing the warm blankets to fall away from her.

"One more thing," Regina says – her voice dangerously liquid in a way that tells the Sheriff that whatever Regina is about to say is not going to be at all proper - as she watches Emma start glancing around, looking for what she's going to wear. "Please do make sure that the coat makes an appearance today. I have my needs…as well."

"That can be arranged."

"Good," Regina drawls and then drops her head back to the pillow, her dark hair once again splaying in every direction as her eyes close against the lights of the room; Emma thinks she could stay and just watch this forever, and tomorrow…

And maybe tomorrow, she will.

Right now – today - it's time for the suit.

*** ***

Henry's making breakfast for his mothers when the two of them make their way down the stairs together; it's a strange sight for everyone involved because Emma is in jeans and a gray shirt, but she has the Santa coat over the top and neither of them had been expecting Henry to be already up and out of bed. And doing this for them.

"Morning," he grins. He regards the coat with a bit of disgust and a shake of his head (which Emma answers with a smirk and wiggling eyebrow; that gets her lightly slapped on the arm, but as far as admonishments from Regina go, it's unconvincing).

"What made you get up so early?" Regina asks, tucking an arm around him and then leaning up to try to kiss him on the top of the head; it barely works and he's grinning as she has to almost stretch over him. His eyes flicker over her and take in the wet hair and casual-neat outfit of beige slacks and a black rib-knit sweater she has on. She looks better, he thinks, not nearly as crazy in the head.

"You two had a long day yesterday," he answers once he's fully satisfied. "And I figured since you'll probably be cooking later, this could be my contribution."

"She's gonna say it," Emma teases.

"Say what?" he asks.

Regina glares at her and then says, "You being here is the contribution, sweetheart."

"Yep, she said it."

"Shut it, Swan."

Henry doesn't say a word, just watches; he's been worried about both of his mothers for so long – for Emma because every day has seemed like a struggle to believe in anything and for Regina because she tries so hard and still so often seems to lose. He'd never expected them to end up together (he really had thought that the grand love story would be Emma and Hook and Robin and Regina, and wasn't that what had been planned out? It's not like a lot of storybooks talk about the idea of a third chance at love…especially not when both of the people involved are women), but somehow or another, here they are. And they do make a weird kind of sense.

Even when Emma's wearing a ridiculous red Santa Claus coat.

"So," he says finally, interrupting their little teasing fit (and who would have ever thought that a day would come when he would see Emma almost tickling his mom?). "I was thinking as far as a plan for this morning, we'd eat breakfast and then open what we have here and –"

"Head over to my mom and dad's," Emma nods. To Regina, "You good with that?"

"Snow is going to annoy me about last night."

"You were higher than a kite. And I think you said some really odd things."

"You did," Henry tells her. Then, with a frown, "It's all better now?"

Regina puts her hand back, lightly touching the cut back there. She can feel a slight tingle, but it's mild and there are no more colors running through her vision. "Yes. Was I really that bad? I don't remember much of anything. Beyond the tree."

"Ew."

"No, you were fine…and kind of fun," Emma soothes. "Except when you said how many heads our kid had wasn't' entirely relevant. That did worry me a little bit."

"I have the worst feeling this conversation is about to go somewhere strange," Henry mutters, then turns and grabs a stack of plates. "I'll go set the table. Don't…do stuff."

"You'd almost think he's traumatized," Emma notes, watching him leave the room.

"He did see you on top of me."

"Yeah," Emma replies, then leans forward and kisses her; immediately, Regina's arms circle her, and there are times when she's still getting used to how light and easy-going Regina is when she's at home and safe…and happy. This isn't the Queen or the Mayor or the woman who has lost two other lovers (though at the same time, Emma knows that she's all of those things and those things have earned this); here, she's just Regina Mills, the woman who simply wants to be happy with her family.

It's something Emma understands entirely too well.

So much time wondering about being enough and hoping she's enough and then there's Regina nuzzling into her neck and being oddly turned on by the dumb coat.

Emma laughs suddenly.

"Something funny, dear?" Regina asks, looking up.

"I'm in a Santa Claus coat and we're making out."

"Ew," Henry says again, turning right back around with a handful of silverware.

"And that's funny…" Regina laughs then, too. "Okay, it's funny."

"Also, your hair is tickling me."

"Now you know how it feels," Regina drawls. "I wake up with a hairball almost every morning that you stay over." She steps closer. "Which I'd like you to do more often."

"Are you asking me to move in?"

"Only if you're ready for it," Regina replies softly. "And if you're not, then I'm just asking you to spend the night more often. Either way, I like having you around."

"You don't think I want to be here? With you?"

"I think you do, but something is still telling you that you shouldn't be."

"I'm afraid," Emma admits.

"Because –"

"Because I am happy. With you. And that's usually when things –"

"You and me, Emma, we're not like anyone else. Nor is our story." She reaches up and touches Emma's cheek. "I've spent a lot of my life believing I could never and would never be happy, but for the third time, I have found something showing me otherwise. I'm not sure that I deserve it, Emma; I probably don't, but I do know that I have no intention of ever being the one to walk away from you."

"Hey," Henry says as he steps back in. "And I know you guts don't want to discuss this in front of me, but since you're having the conversation anyway, and I'm here, just let me say what I want to say and then I really want to eat my bacon, okay?"

"Go on, Kid."

He looks over at Regina who also nods. "Okay, look; the last couple years have been crazy. For all of us. I mean I got kidnapped by Peter Pan. And got kissed." He grins at that and then shakes his head. "Point is, you two went through all of that together. You were…are my moms. And you're each others' backs. Even when you're pissed off at each other. Maybe you weren't meant to fall in love with each other, but you did. And maybe that whole thing everyone talks about all the time is just crap. Fate, I mean. Don't we make our own? And if we do, then isn't our story how it should be?"

Both of his mothers just stare at him.

He shifts.

"Right?"

"Our kid?" Emma says, looking over at Regina.

"He is her grandson."

"I've never heard her say the word 'crap'," Emma insists.

"Your mother has a potty mouth; she just pretends she doesn't."

"Just like you do," Emma reminds her.

"Guys? Me? Moms?"

They share a laugh between them, and then Regina turns, "You're right," she says. "I've spent a great deal of my life believing in the idea of being driven by fate."

"And I let myself believe the same thing. Fated to be the Savior."

"But sometimes, you have to just…choose to be happy," Regina finishes.

"Is that enough?" Emma asks.

Regina smiles slightly, her eyes crinkling a bit. "For me? Yes. Everything I said this morning to you was true. I love you. Whether I'm enough for you – whether this is enough for you to be happy, well, I think only you can answer that question, Emma." And then she's reaching out and squeezing Emma's hand before letting it go and moving over to where the table is and where the food is set up and waiting for them.

"I don't understand what just happened," Henry says, looking over at Emma.

"She gave me a choice," Emma tells him, sounding almost amazed.

"What choice?"

"What I want to do with my life. Where I want to be."

"And?"

"I know," Emma says and then she's moving past him as well.

Leaving him to wonder if both of his mothers are high on pixie dust.

*** ***

Breakfast is delicious; his mother has taught him well.

Opening the gifts is a revelation; there have been other Christmas mornings before this one, of course, but Henry thinks now that his mother had never really understood the event in any kind of real world way. It hadn't existed in the Enchanted Forest so he imagines that she was always just putting it together like how the curse told her to thanks to the information it gave her. Now, he can see the difference between what she had been trying to create for him and what is.

The creation had been perfect wrapping paper and everything on a wish-list.

The reality is a few wants and a few needs and one of his mothers dressed in a hideous red and white coat handing out packages while the other snaps pictures and laughs at Emma's playfulness, the whole time watching everything with wet eyes.

The reality is watching his mothers exchanging gifts (a soft light brown leather jacket for Emma, a beautiful bracelet with dark bold jewels in it for Regina) and him sitting there thinking that there are other gifts for each other that they will likely exchange away from him (hopefully not that kind of gift – he's hoping for really more of the emotional kind and now he's just a little bit traumatized again).

He believes that this is happiness, and there might be no better gift than this one.

He just hopes and even prays – as he watches the two of them lean into each other and share a light sweet kiss – that Emma makes the right choice.

*** ***

"Let me see," Snow says the moment they're in the door, and then she's reaching out and practically grabbing Regina's head (ignoring the threats and demands like this isn't the woman who had once viciously hunted her down) and bending it forward.

"I'm fine," she growls, trying to get away from Snow's probing fingers. The woman might be a teacher, but her bedside manner really does leave a lot to be desired.

"She's fine," Emma assures her mother as she hands over the leather jacket that Regina had given her (she'd considered wearing the Santa coat over, but well, she has plans for it for later). "It seems like it's completely out of her system now."

"Is it?" Snow demands. "Completely?" She waves her hand in front of Regina's eyes.

"Stop that," Regina says as she swats Snow away from her, finally succeeding. "And yes, mostly. Though I am planning on killing that Fairy Bitch tomorrow."

"That's just you being you," Snow assures her.

"Wait? Mostly? Still feeling the headache from earlier?" Emma prompts.

"Not as much. I've had a couple of dizzy spells," the Queen confesses. "But nothing serious. No colors." She offers Emma a warm smile. "I promise you; I'm fine."

"Good, then come help me with the soup," David calls out. "Taste is a bit off, and I need the advanced palette of a Queen." He says the last words with a rolling flourish.

"Your father calls," Regina says, and then she's moving away and joining David over by the stove, leaning over to look into the massive cauldron of Minestrone soup.

"So?" Snow asks, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "How did this morning go?"

"I'm gonna go play with Neal," Henry states, the reality of getting details hitting him; he'd already seen more than enough earlier that morning by the Christmas tree.

"It was nice," Emma replies. "Really nice. She gave me the jacket."

"So you got everything you wanted?"

"That's kind of a loaded question."

"Seems like a straight forward one to me," Snow counters, a hand on Emma's forearm. "You worry so much about whether or not you'll be enough for us, but all of us are wondering whether or not we're doing enough for you. I think it's probably something that we should have all figured out a very long time ago, but none of this works unless all of us are in this together. Unless we all want to be."

"I'm not going anywhere," Emma assures her.

"That's never been my worry, Emma. My worry is…whether you're happy. I'm your mother. I get to care about that. Is all of this enough to make you happy?"

"That seems to be the question of the day."

"And?"

"You think there will ever be a day when I'm not afraid I'll screw up again?"

"You think there's a day when she doesn't worry that she will? That we don't worry that we won't be there for you when you need us the most? Because there isn't."

"We're a mess," Emma chuckles.

"We are. But at least we're not dealing with pixie dust anymore," Snow drawls.

"Thank God.

They share a laugh, and then Snow says, "So…you still didn't answer the question."

"You know Minestrone is one of the things I'm really good at making?"

"Really?" Snow asks, confused by the change in subject but willing to go with it.

"Yeah." She leans forward and hugs her mother suddenly, squeezing her tight. And then she's moving away and crossing over to where Regina and David are bickering and she nudges her father out of the way. "I got this," she tells him with a grin.

"She's got this," David says looking at Regina. "Do what she says."

"Shut up, and go away, Charming."

"It's Christmas. You have to be nice. And remember, we helped you through…last night. You could have been wandering all over town singing Abba songs."

"Snow, are you trying to introduce him to this world's music again?"

"Red bought him an album for Christmas," Snow calls back.

"Fantastic. That's the –" She cuts off abruptly when she feels Emma's arms slide around her waist suddenly. "What's this?" she asks, forgetting about David.

"Helping you cook."

"That's what this is? Helping me cook?"

Emma leans forward and kisses the side of her neck. "No, it's me making a choice."

"Oh," Regina says quietly.

Regina drops a hand back, curls it into one of Emma's and squeezes. Moments like these ones always feel so surreal, but then there's reality of warm arms and all those around them. People who want nothing more for the two of them than happiness.

It's a blissful moment. A perfect moment and –

"That's not how cooking soup works!"

They look over to the couch, where Henry is sitting with his bemused grandparents.

Lord knows they're the last two who can ever say anything about public displays of affection. No, they're just grinning like two offensive punch-drunk happy idiots.

It's annoying.

And then Snow lifts her eyebrow at Regina like she knows what she's thinking.

That's annoying, too.

But strangely, she kind of likes it.

She kind of likes all of it.

*** ***

He yawns the moment they step back into the house, some time well after ten. His arms are full of bags full of gifts from his grandparents who don't understand the word reasonable, but Regina supposes that that's what loving grandparents do.

"I'm crashing," he announces. "You two kids, stay away from the tree." They both laugh and then move in to hug him and he makes a noise of protest – because he is a growing boy – before he accepts it and hugs them both back. "Today was perfect."

"Yes, it was," Regina agrees. "Sleep well, my little prince."

"Night, Mom. Ma." A kiss to each of their cheeks and he's up the stairs, two at a time.

Leaving them alone.

"So," Emma says immediately. "What should we do now?"

"I assume you have something you'd like to suggest?"

"You did tell me to hold onto the coat."

Regina laughs. Loud and deep. "That I did. But perhaps we do this upstairs."

"I'm good with that," Emma replies before moving in to kiss her again.

"Emma, wait –"

The blonde pulls back, her brow wrinkling. "What's wrong? Are you…is it the –"

"I'm fine. I just…wanted to be clear about what happened earlier. Did you –"

Emma nods. "You wanted an answer."

"It wasn't an ultimatum, Emma. I hope you didn't –"

"It wasn't one from you, but it was one for me. I've spent so much time thinking about the past and what I've lost and what I've done and what I'm afraid of. I'm still afraid of losing what matters to me. You, my parents, the kid. I think I always will be, but, I want this, Regina. I want all of this. I want you." She laughs to herself. "My whole life, I've wanted someone to want me and…love seems easy when they do."

"Love is never easy."

"No," Emma agrees. "But it is worth it, right?"

"I have to believe so."

"I do believe so," Emma insists. "It's taken me awhile, but I do. You and me, we've been connected since the day we met here. Weird path getting to this point, but this is where I want to be. If you still want me here… if the invitation to move in is still out there…then yeah, this is enough." She laughs at that. "More than enough."

And then she's leaning in and kissing Regina hard on the mouth, punctuating her words with as much passion as she can manage. When they finally break apart, both of them just a little bit dazed from the emotion of it all, Regina murmurs, "If you're waiting for an answer to the question of if I still want you here, go put on the coat."

"What are you going to be doing while I'm doing that?"

"Closing up the house. And then I'll be up to answer your question in full."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. And Emma? Just the coat. Nothing else."

Emma snorts at that, and then acquiesces with a nod before heading up the stairs.

Watched the entire time by the woman who had once been the worst of villains.

Who looks around herself, amazed at all that she has – not the golds and silvers and jewels of a queen, but the warmth and love of a family – and finds herself unable to stop smiling. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, she turns the lights off.

-Fin