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Chapter Text

 The car stops far outside of town; close enough to still make out the city lights in the rearview mirror, but far enough that one can see the stars clearly. The sky is cloudless, giving way to the brilliant cosmic display above. It's perfect for what the man has planned.

 He's pulled over to the side of the road, just before a dusty four-way intersection. He checks the bag in his passenger seat for the fifth time. He knows what he'll find, though. Graveyard dirt, cat bones, and a number of other unpleasant things. He grabs the garden trowel from the backseat along with his supplies and gets out of the car.

He has to do it tonight. With the exception of the contents of his bag, the proper time and setting is needed for this to work. He rolls the trowel in his hands nervously, palms sweaty. He paces out the area, finally deciding on where the center is. As he digs, he knows he won't get another chance. Tonight is the new moon and odds are good he won't live to see the next one if this doesn't pan out. When he thinks he's dug deep enough, he spares a quick glance around him, suddenly feeling paranoid. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he places the bag in the hole and begins to bury it. By the time he's done, his skin is clammy and his hands are shaking. He stands and waits.

 There isn't a sound beyond the occasional brush of a light wind against his clothes and the gravel under his feet as he turns slowly. There's nothing but his car and a battered road sign for miles. He can feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. Why didn't it work? Did he miss something? Wasn't this the intersection that withered crone told him about? He stares down the road leading north, farther away from the town. There's nothing. Nothing is coming. The realization is almost too much, but that's okay. Part of him expected this to fall apart. There's a bottle of whiskey sitting in his glove compartment just for the occasion. Maybe if he drinks himself into a stupor, he'll wake up hungover and everything will have worked itself out. Yeah, right. Dejected, he turns back to his car only to jump back, clutching his suddenly rapidly beating heart.

 A woman stands between him and his car.

 She isn't the cloven foot monstrosity or the sinfully beautiful temptress he had been simultaneously expecting. She's cute, with a pert nose, rounded jaw, and lovely brown eyes. She's petite, but there's something in her stare. Something that makes it very obvious that this isn't some poor girl lost on the outskirts of town. The lump is back in his throat, and it takes a couple of tries before he can gather himself enough to speak.

 “I-I owe some people a lot of money. This lady in town. She said there was some... someone who could help me. Are you her?” he asks. The woman smiles and raises an eyebrow.

 “Am I who?” Her tone is almost teasing. The man shifts uneasily.

 “Queen of the Crossroads. Are you her?”

 And in a blink, her brown eyes are replaced with starlight.

 -

 She has nothing against daylight. Man's earth is a thing of beauty, even something like her can see that. But nothing she's seen can compare to an unobstructed night's sky. She's bound to this plane, though, so all she can do is look, never touch. The heavens aren't meant for creatures such as her, after all. That's fine. She's in the business of “granting wishes.” Sometimes it's grounding to know even she has her limits. But she'll definitely take the view when she can get it. It's why she waits for nighttime calls and delegates the morning summons to lower level grunts. Humanity is a needy, greedy thing, so she's never without a client.

 “Money. If I had a glass of wine every time I heard that one, I'd be lit 'til Judgment Day.” She saunters closer with confident steps that make the man step back in response. “But hey, if that's worth your eternal soul, who am I to say no? I'll gladly be your infernal ATM, but I hope you like pushing stones,” she says, smirking and arms stretched out. The man stares at her with confusion. She drops her arms in a huff. “Really? The Divine Comedy? Dante Alighieri? Any of this ringing a bell?” The man remains silent, but no less baffled. “Oh for the love of- Nevermind! How much are we talking here?”

 “I owe over a hundred grand,” the man says cautiously. The woman whistles low and puts her hands on her hips.

 “That's one hell of a bar tab. But that's not what I meant. I don't care how much you owe. How much do you want?” she asks, a hint of impatient in her tone.

 “I... want a hundred grand?” the man says, further confused. The woman looks heavenward, takes a deep breath, and makes a face.

 “Robert Leonard Wells," and the man is startled by hearing his name come from the lips of a stranger- "you have one soul. One. Do you really want to get the bare minimum for something like that?”

 “You- you mean I can have more?”

 “... I'm starting to see how you got into debt in the first place. You're not working with a full deck, are you?” She doesn't wait for him to get offended. “How about this? Do you want just what you owe or would you like to be so rich, a hundred thousand dollars is just a drop in the bucket?”

 The man takes a moment, but slowly he smiles. Hook, line, sinker.

 One soul-exchanging kiss later, the deal is done and the man drives off happily in his car, marveling how his luck has finally changed for the better. Or so he thinks. The woman watches him drive off, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Some days it wasn't worth going top side. She looks up.

 No. No, it's always worth it. She sits in the center of the dirt intersection and stares at the stars. She can feel the pull of other summons, but she just wants a moment. She glances back toward the southern road. The lights of the town seem like a line of lighthouses at the center of the woods surrounding it. It's been a while since she's actually gone into a city. Her prey is always willing to come to her. She ignores the calls she feels from around the world. The grunts can handle it for a night.

 With that thought in mind, she stands and brushes the dirt away from her dress. It's been far too long since she's properly hunted and Beacon Hills is such a lovely name for the place.

 -

It's also been too long since she's actually had a glass of wine. Or tasted human food. Or allowed herself to blend in. There's a family owned Italian restaurant on Main Street and, hey, she loves a good cannoli as much as the next abomination unto God. The host asks if she's waiting for her date and she informs him she's alone for the evening. He glances confusedly at her black dress before shrugging and showing her to a table nonetheless. She can sense it in him, like she can sense it in the other patrons of the restaurant. The longing for something he can't have. It's not the touch of a woman or money. After a bit of focus, she is filled with the knowledge of many nights spent pouring over travel guides and brochures. He's the second generation having been born here, his grandparents originally from Palermo. He's never left the state of California. Boring and by no means the most original wish she's ever gleaned, but it's certainly refreshing. Sex, money, revenge. She's not the gambling type, but it's generally a safe bet that her clients are after one of the three when they turn to her.

 She orders strawberries in red wine with extra sugar and a glass of something native to the region. Her waitress (a thin thing who wishes to be thinner) hesitantly takes her menu.

 “Would you like an entrée?” she asks.

 “I would like a fresh loaf a bread while I wait. Oh! And oil. These places still do that, right? With little bits of dried garlic?” the woman says in a rush, leveling the girl with a stare. The waitress nods, mumbles under her breath, and rushes to comply with the odd order.

 She's half way through the loaf and her first glass when the arguing starts.

 Two men are standing next to a table with a girl who looks like she's trying her best to stop crying. The men are in each other's faces, voices quickly rising.

 “You think she's here because she loves you? She doesn't even like you, dumbass! She never did!”

 “I don't see her having dinner with you, asshole.”

 “That's because I don't have my nose so far up her father's ass-”

 And then punches are being thrown. An elderly lady screams. Tables are knocked into disarray and dishes are breaking. Sighing, the woman calmly picks up her glass and her plate of strawberries and stands just in time before one man slams the other onto her table. She takes a slow, loud sip from her glass and raises her plate in praise when the man on the table manages to kick the other in the gut. The host and a busboy are trying to pull the men apart but the busboy gets an elbow in his eye for his efforts. Eyes still on the fight in front of her, the woman chases a strawberry with her mouth. How fortuitous was this? Dinner and a show.

 Then she can hear the sirens of a police car in the distance heading toward the restaurant and knows the fun was about to end. She downs the rest of her wine and holds the glass out to the frightened waitress nearest to her.

 “Can I get a refill?”

 -

 Two police cars are parked outside. Customers who witnessed the altercation are asked to stay in order to give statements about what took place. She could easily slip away, but she's already marked two of the staff for possible deals. She might as well stick around. She's busy tracking the host, wondering if she should start with him, when one of the deputies steps up to her.

 “Excuse me, Miss?”

 He's a young but serious looking man. He has a pad in one hand and a pen in the other and he gestures to the center of the trashed tables.

 “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about what happened here tonight?”

 She finds she likes his voice. She likes it enough to allow him his silly questions.

 “Of course,” she says in her most sincere tone. He gives her a small smile and looks back to his pad.

 “Could I get your name?” he asks first. She blinks at him for a moment. When she stays quiet for too long, the man looks back up. “Miss? Your name?” he tries again. She opens her mouth a couple of times, stammering. She's actually stammering.

 “No one actually calls me anything but-” she stops herself. What. The officer's brow creases. “That is- uh, I mean. Regina. Is my name. My name is Regina,” she makes up on the spot. The officer smiles, obviously amused.

 “And does Regina have a last name?”

 “Last name. Right!” She glances at the name plate on his uniform. J. Stilinski. “Kowalska. Regina Kowalska. Yes.”

 The deputy laughs gently and there was once a time where she would have castrated any man who dared laugh at her. Instead, she feels herself giving him an embarrassed smile against her will. What.

 “Would that be Mrs. Kowalska?” he asks lightly. She does this exaggerated frown which she imagines is just oh-so attractive and shakes her head.

 “Ah, no. Nope. Miss is, uh, miss is fine.”

 “Okay, Miss Kowalska, can you tell me what you heard before the fighting started?” Officer Stilinski asks. She can actually see the moment his cop face came back out. She pulls her reach from the restaurant host in order to focus it on the interesting man in front of her. She can sense a longing somewhere within him, but it's either buried or minute, but she's going with buried because it's not like he's a Tibetan monk or anything.

 “I just heard them start shouting. I think they might have had their hearts set on the same girl,” she explains, trying to sound sympathetic.

 “Would you happened to have seen who threw the first punch?” he asks. She bites her lip and shrugs, looking as sorry as she can.

 “No, sorry.” She sharpens her focus. She really must be out of practice because the longing she finds in him is indistinct. There is very little wishful thinking in this man and what is there is nothing he'd be willing to sell his soul for.

 She's intrigued.

 “Just one more question,” he says as he finishes scribbling in his pad. She tilts her, arms coming up to wrap around herself- the picture of innocence. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

 What.

 -

 She ends up... “convincing” the landlord of a nearby apartment building to let her have one of the units. It has no furniture. She doesn't need furniture, just a place for the deputy to pick her up from after his shift ends sometime in the early morning. She walks the length of the wall and stands in front of the window. Turning the latch, she slides it open and crawls out onto the fire escape. There's too much light pollution within the town to see the stars properly, but they're still beautiful. She'll wait out here for him for a few hours. And she'll go just to get a better read on him. She's convinced her time with easy prey has simply left her with dull senses. Everyone wants something. Everyone has a price.

 And after that she'll leave. She's a busy harbinger of hellfire with things to do and people to damn.

 And that's how she spends the evening. Sitting on the rails of her fire escape, picking out constellations, and gently swinging her feet. She's so preoccupied with recounting the ancient stories of centaurs and giant scorpions that she doesn't quite realize she's being called to from down below.

 “Miss Kowalska? Miss Kowalska! … Regina!”

 The fake name suddenly registers and she's actually so startled that she loses her balance for a moment. It's enough that she slips from the railing, but she catches herself easily. Officer Stilinski seems to think she's in some sort of danger nonetheless.

 “Oh, crap! Hold on! Don't move!” he shouts, immediately jumping for the ladder of the fire escape. She debates whether or not to reassure him she's fine, but he's already half way up to her. She rests on the railing with her arms and watches him sprint up, a smile slowly tugging at her lips. He comes to a halt on a level below her when he sees her gazing down at him, perfectly calm.

 “Wow. Impressive response time there, officer,” she says, teasing. He has the decency to look sufficiently embarrassed.

 “Can, uh. Can you come over on this side, please? You're making me nervous.”

 “Afraid of heights?”

 “Afraid of those heels. I have no idea how you're balancing like that.”

 She laughs and swings herself over. She keeps him from coming any further up. The window is open, and it's obvious to anyone who looks in that the apartment is empty. She doesn't need her illusion crumbling so soon.

 “It's pretty late, or early, depending on how you look at it,” she says softly, an imitation of being coy. “Are you sure coffee is such a good idea?” She pulls her dark hair over her shoulder and watches him follow the motion with his eyes. First thing's first. She likes to start from the beginning of the list and work her way down. Sex, money, revenge. He's blushing nearly to his hairline, so the desire is definitely there, but she can't sense desperation. He's a handsome enough man that he'd have no trouble finding company for the evening if he wanted and he doesn't seem to be harboring any long withstanding infatuations. Because of this, she's not surprised when he rubs the back of his neck and coughs a little.

 “I think coffee is a good place to start,” he says.

 Huh.

 -

 And so that's it. That's how she finds herself in a 24 hour diner with Officer Stilinski (“John, please, call me John-”) drinking what has to be the most mediocre cup of coffee she's ever tasted. That's how she finds herself seated in a bright red booth across from a human she met just a few hours ago, trading little bits of information-

 (“Don't think I've seen you around before. Are you from Beacon Hills?”

 “No. I'm here... on extended business.”

 “Oh? What do you do?”

“I'm in sales.”)

 -and becoming more and more consumed with the man before her. She's left sex behind and moved on to money. Money, she argues to anyone who asks, also includes fame and power to a certain extent. She focuses on that-

 (“So, a policeman, huh? Never wanted to be CEO of a big, enterprising business?”

 “Uh, no. No, I think I've always wanted to go into law enforcement.”

 “But isn't it a bit... thankless? Wouldn't you rather be known or remembered for something?”

 “I'd settle for being sheriff one day.”)

 -but while the man isn't lacking in ambition, it's nothing that isn't within his reach.

 (“But you probably make a lot of enemies, right? Isn't it dangerous, what with all the bad guys you help put away?”

 "This isn't exactly New York City or Detroit.”

 “What, you don't get Christmas cards from prison with threats written in blood every year?”

 “Heh. No, can't say that I do.”)

 -and bust goes revenge.

 They've only been in the diner for about an hour and she beginning to feel like she's found the one human outside of religious ascetics who actually has no all-consuming desire for anything beyond his capabilities. And because of this she can't help but stare. Maybe a little too much because John shifts in his seat. The conversation is tapering off. John has just gotten off a late shift, and it shows. He's tired despite the caffeine. Any minute, he's going to drive her back to her empty apartment and she might never get a chance to unravel the mystery of a man before her.

 To hell with that.

 “I like you, John,” she says suddenly. His head jerks up and he's blushing again. Hook. “I have the night off tomorrow and I haven't really been here long. What's there to do in this town?”

 “Uh, well. There's a drive-in movie playing tomorrow at an empty lot downtown. Casablanca.” Line.

 “Is it any good?” she asks.

 “You've never seen Casablanca?” he asks, unbelieving.

 “No. Have you ever read the Psychomachia?” she counters.

 “Uh, no. But I see what you mean... I think.”

 “Does it have a happy ending?”

 “Not really?”

 “Sounds like my kind of movie.”

 -

 So she spends the beginning of the day making up for the calls she ignored. She sticks to the United States for the most part. She hasn't enjoyed a region this much since... she can't exactly remember when. A melting pot, they call it. Well, it certainly contains a diversity of temptations. Of greed and want. She's the most efficient she's ever been here.

 But she's missed the challenge.

 She admits she's excited. She's lazed about the centers of crossroads for years, and the idea of actively stalking has her feeling a bit jittery. Plus, it'll be nice to see a good movie. The last movie she saw was the original Cecil B. Demille's Ten Commandments, and she spent the entire time laughing into her ridiculous feathered boa. The Jell-O trick just about had her rolling down the aisle.

 She runs into a colleague of hers on the back roads of Iowa. Well, a closer colleague than most others. They were born from the same insidious cesspool of darkness and chaos. At any rate, he has been going by the name Gregory for last few decades on the grounds that it “carries a delicious amount of irony” and he has a flair for the poetic. They stop at a bar to catch up as he's been wandering around France for neither of them remembers how long.

 “Heard from Amy that you when AWOL yesterday,” he says, sipping his martini. She snorts rather unlady-like into her vodka tonic.

 “Amy should have had her teeth ripped out during the Spanish Inquisition.”

 "You know,” Gregory drawls, “I'm pretty sure she did.” They both chuckle, fondly reminiscing of darker times.

 “I just took the night off. It's not a big deal,” she asserts.

 “You haven't taken a night off since you hopped on the ship over here. Your lackeys were close to panicking,” he informs her. She lets out a frustrated sigh and drops her head onto the counter.

 “I swear, Greg, the grunts can't do anything without someone holding their hands.” She takes a large gulp of her drink. “They're good for nothing more than being a general nuisance.” They settle into a companionable silence for a few minutes before Gregory “assures” the bartender that he doesn't want to have them pay the tab.

 “So you'll be back in the field tonight then, yeah?” he asks, polishing off his drink. She shifts in her seat.

 “Uh, well, yeah. No, yeah, it'll just be a little later than usual. I've got something I'm doing in a few hours,” she says evasively. He doesn't let it go though, merely stares her down. “I, uh. I sort of have a date.”

 “A date.”

 “That's what I said.”

 She pushes out her stool and heads to the exit. He follows her.

 “Wait, like a dinner date?” he asks, incredulous. She stops in the parking lot and shrugs as she turns back to him.

 “No, a Medjool date fruit. Yes, like a dinner date, asshole. Only,” she starts, shrugging again, “it's more like a movie date.” Gregory looks at her as if she's lost her mind.

 “A movie date.”

 “Are you just gonna stand there and repeat me? Because it's starting to get on my nerves.”

 “A dinner date with who?” he asks. When she doesn't answer right away, he guesses. “A human? You have a date with a human?” She again doesn't answer, just waves at him and walks away.

 -

 It's coming on 8:30 and she's standing in the middle of her empty apartment in a new dress. Blue isn't a color she has any particular fondness for, but it's the color of John's eyes and she likes those well enough. She senses him coming down the hall and walks out of her apartment before he can knock on the door, shutting it quickly behind her. It startles John enough that he makes an aborted movement to hide the bouquet of purple flowers behind his back. Her hand is out in a flash, grabbing hold of his and pulling the flowers in between them. She bites her lip at the sheer wholesomeness of it all. John is bright red as she slowly unwraps his hand from the stem of the bouquet.

 “Chinese bellfowers?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

 “Is that what they are?” he asks. He rubs the back of his neck again. A nervous gesture. An endearing one.

 Finding his breaking point is going to entertaining to say the least.

 “You, uh. You want to go inside and get a vase for those?”

 “No!” she says quickly. “Uh. No. I want to take them with me. You bought them for me and I want to show them off.” She smiles up at him, fluttering her eyes in a comically exaggerated fashion. He laughs gently at her, raising his hand to the flowers. He pulls one free and breaks off a portion of the stem. Slowly, he brings his hand to her hair, brushing a lock back and placing the flower above her ear.

 “Wouldn't this be easier?” he asks. She stares at him, possibly bug-eyed, with her mouth trying to form words.

 “Both,” she finally says. “I'll do both. Now come on, handsome. We have a movie to catch.” She doesn't give him the option of saying anything else on the matter as she links her arm through his and pulls him to the stairwell.

 -

 There are more cars at the drive-in than she was expecting to see. That's fine, she thinks. This is purely a reconnaissance mission anyway. She'll have at least an hour and a half of close proximity to feel him out. He has to have some deep desire for something. She'll just have to sift through the fleeting fancies to get down to the things that keep him up at night. This is gonna be good, she thinks as she wiggles down further into the passenger seat. This'll be one of the more rewarding contracts she's made in centuries. All she has to do is focus.

 And about ten minutes into the movie, that's shot to hell.

 She has her chin pillowed in her arms on the dashboard and her eyes glued to the screen. “As Time Goes By” is drifting through the speakers of the lot and the bar owner is getting upset. And then he sees her across from the piano.

 She's completely drawn in.

“Of all the gin joins in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

 -

 The movie is ending and it's bittersweet. She doesn't know how to feel. She finally leans back into her seat as the credits roll and cars begin to leave. She blinks as she looks around her, surprised by how quickly the time passed. Her eyes rest on John who is looking at her with a small grin and something in his eyes.

 “Oh my god,” she says, stunned. “Did I just-” She stops and shakes her head. “Did I seriously just ignore you during the whole movie?” She had one damn job to do. One. John somehow finds this amusing because he laughs.

 "It's fine,” he says. “I'm glad you liked it so much.” Oh. Right. She was also being a bad date.

 “Oh come on, call me out. I was being rude,” she says as sweetly as she can. John shakes his head.

 “Don't worry about it. I, uh. I liked watching you like the movie,” he says, turning the key and starting the car.

 He takes her back to the apartment complex and they sit in the car for a lingering moment. She can't believe herself. She honestly can't believe she didn't get a single thing done tonight. What a waste. What a complete and utter-

 She grips the stem of her bouquet and, remembering the flowers, look down at them. She runs her hands along purple star-shaped petals and can't help but think how beautiful they would look in her night sky. She can't stop a small smile as she gently brushes the one in her hair. She can't keep herself from looking at the man next to her. She can't-

 She can't stop from leaning over to kiss him.

 She has kissed thousands of humans, perhaps even an innumerable amount. It's a moment that some find sensual and most find deeply unsettling. But she can't feel that here. As she presses her lips to John's, there is no urgency. There's no instinct-deep fear in him or the lightning heat of a contract branding itself on his soul. She isn't flooded with an all-encompassing yearning or motive. Her head is so clear of anything but the feel of him that by not being overwhelmed she invariably is. They pull away from each other and John is giving her a shy smile and she wants to grab him by the ears and tell him he doesn't understand what just happened. He has no idea.

 Goddamn, she wants his soul.

 Which means she's also gonna need a second date.

 “I had fun tonight,” she tells him. “Will you be off again anytime soon?”

 “Yeah, yeah-” He rubs the back of his neck. “I have next Friday off. Would, uh, would you like to go see another movie? In a theater this time?” She nods and leans over to kiss his cheek, just to feel his calm again. She opens the car door and steps out. John makes a move to open his door, possibly to walk her up to her apartment, but she stops him.

 “It's getting late, Officer,” she purrs through the passenger window. “All good deputies need their sleep.” And as his faces turns a charming red, she waves at him and head toward the building.

 “Goodnight, Regina!” he calls out to her.

 She's liking the sound of that more and more.

 It only hits her when she closes the door that she just agreed to be around for a few more days. Without the slightest thought to the summons that have been tugging at the back of her mind, she's just agreed to stay. She bangs her head back against the door and tries to reassess. Okay. Okay. No big deal. This could be, like, an extended vacation. Gregory wasn't exaggerating when he said she hadn't taken time off in a few centuries. She can relax and enjoy the hunt for a few days. Yeah! And then when she gets back to work, she'll be at 110 percent. Yeah! Now, she thinks as she looks around.

 Now she just needs couch or something.

 -

 “I'm confused,” Gregory says as he stands in front of a living room display. She ignores him in favor of comparing curtain patterns.

 “I'm thinking something in a blue or a purple. Maybe white?”

 “Why do you need an apartment?” he asks.

 “Do you think I should get a rug to go under the coffee table?”

 “Why do you need an apartment with a coffee table?”

 “Oh! Look! They have throw pillows with “Starry Night” on them! Check this out!” She grabs up one of the pillows and tests its softness. Gregory walks up behind her, completely baffled.

 “That's kind of tacky, isn't it?” he can't help but interject. She turns to glare at him.

 “Yeah, well, so's your face.” She wraps the pillow in her arms and huffs as she walks deeper into the department of displays. He throws his hands up and follows her, navigating through the maze of beds and dressers.

 “Will you please explain this to me?”

 “Explain what?” She's holding the throw pillow against various bedspreads. Gregory throw his arms wide.

 “All of this? Any of this. Just... just anything at this point. What. Are. You doing?”

 “I'm taking a break. Now help me decide what kind of frames I want. I want them to be cohesive, you know? There's nothing tackier than mismatching picture frames.”

 “Are you listening to yourself? You don't have any pictures!” He grabs the throw pillow and holds it out of her reach, one arm blocking her attempts to reclaim it. “No. You don't get it back until you tell me what's got you going native.”

 “You heard me! I'm taking a break.”

 “And?” he presses.

 “And... and I have a target, okay? So chill out, for god's sake.” she says, avoiding his glare. His eyes narrow skeptically. “What? I do!”

 “So then make the deal and stop being weird,” he says, handing the stupid pillow back to her. She clutches it to her chest and shakes her head.

 "It's not that easy, Greg.”

 “Why?”

 “Because he-!” She stops to find her words. “There's nothing obvious, okay? Usually I can pin down a person's wish like that-” she snaps her fingers, “-but with him... with him I can't.”

 “Everyone wants something,” Gregory says.

 “And he does! But it's nothing... it's always small stuff. A good parking spot, a decent cup of coffee. Extra bacon on his hamburger or to sleep more than four hours. He's ambitious, but it's for something he knows he can get himself. I have yet to actually find something he'd be willing to sell his soul for. He barely spends any time dwelling on anything he knows he can't have. Without an obsession, you don't have a proper wish,” she explains.

 “Then drop it and move on,” Gregory says, as if it's simple. She shakes her head.

 “I can't. Look, I'm sure there's something. I just need time to draw it out, okay. Plus, he bought me flowers. I'm pretty sure I'm bound by human social convention to at least give him another date,” she says, picking up a set of striped sheets. Gregory makes a face.

 “He bought you flowers?”

 -

 Friday rolls around and finds her arm in arm with John in line for the movie. They haven't decided what to see yet, but John's been scanning the posters and offering up suggestions. Nothing really seems to catch her attention, which is good she thinks. She'll be able to focus this time. This time she won't let herself get pulled in. She'll let her reach encompass him while he's distracted by the film and then she can work on getting a deal made. Simple. Super simple. Child's play, as it were. Speaking of which, there's a young man with two children in front of them. The girl is probably about seven and the boy about four or five. Both are tugging on the young man's arms and his head is tipped back, as if asking what he did to deserve this sort of torture.

 “Nightmare Before Christmas, Uncle Peter!” the girl pleads, tugging one way. The boy pulls in the opposite direction.

 “No! I don't wanna see a movie!”

 “We're already here! Nightmare Before Christmas!”

 “No! It's my turn, Laura! You got to pick what we did last week!”

 “Just kill me,” the young man named Peter says into the air dramatically. “Just drop the marquee on my face.”

She bites back a somewhat sadistic laugh as she watches the spectacle in front of them. John, too, watches with a certain amount of amusement. His expression turns to a wince as the boy starts to sniffle in preparation for one hell of a crying fit. The uncle seems flustered as he kneels down.

 “Derek, no, come on. None of that. Please? What's your mom gonna say when I tell her you caused a scene?” he tries. The boy, Derek, stops his sniffling only to give his uncle a wide-eyed look of fear only a scolded child can give. Then the crying comes full force. Peter looks like he's about to cry as well. This was honestly too pathetic to watch for much longer.

 “Excuse me?” she interjects, stepping forward and kneeling next to the boy and his uncle. Derek blinks the tears from his eyes and brings a hand up to his mouth. “Why don't you want to see the movie, kiddo?” she asks. He edges closer to his uncle, having been confronted with a stranger, but she smiles as softly as she can.

 “... It's a scary movie,” his says around a knuckle. The girl, Laura, rolls her eyes.

 “No it's not, Derek!” she yells at him. Derek pouts and bares his teeth at her. Odd. She begins to feel it. The pull of something... other about the group. She's intrigued.

 “Yes it is! I don't like scary movies! I wanna go home!”

 “What if I hold your hand? Will you go see the movie with me? I wouldn't mind having two dates,” she says, looking back to John and winking. The boy blushes and pushes closer to his uncle.

 “I'm so sorry about this,” Peter says to her. “You really don't have to.” He goes to pick Derek up, but the boy reaches out and grabs her hand.

 “I'll go!” he shouts, gripping her fingers tightly in his little hand. A bit too tightly for someone his age.

 Oh, she thinks. Oh.

 Werewolves? Really?

 “My name's Derek. What's yours?” the young wolf asks. She looks back to John, who thankfully still looks amused.

 “My name's Regina. Nice to meet you, Derek.”

 -

 Well, Laura lied to a certain extent. She can see how a movie like this could be scary to a small child. John is to her left, Derek to her right, with Laura and Peter to the right of him. Peter had thanked her up and down the aisles as they took their seats. Derek periodically squeezes her hand or buries his head in her arm. Laura seems pleased as punch as she bounces in her seat in time to the songs. All of them are werewolves. And now that she stretches her reach outside of the theater and into the town, she can sense a couple others. But between them is more convoluted connection that tells her there are even more. It's a decent sized pack. She spends the rest of the movie trying to locate the others. They're farther out, near the woods almost at the edge of the town. It's an old connection, one that's indicative a well established territory.

 She rarely makes deals with shape-shifters. The soul of a shape-shifter is something too earthy for her tastes. They're bound to this plane, same as her. But humans. Humans taste of stellar potential, of something that she'll never have otherwise. So her interest in the wolves has nothing to do with work, no. She has always been fascinated with how well some packs can integrate into human society. These three seem quite comfortable out in public, though she feels the young man Peter should keep an eye on the boy Derek. During a couple of scarier scenes in the movie she could feel the prick of claws against her skin. Every time it happened, the boy would look up at her, to see if she noticed. She would keep her eyes trained on the screen until he looked away. Her other hand is in John's, and with every swipe of his thumb over hers, she knows she won't be able to get a lock on him this time around. Another opportunity derailed. She tries to look on the bright side; at least now she's aware that the town has a local pack.

 The movie ends and they file out of the theater. Laura is jumping up and down in front of her uncle, talking excitedly about the movie. Peter rubs a hand over his face and asks her if they could please, for the love of god, go home. Derek still holds her hand. She kneels down so that she's eye level with him and smiles.

 “That wasn't so bad, was it?” she asks. Derek shakes his head shyly. She lets go of his hand and gives him a kiss on the forehead. The boy turns a bright red and runs to Peter, wrapping his arms around one of his legs. Peter looks down at him, bemused. He turns to her and gives an exasperated smile.

 “I really appreciated that. I thought we were going to have a meltdown,” he says, tussling Derek's hair. She feels John come up behind her and put a hand around her shoulder. She shakes her head, assures Peter it was nothing, and then walks with John back to his car. They get in and buckle up and she gives him her best apologetic pout.

 “Sorry about that. I'm not the most attentive date, am I?” she asks. He shrugs, grinning at his steering wheel, shoulders shaking a bit. “What's so funny?” He looks up at her.

 “You and that kid.” He shrugs. “I don't know. It was cute.”

 “Cute?”

 “Yeah,” he says, shrugging again. “You were adorable with him.”

 What.

 -

 “He said I was adorable,” she says over her drink. Gregory raises an eyebrow. “Can you believe that? I'm a thousand years old. I've toppled governments. I've brought great men of power to their knees!” She knocks back the rest of her glass, grimacing through the burn. “I'm... I'm a being of hellfire and damnation, damnit! I am not adorable.” She says the word as if it's something disgusting on her tongue.

 “Is this the human that bought you flowers?”

 “Oh my god, it was the prettiest bouquet I'd ever seen!”

 She might be a little tipsy at the moment. Drinking half a vineyard by herself will do that. She's killed men for lesser offenses. She should have killed John. She should just cut her loses with this one and kill him. But just the thought alone is enough to make something in her stomach turn. He didn't mean anything by it. He was just being nice. Because he is. Nice that is. He's a nice man with nice eyes and nice kisses that leave her head blissfully free of anything work related.

 “I think you've had enough,” Gregory says as he pries the glass out of her hand. “So, are you going to see him again?” he asks. She rests her head against the table. She wants to. She wants to see him a lot. She wants more movies dates and Chinese bellflowers and, just maybe, she wants to take him out to her crossroad and show him her stars. Because John is a nice man. Because John is a good man and she likes that.

 Even after she leaves Gregory with piles of empty bottles, stumbling her way to her apartment, she can't help but want to stay in Beacon Hills for a little longer. The summons have gotten easier to ignore, and it's not like she's hurting for souls at the moment. Her grunts could certainly learn to gain a little independence. Her vacation could be extended. It's no big deal.

 She takes off her heels as she reaches her floor. She makes it to her door without much trouble, but she doesn't notice the manila envelope taped her door until she's pushing it open. Looking back out into the hallway, she sees no one. Whoever left it is long gone. She closes the door and drops herself heavily onto the couch. She opens the envelope and upturns it over the coffee table. A thin package falls out.

 It's a package of glow-in-the-dark stars that one can put on the ceiling or walls. Taped to it is a small note.

 Regina,
Saw these at the store today. Thought you might like them.
Dinner Monday night?

 -John

 She is so screwed.

Sinker.

Chapter Text

Regina breaks into the stars the next day. Standing on her couch, she starts putting up constellations in their accurate positions for the season on the wall. She soon realizes, however, that she has nowhere near enough of them.

So she may have gone out and procured as many packages of the stars as she could find.

Soon, three of her walls are transformed into a stellar panorama. She's about to expand to the ceiling when someone knocks on her door in the beat of a waltz. She knows who it is and rolls her eyes as she swings the door wide open. Gregory is leaning against the door frame, fist still tapping out the rhythm in midair. Regina swats his hand and then the side of his head.

“It's a bit early for you to be this annoying,” she says. He doesn't quip back, though, dropping his hand and pinning her with a level look. She leans forward expectantly. “Well, what do you want?”

“Your human was shot,” he says simply.

Regina feels something like ice in her veins.

“What?”

“Traffic stop outside of town. Group of hunters on the move. He pulled them over for a broken taillight and they shot him,” he informs her in a detached manner. Regina stares at him, genuine panic taking hold of her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Hunters?” she whispers, a rage boiling in her blood, washing away the ice. Gregory eyes the starry display behind her.

“I think they were here for the local pack. An altercation took place down by the preserve. Don't think the wolves lost any of their numbers, but the hunters took a good deal of damage.”

Regina thinks of the little boy whose hand she held. She thinks of warm way John looked at her in the car. John.

“Where are they headed?” she asks, her voice low and dark. She grips the edge of the door a bit too hard and it creaks. Gregory hesitates.

“... They were going north. I've already sent some of your grunts to tail them, cause a bit of trouble.”

“Why didn't you come directly to me?” she bites out.

“I thought you'd might like to go see him before exacting your swift and terrible vengeance,” he says. Regina blinks at him, confused. “He's getting patched up at the hospital. They got him in the shoulder. He's probably going to be released here pretty soon- OW!” Regina keeps a tight grip on his hair as she pulls him into the apartment and slams the door.

“You asshole! You couldn't have said that from the beginning? What the hell were you thinking?!” She punches him in the shoulder and he goes down to his knees.

“Fucking ow, woman! At least I came to tell you about it at all!”

“Only because you knew I'd skin you alive when I found out! Damnit, Greg!”

“Hey, stop taking it out on me, alright. Channel that anger more appropriately or you're gonna rip my hair out.”

“I still might!”

-

They're just arriving outside the hospital when John is being wheeled out. He looks uncomfortable, and maybe even a little embarrassed, but as soon as they allow, he stands up and shakes the orderly's hand, his other arm in a sling. Regina, a thousand years old and a seasoned creature of damnation, most certainly does not run up to him and she most certainly does not throw her arms around him as gently as possible. It may seem like that's exactly what happened, but she will deny it until the end of time. John's surprised, definitely, but he wraps his good arm around her nonetheless.

“Regina? What are you doing here?” he asks, pressing his face in her hair. She pulls back and stares at him before grabbing the sides of his head and shaking him slightly.

“Are you freaking kidding me? Look at your arm, John! Look at it!” she shouts. He uses his good hand to grab onto hers and stop the shaking.

“Don't need to. I can feel it,” he says with a wince.

“Go easy on the man, Regina. He looks like he's about to fall over,” Gregory says from behind her. She turns around and focuses her glare on him, willing him to burst into flames. Just to spite her, he doesn't. “Hi, there. I'm her... brother, Greg.” Gregory reaches out his hand and John lets go of Regina to shake it firmly.

“Nice to meet you. John Stilinski.”

“Oh, I know,” Greg says in a bored tone, putting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. Regina redoubles her efforts to set him on fire.

“Greg's visiting from out of state. He told me he heard around town that a policeman was shot. I got worried,” she explained.

“It's not too bad. Enough to lay me up for a couple of weeks, though. Guess this means I'll have time for all that paperwork I've let pile up,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. She runs her eyes over his tired face and makes a decision.

“You're coming home with me,” she says with an air of finality. He gapes at her for a moment before looking to Greg.

“Gina, don't worry about it. You've got your brother over. This really isn't as bad as it looks.”

“Greg's leaving today,” she says, looking back to her colleague. “Aren't you, Greg?” she stresses. Gregory holds his hands up.

“Yeah, yeah! Heading out as we speak as a matter of fact. Officer, you take it easy. Regina, don't worry about that thing,” he says vaguely. “That thing with the people. I got the thing taken care of.” And with that, he waves as he walks away from the hospital entrance. John looks between them a couple of times, confused.

“Do I need to call a taxi?” Regina asks. John shakes his head.

“Uh, no. One of my coworkers was good enough to bring my car,” he says.

“Good. Keys,” Regina says, holding out her hand. John huffs out a laugh and digs into his pocket, handing them to her.

“I'll, uh. I'll have to drop by my place to get a few things,” he says slowly. Regina nods and steers him to the parking lot.

-

It doesn't take long for John to pack a bag, all while saying up and down how he doesn't want to intrude, and it takes Regina's best pout and most frustrated eye rolls to get him back into the car. She mutters the whole drive to her apartment about the stubbornness of men and threatens to put his other arm in a sling when he tries to refuse her from carrying his bag up the stairs.

When they make it inside, she goes to drop his bag off in the bedroom.

“Make yourself comfortable!” she says down the hall. She places the bag on the bed and proceeds to clear out a drawer for his things, as well as making room the closet. When she walks back into the living room, she notices John hasn't sat down. In fact, he's staring at her walls in something close to astonishment.

“I see you decorated,” he says. Regina needlessly straightens her dress and then gestures to the walls.

“Yeah! Well, you know. I started with Polaris and then just... couldn't stop.” She's an idiot. Glow-in-the-dark stars? Really? She couldn't have behaved more like a child if she tried. She really- But John is giving her that look again.

“You got Cancer up there?” he asks, pointing at the wall.

“Is that what you are? A Cancer?”

“Yep.”

She walks toward the couch and climbs up on it with her knees. She points between Leo and Gemini to the five stars of various size that make up Cancer. He nods his approval.

“Where are you up there?”

Regina pauses.

She's old. Very old. She doesn't remember what month she was born in. All she knows is that it was a stormy summer night. She crawled out of the darkness and along the ground underneath the thunder and lightning until she was fully formed, and when she could stand, she felt the rain against her bare skin. She remembers being scared of the thunder, huddling near rock until the clouds parted and she could see the night's sky. It was so very long ago. She looks back to the wall, to Cancer's five stars. Her eyes drift to a constellation nearby; the Lion seems to be reaching for the Crab.

“Here,” she says, stretching out her hand to point. “Leo.” She climbs off of the couch and feels his hand on her lower back helping to steady her. “Big fan of astrology?” she asks. He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

“Practical man like yourself doesn't chart his future in celestial bodies? What's wrong with you?” she teases. He just smiles at her and moves to adjust the strap of his sling. “Why don't you go change? Throw on a shirt and some sweatpants. Relax.” She walks him back to the bedroom and helps him slip out of his sling. “Let me know if you need any help. I'm going to go see about dinner.” And by that, she means flip through the yellow pages for take-out. Semantics.

They eat curled up on the couch. They've turned off the lights in favor of the radioactive green glow of her walls. They pick out constellations and talk about John's injury and what his physical therapy schedule will look like. He takes his pain medication once he has something on his stomach, but it makes him drowsy; he's leaning heavily back against the arm of the couch, eyes losing focus. John pulls at the sling, as if trying to take it off again. Regina scoots closer and smacks his hands away from the straps.

“Think you can make it back to the bedroom, tough guy?” she asks quietly. He blinks at her, eyelids heavy. His good hand comes up to brush her hair back a bit and he runs his thumb across her cheek. His smile is slow and a bit dopey.

“You asking me to bed?” he slurs and it's probably the most forward he's been with her since they met. She pushes forward, mindful of his arm, and gently presses her lips against his. His hand cups her cheek fully as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. She's about to suggest they just camp out on the couch when she feels him losing coordination. He's so close to falling asleep, and she knows spending the night on the couch won't do him any favors.

She manages to get him to bed and underneath the covers before he completely passes out, but it's a near thing. She sits there for a while on top of the covers, knees pulled up to her chest, just watching him. What the hell is wrong with her? Less and less she concerns herself with the deal she should be trying to make. But just thinking about it leaves her feeling cold. She doesn't want their kisses to change. Right now they're freeing, light things. They're something done for the pleasure of it. The kisses she uses to seal contracts are always dark and bitter. They satisfy the hunger she was born with, but beyond that they are merely a means to an end.

She doesn't want John to be a means to an end.

-

John's recovery goes as well as can be expected. In the beginning, the medication took its toll on him, leaving him in bed for a good portion of the day, much to his own chagrin. Regina was sure to enforce the bed rest as much as possible, as it gave her time to seal a few deals (a man in Boston who wanted to curse his ex-wife, a woman in Lawrence who wanted to rise in the ranks of her job, etc.) and manage her pathetic grunts. The lower level entities didn't have forms of their own and instead wear the skins of weaker humans. They're more than happy to cause mischief and take simple deals on by themselves, but god forbid you think them capable of improvising when something new or unexpected happens.

But soon he's easing himself off of the medication (perhaps a bit too soon, if his occasional pained wince is any indication), and he's eager to get back to work. He goes to physical therapy in the mornings and then spends a couple of hours at the station doing what work he's allowed. John's a man with a serious hard-on for good work ethics, which is something she can relate to and appreciate. She refuses to let him go back to his place unless it's for a change of clothes or to make sure that no one's busted in or to check for shoes elves, whatever, she really doesn't care as long as he's back in her bed and pain free by the end of the night. Humans are so fragile and they have this silly habit of pushing themselves too hard. He tries to repay her by cooking breakfast most mornings. After a couple of disastrous attempts, he's banned from trying to make anything but coffee until the sling comes off for good.

Which leads to her learning how to cook. It's honestly not as hard as so many make it seem. Recipes are easy to follow and there's a science to it all that she can't help but find a certain amount of novelty in. She's perfected blueberry pancakes and alfredo pasta and next on her list is the best omelet the whole of humanity has ever seen. She hasn't found a good place in town to buy wine, so she skips to Italy to stock up. And if tourists happen to find ridiculously drawn mustaches and anatomically correct genitalia on every single one of the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, well, no one can prove it was her. Because it totally wasn't, no matter what you've heard.

The day John is given the okay to lose the sling all together is the day they celebrate with bacon cheeseburgers from John's favorite diner. Regina is even generous enough to give him her portion of bacon. He's excited to get back into a patrol car; Regina is excited for him because he obviously loves his job. And while he's still upset that they never managed to catch the suspects that shot him, she stays quiet whenever the subject comes up. If the severed heads left in the center of her crossroads were anything to go by, Gregory made good on his promise. She'll have to get him something nice the next time they meet up.

It's later that night and they're watching black and white movies and drinking the wine she had squirreled away. She's sitting on the couch and he's on the floor, his shoulders bracketed by her legs. He's complaining about her apparent love affair with Cary Grant and Gary Cooper and how there's clearly a double standard going on here as she refuses to let them watch a movie with Jean Arthur. She swats his ear as reaches for her glass, intentionally pressing her chest down on his head in retaliation. The back of his neck is red when she straightens up and she sips from her glass victoriously. She nearly chokes when she feels his hand touch her bare calf. It rests there for a moment, his thumb rubbing up and down, before it travels a bit higher up. He stops it near her knee and tentatively look back to her.

She looks into his eyes and does her best not to jump his bones. Slowly, she leans over to the coffee table to set her glass down. She then tugs the back of John's shirt to get him to turn all the way around. He gently places his hands on her upper thighs, caressing the fabric of her dress. Regina pulls the sides of it up, giving him access to her skin. He straightens up on his knees, angling his mouth to hers and she meets him half way. This kiss is much more heated than previous ones, but it's no less a relief from the chaos in her head. She lets him ease her horizontally onto the couch.

The feel of his hands and lips on her make it easy to ignore how uncomfortable the couch really is. If couch sex is going to be a reoccurring thing, she's investing in something with a bit more room to roll around on.

-

John's packing up his things in order to return to his place, and Regina can't help but watch with a certain amount of displeasure. She wants to point out that her apartment is closer to the station and is larger than John's. That waking up wrapped around one another would be so much easier if they were, oh, maybe in the same damn bed. But people don't move in together after just a few dates and a romantic evening sexing on furniture not necessarily meant to be sexed on. She's his girlfriend, not his common law wife. But she knows that John is eager to get things back to as normal as possible now that his injury has healed and she'll do her best to help that normalcy happen. Humans were so slow to acclimate sometimes.

He does kiss her quite thoroughly in the hall before leaving though, so he's learning.

She answers a few summons up north, and even one in Montreal (a man who wants to be a famous sculptor). A grunt informs her that several factions of hunters of all specialties are amassing in Atlanta, Georgia. After a quick, yet vaguely worried check-in with Gregory, she's assured that it's merely a convention of formality. Several families have demanded amendments be made to their silly code. In the past five hundred years, no changes have actually been made. And while this doesn't negate the existence of rogue cells, there are honorable people in their numbers, ones willing to put the more zealous members under close watch.

“Don't get too complacent about it,” Gregory warns her. “One family's been getting louder and louder and they carry enough influence in the community to make people sit up and listen.”

“Is this the same family that opened fire on a caravan of werewolves outside of Marseille a couple of years ago?”

“A branch of it, yeah. Some of them are militant enough to make southern anarchist movements look like after school programs. Keep your ear to the ground.”

She nevertheless tries not to dwell on it too much. Hunters have generally left her kind to the work of various religious authorities. And with the way things are going, even those newer to the ranks of said institutions are believing she exists less and less. However, she has just decided to set up shop in a town claimed by a well established pack. Usually she would consider this an excellent buffer, but she only needs to think of the little boy whose hand she held in a movie theater to feel just a little bit guilty about doing that. She decides to completely ignore all of it and hope that it never becomes an issue. She returns home that evening, sits on the couch watching old movies, and tries to quell the compulsion to cook a meal she has no need for. It seems John was around long enough for her to have picked up habits and form a routine. She watches Jimmy Stewart stand in front of the Senate for a little longer before she can't fight it anymore.

Cooking is, she found in the past couple of weeks, something that she actually enjoys doing. And while she doesn't need to eat in the same manner as humans, she still finds pleasure in it. She's trying to choose between baking a turkey tetrazzini or preparing a simple Caesar salad when there's a knock at her door. It's not one of Gregory's ridiculous percussion performances and it's certainly not the timid non-sound of one of her grunts. She walks to the door and is surprised when she sees John, still in his uniform and what looks to be files under his arm. He rubs the back of his neck and gives her a shy smile.

“Hey, Gina. I, uh. I thought I'd see if it'd be alright if I came over for a while,” he stammers. She blinks at him.

“You left just this morning,” she can't help but say. Humans needed their space, right? And she had forced herself to accept and honor that. She would leave him alone for a few days. She wants to point out to him that she can't pander to his need for separation if he literally shows up on her doorstep. John nods, back straightening.

“Yeah. You're right. You're probably tired of me being here all the time. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just...” he trails off. Regina tilts her head.

“Just what?” she presses. He glances back to her, eyes growing fond.

“I missed you,” he says.

Pulling him into the apartment by the front of his uniform was probably a bit more aggressive than strictly necessary. Pushing him onto the couch, grabbing his files and spreading them out on the coffee table also probably could have been done with a bit more calm happening on her part. Flat out telling him that he had better get to work on whatever it was that he brought while she fixed dinner because as soon as they were done he was taking her to bed was definitely on the harsher side of demanding. Whatever. John was giving her a kiss anyway. She's pretty sure that means he likes it, at least just a little.

-

The moving in thing happens a couple of months later. They compromise on what furniture of his and what of hers stays and goes. Her bed is much nicer, but John has a far more comfortable couch. He admits that he's spent more than a few nights sleeping on it. Regina suspects this has more to do with the amount of work he takes home than any regard to comfort. He's fallen asleep over reports and suspect files more than once in their time dating. She's also been witness to one or more brainstorming sessions between Deputy Stilinski and Detectives Rivera and Marcus over active cases. John's well liked amongst his coworkers. He's smart and efficient and always willing to pick up an extra shift. At first he's worried this habit will be a problem for her, but she assures him it won't. As long as it doesn't start to wear him down, she's perfectly fine with it as she's aware of the time it allows her to answer summons. She's convinced John she works from home and only occasionally is needed on site.

His occasional late night works in her favor when that wretch Amy corners her one evening in the grocery store.

Unlike herself and Gregory, Amy is by no means subtle. She appears in the bread aisle, with tattered clothes and matted hair and a toothless grin. Regina glares at her from behind her shopping cart. The damn lights even begin to flicker and Regina can't help but roll her eyes at the blatant posturing.

“Sweetheart,” she says, her voice light and condescending, “you realize dental implants are a thing that exists, don't you? It's 1994, not the Dark Ages.” She pulls out her grocery list and marks a few things off, if only to anger entity in front of her. It works, because all of the lights in the freezer section explode simultaneously. Amy is no longer at the other end of the aisle, but gripping the end of the cart, bending the metal. Regina levels her with a nonchalant look. “Did you need something?”

“The Queen has left her throne unattended,” Amy rasps out, voice brittle and unpleasant. Regina raises an eyebrow.

“So the Jester thinks she can stake claim?” Regina snorts. She's a little ashamed at being caught off guard when Amy grabs her by the hair and pulls her forward.

“Why don't you run along and play house like the good little bitch that you are.”

If Regina were not the Queen of the Crossroads and one of the greatest deal makers in the Northern hemisphere, she might feel compelled to justify why she transported the two of them to some random dirt road and then proceeded to flay Amy, alive and screaming.

But she is, so she doesn't.

She merely returns home, thanks her luck that John is still at the station, and cleans the blood off of her hands and dress. It's only when she feels John crawl into bed a few hours later that she realizes the whole ordeal made her forget the milk and eggs.

Fucking Amy.

-

A few months later, she and John are having dinner at the same Italian restaurant where they first met. John's been jittery the whole evening. He seems to be in good health and they haven't had an argument in the past couple of weeks (the incident with the dishwasher doesn't count). They're not wanting for anything at the moment. The sheriff's station wouldn't think of firing him (if they knew what was good for them). While she's enjoyed herself this evening, John's behavior has her concerned. When he takes her hand over the table and makes several aborted attempts to say something, her anxiety escalates. He seems to be getting more and more frustrated by the second. Has she done something wrong? She thought she was doing this human thing pretty damn well. Did she slip up?

“Gina,” he starts and stops again. Is he about to break up with her? She fists her other hand under the table. Would he? The dishwasher fight wasn't that bad... was it? “These past few months with you have been amazing-”

Oh god, she can hear the but. It's on the tip of his tongue. She shouldn't have fought so hard to have those stupid star curtains put up in the bedroom. She shouldn't have thrown a fit when he wanted to stay in that one night instead of going out. She shouldn't have called his mother a dragon lady to his face. Shit. Shit!

“-and I've never met a woman like you-”

-and never want to again, she can hear. She tries to swallow the lump that suddenly closes up her throat. He can't break up with her! She's Queen of the damn Crossroads! All manner of creatures fear her. She's-

“-in fact, I don't think there is anyone like you.”

But John doesn't know that. John is a good man and good men don't willing associate with beings of sin and damnation. Good men like John deserve good in return. But she's selfish. She doesn't want to let him go. She found him, an island of calm in sea of human chaos, and she planned to keep him forever.

“Gina, what I'm trying to say is-”

“Please don't leave me,” she blurts out, her eyes wide and possibly moist. She's leaking and she doesn't know why. John looks at her, startled.

“Wh-what? Regina, no-”

“I know I take up way too much of the bed and I use all of the hot water.” It's like the filter on her mouth has completely shattered. “I'll take those curtains down! I lied when I said I knew how much soap to put in the dishwasher, I just don't like being wrong, okay? That was my fault. And I-” She has to pause to catch her breath and sniff. “-I won't apologize about your mother, because she is kind of horrid, but I'm sorry what I said offended you and I-” She has to stop again.

“Gina-”

“Okay! I'm sorry about your mother too.”

His hands come up and frame her face.

“Gina, stop!” he says firmly. She blinks the tears out of her eyes and tries not to focus on the fact that she's actually crying. She notices there are a couple of tables watching them. She's caused a bit of a scene. “Regina, I'm not trying to break with you.” A flood of relief washes over her.

“... You're not?” she asks softly. John shakes his head and gives her a crooked smile.

“Cold showers help me wake up in the morning,” he says gently. “And when you sprawl out on the bed, it's usually on me, so I don't really mind. You're right about my mom, too. She can be a bit of a pain in the ass.” His smile grows, his eyes fond. “And I think those ridiculous star curtains have kinda grown on me.” She brings her hands up to his and grabs them tightly.

“You hate those curtains,” she whispers. John gives a soft huff of laughter.

“Yeah, but I love you.” It's said so easily and with such certainty that she finds it hard to breathe. Hard, but not impossible.

“Marry me?” she asks. They both seem taken aback by the sudden proposal. She's about to take it back, to laugh it off and say she was just in the moment, but then John reaches back to his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.

“That was the plan, yeah,” he says, laughter in his voice.

All of the water may have spontaneously transformed into Chiaretto wine, but it's cool. The whole restaurant was too busy clapping for them as he slid the ring on her finger and they kissed to have noticed right away.

-

Despite floating on a cloud of elation and love that has her holding up her left hand and admiring the ring every two minutes, Regina finds she can't quell the urge to punch Gregory in the throat. It's his own fault for sporting that stupid, jaw-dropped expression for the past ten minutes.

“Taking a break, Regina. That's what you said. Those were your exact words, actually,” he finally says.

“Your point?” she asks irritably. He flails his hands for a moment before burying them in his hair.

“We're no longer in taking-a-break territory! We are in forgetting-you're-not-actually-human territory!”

“I cast a multi-appendage shadow, Greg. Kind of hard to forget.”

“Apparently it is!” He sits back in his chair with a frustrated huff. He rubs his hand in his hair again, pulling a couple of times and trying to find his words. She sips her coffee and waits patiently for him to stop freaking out. “Okay. Okay, look,” he starts. “I know that you're in-” he waves his hand, “-with this guy. Whatever. Stranger things have happened. But you realize that he's going to find out, right?”

“You don't know that,” Regina says, shifting in her seat. Gregory's eye twitches minutely and his hands seems to make an aborted movement to grab her.

“I don't- Woman, you are Queen of the Crossroads. It'd be one thing if you were just on my level, but you have a title, okay? And people are taking notice to your increasing absence.” He pulls the coffee cup away from her to get her to pay attention. “It's not gonna stop with Amy, okay? There will be others who will come to challenge you and not all of them are gonna be nice enough to come in the middle of the fucking night.”

“I know,” she says simply. Gregory stares her down.

“You know.”

“Why do you think I asked you to meet me here? It wasn't for the crap coffee.” She points to her cup and the handle breaks, seemingly on its own.

“I don't know, the pancakes weren't half bad,” Gregory admits absently. Regina glances around the diner slowly before straightening out her napkin and placing her hands of the table.

“I want you to take my position,” she says calmly. The large clock next to the exit spits sparks and falls off of the wall. Several patrons gasp and turn to watch it spark a little more. Gregory has that unflattering jaw-dropped expression again and Regina wonders when their waitress will be by to refill their coffees. Gregory shakes himself and grips the table's edge.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asks.

“It's like you said. I wouldn't be able to hide something like that forever. So I've decided to retire, as it were.”

“But you- I'm not-,” he sputters. “You're in your prime.”

“A thousand years, Greg,” she reminds me. “My prime has been boring.” She stares at the table. “And I love John. I want to be with him.” Gregory works his jaw a couple of times before visibly giving up.

“King of the Crossroads, huh. You realize the kind of hell you're putting me through over this guy?”

“It gets worse,” she assures him.

“How could it possibly get worse?” he asks.

“You're walking me down the aisle.”

“Excuse me?”

-

She manages to convince John to have an evening wedding at a large pavilion. They go over the guest list, and he's surprised by the lack of numbers on her side. She and Gregory spin an elaborate tale of falling out of touch with their family. How their mom is back in the mother country and their father has already passed on.

(“Ask anyone around Kraków, they'll tell you what a great man Mieczysław was.”

“Me-yeah... what?”)

No, on her side it's just a handful of trusted colleagues and her “brother” and while John expresses disappointment in not getting to meet the rest of her family, he seems to appreciate that it'll be a relatively small ceremony. Well. Not really. She wasn't kidding when she said he was well liked at work; what seems like the entire sheriff's department insists on being there as well. Regina briefly contemplates burning his mother's invitation, but decides against it because John would totally know. Plus, his dad seems to like her just fine.

Gregory laughs his ass off at seeing her in a white dress, so she sets his shoes on fire and jabs a finger in his direction.

“I swear to all you hold dear, Greg, if you screw this up for me today I will beat your skull in with a crucifix, don't think I won't,” she threatens. Gregory pours the water of a nearby flower vase on his feet and gives her an exaggerated frown. Her future mother-in-law insists on coming into the room and pushes Gregory out as she proceeds to tell Regina she really should have gotten her dress in a size up.

John's mother or not, this woman is seriously asking to be pushed down a flight of stairs. Her side of the aisle is filled with hellish abominations. Any one of them would gladly do it for her for the sake of giving her plausible deniability. She would consider it a fine wedding gift. But then one of her colleagues is handing her a bouquet of Chinese bellflowers and pushing her towards the door because hey, look at that, it's time to get hitched. Jesus. Okay. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth and tries not to spontaneously combust as has been known to happen on occasion. The traditional music is playing as soon as she walks outside into the open air and Gregory takes her arm in his, leading her forward. Everyone turns in their seats to watch her.

They're all missing one hell of a sight.

John is up by the priest, smiling through overwhelmed tears at her. There's so much love in his face that she can suddenly feel his calm from where she is. Her steps get easier to make and she's no longer holding Gregory's arm in a vice grip. He still awkwardly pats her arm as he hands her off and she takes her place in front of John. Before the priest continues with the ceremony, John reaches out and takes a flower from her bouquet, breaking off the stem and putting it behind her ear.

She can't say “I do” fast enough.

-

Much of the romance is broken during the reception. Their groups aren't mixing very well, humorously so. She has to stop a few of her friends from making deals that ought not to be made (“I just got married, you ass, save it for after my honeymoon.”) and John's family seem rather perturbed by some of them. Hey, they're unholy agents. A certain level of instinctual wariness is hard to avoid sometimes. But then Adam, one particular colleague of hers that she's known for about five hundred years, boots the DJ from his seat, takes over, and the party picks up considerably.

Her mother-in-law's fancy hat “winds up” in the chocolate fountain and Regina's night brightens considerably as she dances with John. Gregory comes up at one point, asking John if he can cut in for a moment. She lets him lead her in a dance for a moment before gripping his hand a bit too hard.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I just want to know how far this is going to go,” he says. She tilts her head. “He's going to die at some point, you know that, right?”

“... I know.”

“And?”

“And so will I,” she says. Gregory gives her an expectant look. “I'm not making any more deals,” she explains. Gregory stops the dance suddenly, eyes wide.

“... You'll starve. If you don't consume souls, you'll-”

“Die. That's what I said. But not for many, many years. This is what I want, Greg. You were right before. John's a smart man. He'd figure it out one day. The easiest way to appear human is just that. Be human.” She tries to make him understand, but Gregory is dropping his hands and stepping away. If she didn't know him so well, she'd go so far to say he looks sad.

“I hope it's worth it in the end... Regina,” he says, and it's the first time he's called her that when they're alone.

He leaves without saying goodbye.

-

Regina and John buy a house not long after their honeymoon. It's a decent sized place, possibly a bit too large just for the two of them, but still nice and affordable. They don't quite have enough furniture to keep with place from feeling a bit under furnished, but she likes that. It means they can expand, that over time they can really make this house a home. She's ridiculously excited about getting to paint everything. She promises John there won't be too much purple, but their guestroom is totally going to be blue. He insists that she not do the whole thing by herself, but he works all day, and even though he tries to help her in the evenings, she can see how tired it makes him. She agrees to let him pay someone to help her paint the outside while the weather is still nice.

She's a bit surprised when she opens the door and sees the young man from the theater about a year ago.

“Hi, Mrs. Stilinski. Remember me?”

“Of course. Peter Hale. How are you?” she asks. He smiles and she feels it. There's something different about him from the last time she saw him.

“I'm fine. Your husband said you could use some help. I need the extra spending cash,” he says. She gives him a strained smile. There's a darkness that's growing in him. It's small at the moment, but very much alive.

“Uh, yeah. I've got some painting I need to do. Come on in.” She opens the door wider for him. He nods and walk into the entryway. “I'm making some headway in the back. How about we start there,” she says. She readjusts her coverall straps and leads him to the back side of the house. The ladder is already in place near the top of the second story. “So, Peter, how's your family doing?” she says, trying to engage in a bit of small talk. Peter is silent for a moment before answering.

“They're fine. My older sister is going to have another baby,” he replies, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh? Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” he says.

“Poor Derek. Bet he won't like being outnumbered like that,” Regina tries to joke. Peter makes a non-committed sound. She rubs the sides of her coveralls awkwardly before pointing to an open can of paint. “Well, let's go ahead and get started! If you could get some of that tape over there and start lining the windows, that's be great.” She picks up the can and put her foot on the first step of the ladder when Peter reaches out and grabs the handle of the paint can, stopping her. She looks back at him, but he's giving her stomach a wide-eyed stare, nose twitching.

“Uh, maybe I should do that,” he says.

“It's fine. I'm a big girl, I promise,” she jokes. Peter doesn't let go of the can.

“I don't want Deputy Stilinski arresting me if you fall, ma'am,” he says hurriedly. He moves to take her position on the ladder, suddenly full of forced enthusiasm. “Don't worry about it! I'll, uh, I'll get this done in no time,” he assures her.

Well, he wasn't lying. The painting is done at a speed that impresses even her. Werewolves, man. By the time he hands the roller and the empty can back to her, he's already jittery for some reason, leg bouncing and expression uncomfortable. His nose keeps twitching.

“I think that's all for today. Thank you, Peter. How much did you and John agree on?”

Regina pays the young man and he makes haste out of the door. Odd.

She decides to take a shower before getting dinner ready and heads upstairs. She can't help but worry about Peter. He hadn't been lying when he said that the rest of the Hales were in good health, and the news of a new addition is usually cause for great celebration within packs.

It's only when she's scrubbing the paint off of her skin that Peter's actions begin to connect in her head. It's only when she stretches her reach to herself that she can sense it. New life.

Oh shit.

-

She's pacing the living room by the time Gregory shows up. He's still upset with her and her life choices, so he has an incredibly sour expression when she opens the door and pulls him in. She's very close to hyperventilating and he has to steer her to the couch before she causes a natural disaster.

“Christ, woman, what the hell is wrong with you?” he asks. She grabs his hand and places it on her lower stomach. He looks confused for a second before his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh my god,” he says. She nods furiously, still not breathing properly. Gregory put his hands on her shoulders and tries to get her to calm down. “Okay. Wow. Just... just relax, okay? It's no big deal. Women have been having babies since the dawn of man-”

“I'm not just a woman!” she screeches. Gregory nods, conceding her point.

“Yeah, okay. Fair enough.”

“Oh god, Greg. It's not going to be human,” she says, near hysterics. She's rocking on the couch, gripping the armrest.

“Hey, we don't know that. You haven't had a human soul in months. Remember Verna? She was out in the desert starving herself for years and her kid ended up looking completely normal.” He stops and waves dismissively before saying, “You know, just ignore the fact that he went and slaughtered three villages before being burned at the stake...”

“Oh god. That's what they're gonna do. I'm gonna have an octopus baby and they're gonna burn us both at the stake, Greg.”

“What if it has a tail?” he asks thoughtfully.

“Shut. Up. Oh my god. I'm gonna give birth to the Jersey Devil!”

“Hey, come on. I think we're distantly related to that guy.”

“I told you to shut up!”

“Gina?”

She and Gregory both look up as John walks into the living, his shift having ended. He looks between them, concerned.

“John!” She jumps off of the couch and walks over to him, placing her hands on his arms. He looks down at her, his worry evident.

“I heard shouting. Is everything alright?” he asks.

“Fine! Everything's fine. We were just talking,” she assures him. He looks at Greg over her shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah! Well, I just... I-” Regina can't find her words. She bites her lips and steadies her breathing. She takes one of his hands and brings it down to her stomach. “I just have some news,” she says, her voice shaking. John's other hand falls to her waist. He's looking at his hand on her belly and then back up at her. When the realization hits him, his eyes light up and a huge smile splits his face.

“You're-” he starts. “I'm- I'm gonna be a dad,” he says slowly. Suddenly he laughs, loud and bright, picking her up by her waist and spinning her around. She hangs on tightly to him, all of her fear vanishing. When he sets her down, he's kissing her like he never wants to stop.

Gregory coughs behind them, but Regina just gives him the finger.

-

A couple of weeks later, she's sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, anxiously flipping through glossy magazines. John is beside her, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

“It's just a check-up, Gina,” he says to her. She nods. She knows. They're just gonna take a look inside and make sure nothing is out of the ordinary, like, say a set of horns or whatever. Oh god, what if it does have horns? No, she shakes herself mentally. No, she's not going to go there. Everything is going to be just fine. John's radio goes off and he excuses himself for a moment to exit the office. She watches him go, her panic steadily rising again.

“First time?” says a voice to her left. Regina looks over to see a pregnant woman with a book in her hand smiling at her.

“That obvious?” she asks. The woman laughs gently.

“Pretty sure I looked exactly the way you do now when I was pregnant with my son. I'm Mary, by the way.”

“Regina,” she offers.

“Try not to worry too much. I'm sure everything will be just fine,” Mary says. Regina nods and gives her a tight smile.

“Do, uh. Do you know what you're having?” she asks awkwardly.

“Baby girl this time,” Mary says happily. “My husband and I are torn between Amy or Heather.”

“Heather, definitely,” Regina tells her, a heat in her voice that startles Mary. She tries to press on. “So, uh. Are you a stay-at-home mom or...?”

“My husband and I are in the wine business,” Mary says. Regina is suddenly far more interested.

“Really? Well, Mary, I think you and I are going to be very good friends.”

-

She and John are ushered to the back of the doctor's office not long after Regina's exchange with Mary. She's made to lie down on the reclined chair and John sits to the left of her, holding her hand. Dr. Hoshino is getting everything set up and Regina can feel her hands getting clammy as he wheels the ultrasound machine next to her. He has her lift her shirt as he rubs it with a cold gel. This is it. This will be the first look at her possibly cloven hoofed baby. She maybe grips John's hand a little too tight as the doctor places the wand on her belly.

She waits.

When there are no gasps of horror or screaming, she looks over to John. He's staring at the image on the screen with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. The doctor hums positively.

“Everything looks to be coming along just fine,” he says. Regina tries to process this. Just fine. With hope rejuvinated, she turns to see her baby. All she can say is,

“What.”

How they hell are the two of them so damn calm? The thing on the screen looks like something out of those ridiculous science fiction films John likes so much. There isn't much about it that looks human. But John is kissing her hand and crying happy tears and the doctor is smiling.

“It's too soon to tell the sex of the baby, but things are looking pretty good so far. Come back in a couple of weeks and we should have a clearer idea.”

What.

-

It's a boy.

She's going to have a baby boy. She's going to have a perfectly human looking baby boy and she's freaking the fuck out. She's also swelled up like a balloon. Gregory keeps making blimp comparisons and she's about to bury him underneath the Vatican. In fact, they're in the middle of a heated argument (literally; she set his shoes on fire again) when her water breaks. They both stand frozen in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, staring at the front of her dress.

“Is that supposed to happen?” he asks. And suddenly they're in a flurry of motion, her calling the station, Gregory running up the stairs to get her prepared overnight bag. He loads it into the light blue Jeep John had bought for her when they first got married. They make it to the hospital in record time, as does John, though his haste makes far more sense, as she can hear the police sirens through the ER's automatic doors.

She's quickly hooked up to several different machines and told she's having some impressive contractions. The nurses worryingly ask her if she'd like an epidural, but she tells them she's fine. They share uncertain glances but eventually stop asking. About five hours into labor, she asks for a book. If anything, John seems to be bizarrely in more pain than she is. Sympathy pains she's told. She pats his hand and tells him it's sweet but wholly unnecessary. In fact, she's pretty eerily calm through most of the ordeal (people panicking around her is something she's familiar with and knows how to handle).

But then the real deal starts and she's got her legs in stirrups and is being told to push and oh good ever loving Christ this is actually a thing that's happening. John is holding her hand and petting her hair and Greg is standing behind the doctor, a look of utter disgust and morbid fascination on his face.

Then the room is filled with a piercing cry of a baby.

Her baby boy.

-

John leaves to go make calls to his family, and Regina is being brought her freshly cleaned child. He's making fussy noises that quiet down when he's in her arms. She feels so completely overwhelmed as she puts a finger under his curled fingers and he makes a garbley noise. His face is pink and hair thin and he's absolutely perfect. She doesn't realize she's crying until Gregory points it out.

“Oh god, what is it? Does he have goat eyes?” he asks.

“N-no,” she sobs out. “He's beautiful.”

Gregory leans over, takes a look, and makes a face.

“Yup... That's a baby alright. Tiny, wrinkly baby.”

“I will choke you to death in this hospital.”

“And he's the finest tiny wrinkly baby the world has ever known!”

“Better.”

“So, what glorious name will you bestow upon your spawn?” he asks dramatically.

“John wants to name him after our father,” she says.

“... Our father who doesn't actually exist?” he clarifies.

“That's the one.”

“... Why?”

“Because you were an idiot and made him out to be this great, beloved figure. John thinks it's only fair since his father is still alive.”

“I'm sorry, but Mieczysław?” Gregory gestures to her baby.

“It's your fault,” she tells him, playing with her son's hand. Gregory sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before he leans over and says in his best baby voice,

“You're gonna get made fun of so much, yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Chapter Text

John is absolutely in love with his baby boy. Every chance the man gets, he has Mieczysław in his arms, playing with his toes and telling the infant about all the things he's going to teach him. How to drive stick shift, the right and wrong way to grill a steak, how to give field sobriety tests with a straight face. When people first saw the boy, they would comment on how much he looked like his father. However, over the next few weeks, his eyes began to lose their newborn-blue in favor of his mother's honey brown. John thinks it's great. Regina wishes they'd stayed blue.

Her child is happy and healthy, always putting things in his mouth, and so very curious about everything placed in front of him. She can already tell he's going to be smart and inquisitive like his dad. But the more and more Mieczysław begins to look like her, the more she worries. She keeps a close eye; testing for telepathy, unnatural strength. Checking for a tail growing every time she changes him or his gums for protruding serrated fangs when she lays him down to sleep. However, weeks go by, and nothing more concerning than the boy trying to put John's pocket mace in his mouth happens. Eventually, Regina feels relaxed enough to let John be the one to go check on their son in the middle of the night when he cries. She's leaned against the door on those nights many times, watching John rock their boy to sleep while reciting the Riot Act.

Her worries are unfounded. Mieczysław is delightfully human. He loves her off-key singing and playing with her hair. He loves when John plays peek-a-boo or crawls on the ground with him. And, once he's learned to stand of his own two feet for more than five seconds, he loves being chased.

Whenever he stands in the middle of the living room and waves his arms and stomps his feet, Regina knows exactly what he wants. She glances down the hall to make sure John is still getting dressed for work. She then turns back to her son and drops on all fours. Her knees are bent and she's on the balls of her feet, her elbows are pointing outward, hands imitating claws along the floor. Her body is low to the ground. Mieczysław lets out a squealing laugh of delight and takes off. Regina gives chase, cutting him off from one route, and waiting for his chubby, uncoordinated legs to steer him the other way. She gracefully crawls over the coffee table, intercepting his route again. He giggles loud and bright as he changes direction once more. She lowers herself further before pouncing, arms wrapping around the toddler and twisting her body just so, so that she is the one who hits the carpet. The tickle torture has commenced and her son is almost breathless with laughter.

“Hey, little man, that routine used to scare the pants off of priests, you got that?”

Mieczysław just laughs louder, calling for his dad to save him from the tickling. Regina ignores how tired she feels all of a sudden when John swoops down and lifts his son up only to hold him upside down, an excellent follow up to the tickle torture if the peals of winded laughter are anything to go by.

Hilariously, he absolutely refuses to laugh or talk in Gregory's presence. Gregory's tried dozens of different tactics to get the kid to even smile at him, but Mieczysław will just stuff a few fingers in his mouth and stare for a long time without blinking.

“Your baby creeps me out.”

“That's m'boy.”

“You're not funny.”

So yes, despite Mieczysław's humanity, or perhaps because of it, Gregory doesn't like being left alone with him. Which is why Regina feels a sense of sadistic pleasure when she hands her boy off to Greg one day at the shopping center a few miles from Beacon Hills. Greg hesitantly takes him, holding the child at arm's length.

“Wait, why?”

“Mary and I are gonna go try on some shoes. She was lucky enough to find a babysitter for her kids,” Regina explains.

“And you couldn't do the same... why?” Gregory asks.

“Oh, come on, Greg. Don't you want to spend time with your nephew?” she asks teasingly. Gregory makes a face.

“The kid doesn't like me.”

“And maybe some time together will help fix that. Now we're only going to take about an hour. Maybe two.” She pauses in gathering her purse from the bench and thrusts a finger at Gregory. “Do not drop him. Do not throw him and do not leave him in a store and run away. Do. Not. Eat him,” she stresses. Gregory at least has the decency to look offended.

“Hey, whoa, I do not eat babies,” he says. He flinches when she levels him with a glare and raises an eyebrow. “Anymore. I don't eat babies anymore. Come on, you can't hold that against me, alright! When people offer you babies to eat, you can't just give them back and say no thanks. That's... rude. You wanna get judgmental, blame the parents." She holds up a hand to stop his rant.

“If my son is not intact and untraumatized when I get back, I will murder you.”

She leaves Gregory holding her son, the two staring at each other suspiciously. It's adorable.

She also leaves them together for three hours instead of two, because no one gets away with calling her kid creepy.

-

Mieczysław's preschool teacher calls him creepy.

Regina sits in the tiny plastic chair, her face a mask of calm while a hellish storm is raging inside of her. And inside Miss Lisa's car, but whatever.

“I'm sorry, that was rude,” the teacher back tracks nervously. Regina's lips form a thin line. “What I meant say is... he's a bit unique.” Regina taps impatiently on her knee.

“Has he been acting up?” she asks. Miss Lisa hums a non-committed sound.

“Not exactly. He just has a few, um, habits. That, uh, some of the other children and I find just a teensy bit, hmm, unsettling let's say.”

“Unsettling.”

“Yes. You see, he's very good about playing with others most of the time. However, there are a couple of the other children that he refuses to play with. That wouldn't be too much of a issue, except that he tries to keep the other children from playing with them as well, saying that they're mean or scary,” Miss Lisa explains.

“Well are they?”

“Excuse me?”

“Those children. Are the mean and scary?” Regina asks testily.

“Well, we've had problems with a couple of them, yes, but it isn't Me-chee-slaw's place to actively force these children out of-”

“Mieczysław,” Regina interrupts.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My son's name. It's Mieczysław. You said habits. What else has he done?”

“Oh, well,” the teachers stammers. “There are some students and adults that he has a tendency to stare at,” she says. “Now, this is by no means problematic, but it does make some of us uncomfortable.” She waits for a moment, expecting a response. “So, Mrs. Stilinski, what do you think that we could do to maybe help Me-... your son understand that these behaviors-”

“Sweetheart, the boy is four years old,” Regina says, cutting her off. “Up until his enrollment here, the only other children he played with were kids of a friend of mine. I'm sure he's just a little overwhelmed.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Stilinski, now is the time for those behaviors to be corrected before he starts kindergarten.”

Regina fumes the entire time she drives the Jeep to Mary's house to pick up her son. Who the hell did that glorified babysitter think she was? Surely she had bigger problem to deal with. Kids who weren't potty trained or constantly trying to eat glue. Regina's been around long enough that she knows only people with things to hide get that uncomfortable when stared at. After giving Gregory her station, her senses are no longer as sharp, but she's sure she could dig deep enough to find Lisa's dirty secrets or at least her darkest fears. She'll show that silly woman what happens to those who single out her son. She's regained enough of her calm that she's not a walking definition of a hurricane when she ring's Mary's doorbell.

“Regina! Come on in; they're in the living room playing castle,” Mary says when she opens the door. Regina nods to her and walks around the corner into the living room expecting to see Heather in her purple princess Halloween costume from last year and her son brandishing a cardboard paper towel roll.

She sees the exact opposite. Heather is wrapped up in aluminum foil, beating a lizard stuffed animal with the paper towel roll as Mieczysław, donning Heather's purple dress over his overalls, pretends to be attacked by the evil dragon. His exaggerated struggling stops as soon as he see Regina watching from the across the room. He pushes the plush toy away and scrambles to take the dress off, only to get it stuck around his arms and head. Regina puts a hand over her mouth and tries not to laugh when he falls back onto the pillow fort castle Mary must have built for them. She stifles her giggles when she hears her boy start to cry in frustration. She sets her purse down and walks over to help him get the dress off.

“I made him put it on, Miss Gina!” Heather exclaims, a worried expression on her face. Regina smiles at her and pulls the fabric over Mieczysław's head. His face is a deep red and there are tears in eyes as he bites his lip. Regina runs a hand over his hair and makes him look at her.

“Silly boy,” she says, “you didn't tie the bow right.” She lifts the dress and waves the sash tie in the back. Mieczysław ignores the dress and rubs his eyes. Now that he knows she isn't mad, he incredibly embarrassed.

“I told you, Stiles! You didn't do the bunny ears!” Heather teases. Regina raises an eyebrow.

“Stiles?”

“She gave up trying to pronounce either of his names and gave him a new one,” Mary says from the kitchen door. Mieczysław tugs at Regina's dress.

“Mama, Mama! Can I use it?” he asks, excitedly.

“Don't you like the name you have?” she asks, curious. Mieczysław bites his lips again.

“Yeah, but no one else does. One kid from school calls me Coleslaw,” he says with a frown.

“It's true!” Heather says, jumping up and down for a bit. “Then Stiles told him to go step on a lego!”

“Heather, shut up!”

Her son thought she would be angry. On the contrary, the viciousness of such a comeback made her heart swell with pride. Once they get home, she sits him down on the couch to talk about her meeting with his teacher. He keeps his eyes on the floor, thinking he's in trouble.

“Why don't you want other children to play with those kids?” she asks. He's hesitant to answer, playing with the hem of his pant leg.

“They're scary,” he says quietly.

“Why are they scary, baby?”

“They just are. And- and one of them likes to put glue in girls' hair! And Johnny! Johnny bites and no one believed me and then he bit CJ so hard he bled, Mama! There was blood everywhere!” he says excitedly. Regina raises her eyebrows.

“Everywhere?”

“Yeah! Well,” he son slows down, “-well on his shirt. Johnny bit him on the arm and some got on his sleeve.” He nods to himself, as if searching through his memory. “And I told everybody that he would bite and he did.”

“And no one listened to you?” Regina asks, playing along. Mieczysław shakes his head emphatically.

“No one ever listens to me!”

Regina promises him pancakes for dinner to ease his suffering. He then asks her what suffering means and suddenly she's whipping up the batter and explaining medieval torture devices to a four year old. John isn't amused when he walks in while she details the mechanics behind a Brazen Bull, but he doesn't seem to be against breakfast foods in the evening.

-

Eventually, Mieczysław begins refusing to answer to anything but Stiles. John protests at first, thinking that it will somehow hurt his wife's feelings, but Regina waves it off. She argues that it's good for a child to be able to properly introduce themselves to others, and their son still can't quite pronounce the end of his. Nicknames, she argues further, are a rite of passage and he's lucky to have one given by his best friend.

Then Heather's family moves to Napa, and Stiles cries for a whole week. Regina and John are at a loss of what to do. None of the other children at his preschool were as close to him as Heather and he even seems to close himself off from the his peers during play. John tries to arrange play dates with the kids of a few of his coworkers, but Stiles never takes to any of them. No, it seems like Stiles was hunkering down for the longest sulk the Stilinski household had ever seen.

Until one day he brings home another boy from the playground.

Regina blinks down at the shy boy sitting on the couch while Stiles beams up at her.

“Mama! This is Scott!” he says happily. Regina looks back to the unsure boy playing with a lump in his pocket.

“You didn't kidnap him, did you?” she asks her son. Stiles shakes his head.

“Nope. Some stupid faces at the swings made fun of him for having a- a-” he frowns, trying to find the right word. The other boy, Scott, reaches into his pocket and pulls out something plastic.

“Oh. An inhaler,” she says. Stiles nods.

“Yeah, that! A 'haler! Jay took it from him so I kicked him in the leg,” he retells easily. Scott sits on the couch and looks nervous, as if expecting her to get upset. Regina instead turns to her son and asks,

“Where in the leg?”

“Here!” Stiles says, rubbing up and down his shins. Good. She tussles his hair and kneels in front of Scott.

“Sweetie, can you tell me where you live or what your phone number is? I'll call your mom so she can come get you.”

Melissa McCall is a nice but somewhat frazzled woman who just started working at the hospital. She apologizes for Scott, though Regina tells her there's no need. She invites Scott to come over and play any time because she honestly hasn't seen Stiles this happy about a new friend since Heather left. When she asks him about it, Stiles just tells her that Scott's face is normal and not scary like many other kids. Regina wants to point out the slightly uneven jawline of the boy, but decides against it. Her boy has a logic all his own.

She recounts the day's ordeal with John while they’re lying in bed. He can't help his exasperated chuckle.

“Well, I'm glad he's found someone to latch onto,” he says.

She has trouble getting up the next morning. She rarely sleeps in, but today feels like one of those days, especially with how sluggish she feels. She has to get up anyway, because Stiles comes barreling in and begs her to let him help cook breakfast. She does and it turns out to be a good move because he's there to turn off the stove when she gets too dizzy. Dizzy.

Why is she dizzy?

Stiles gives her worried looks, but she just smiles at him when the vertigo subsides.

Weird.

-

She brushes it off as one of life's odd moments. Stiles is staying the night with Scott, so she and John get their first date since Mary and her family moved. John's prepared for them a picnic basket of sorts and they park her Jeep outside of town. They lay out on the blanket underneath her stars sharing a glass of wine.

“Where are we up there?” he asks softly into her hair. She squeezes his hand before pointing to Leo and Cancer up in the sky.

“Riiight there.” She turns her head to see if he's looking in the correct place when he surprises her with a kiss.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he confesses against her lips. She turns more fully to look him in the eyes. She does know. He tells her every day and every night. After every argument and every time they make love, he tells her. Even when she's being a brat or intentionally obtuse. Even when she insults his mother. Even when she doesn't deserve it.

Which is all the time.

“You're a good man, John Stilinski,” she finally replies. “What are you doing with someone like me?”

“You make me happy.”

Sex on a blanket in the middle of nowhere isn't as comfortable as romance novels would have you believe, but goddamn is it an experience.

-

A new family moves into town. Regina normally wouldn't concern herself with the population flux of Beacon Hills, but the name immediately catches her attention.

Argent.

It's like ice water in her veins. It's a name of legend, considered by many to be the very first hunter family. Even among the hunter community, they have always been set apart from the rest. From their unusual internal hierarchy to their sheer efficiency to their multiple contributions to hunting techniques and principles, the Argents are not only respected by other hunter organizations but feared. And one thing that's known about the Argents? They move where they are needed. That they've apparently set up shop in her town has her feeling on edge. The Argents are mostly known for their work against werewolves, but she has no delusion that they wouldn't come for her if her presence was known to them.

But that means they’re here for the Hales.

Regina hasn't had much contact with the Hale pack since Peter's help with the house, but she sees them around town all the time. As far as she's aware, no violation of the hunters' precious code has happened. But this wouldn't be the first time a family of hunters has set up shop just waiting for something to happen. Hunter families make even the most well-adjusted packs nervous and edgy. It's a favorite tactic of the Bennett family to move so close as to be across the street from their targets, taunting them and forcing packs to show their hand. They and many others have made entrapment an art form.

Regina once again thinks of the boy whose hand she held. She’s seen him plenty of times over the years, at the grocery store watching his little sister, at the diner with friends, playing a starting position at whatever sporting event Mary managed to drag her to in orderto watch her oldest play. He seems happy and well-adjusted. Surely, she thinks, she ought not be concerned for him. Peter though, she thinks. Peter has been struggling with the darkness growing inside him ever since that day. She can sense it whenever she catches sight of him. She worries about the Hale pack, but she worries about Peter the most.

If she were a little more selfless, and if she didn't believe Talia to be a capable alpha, she'd warn them. She'd tell them of the danger that's just stalked into their town. She'd separate the intimidating myth and share with them the even more terrifying truth of the Argents. But she is a selfish creature, not willing to expose herself like that. And Talia, she argues, is a capable alpha, one that can handle Derek and Peter just fine.

So she says nothing. Merely watches from the sidelines as the two families circle each other.

-

Her son comes home crying and screaming only a few days later. It was his and Scott's first day of kindergarten. Stiles almost didn't sleep the night before, he was so excited. He talked John's ear off about all the things he and Scott would do and learn together during class.

“They'll teach him how to read like Mama taught me! And then we can read together! Daddy, me and Scott can read together!” Stiles chattered excitedly that night. John just nodded, baffled by his son's ecstatic joy at just the thought of having a friend who could read too. Regina can't help but laugh at the memory. But now, not even half way through the first day, Stiles is sent home in a horrible state. John takes his lunch break to come by the house to see what's wrong. Stiles has been crying this whole time, any explanation lost in hiccups and sobbing. It's only when he sees his dad that he manages to get out anything clear.

“Son, what's wrong?” John asks.

“Daddy, you have to go get them! You have to make them go away!” Stiles cries.

“Who, Stiles?”

“The monsters!”

Regina stiffens from her place behind John. Monsters. What if she was wrong. Argents specialized in werewolves, but what if there was something else in town. Something even she missed. Something at her boy's school.

“Stiles, there are no monsters,” John tries to console. Stiles grabs his father's arm.

“There are! I saw them!” he shouts.

“Where did you see them, son?” John sighs.

“Outside of the playground! They were standing there! And-and-and looking!” the boy stammers. John's hands come up to Stiles' shoulders.

“Looking? Stiles, did any of these people try to talk to you? Or any of the other kids?” he asks in his cop voice. Stiles shakes his head.

“No. They stood there and looked. And their faces were scary!”

“Stiles, there's no such thing as monsters, I promise,” John tries to reassure him. Stiles looks close to tears again.

“I saw them!”

Regina comes around and picks Stiles up as he cries into her shoulder.

“What do you think?” she asks quietly. John runs a hand over his face.

“I'll go by the school and see if any of the teachers saw anyone lurking around outside of the fence.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You know... he could have just gotten really bad first day jitters,” he tries. Regina pins him with a glare and he brings up his hands to pacify her. “I'll check it out anyway.”

She takes Stiles to his room to tuck him in, but he won't let go of her.

“I saw them, Mama,” he sniffles weakly. “I saw them, I saw them. They were monsters. They had scary faces.”

“Did Scott see the monsters?” she asks, rubbing his back. She feels him shake his head.

“Scott's a big fat liar,” he says, a pout evident in his voice. Regina is surprised to say the least.

“Why is Scott a liar?”

“He said they looked normal to him.”

Regina's grip on her son tightens. No. No, it can't be.

“Sweetie, lean back for me, okay? Let me see something,” she requests. Stiles sniffles again before pulling back. Regina puts her hands on both sides of Stiles' face, tilting it upward. It's an adorable face, one that is gaining its own beautiful constellations of moles here and there over the years. He looks so much like her now. Very gently, she lets her reach pass over and encompass him.

And his eyes turn to starlight.

-

She's not panicking. She's not. Pacing and nail biting are, of course, good indicators of a slow panic building, but she's just not, okay? Okay.

She managed to put her son to bed easily enough as he was so tired from the crying fit.

(“I'm scared, Mama.”

“I know, baby.”

“I really did see them.”

“... I know you did, Mieczysław. I believe you.”)

“My god, will you sit down? You're wearing me out, and I'm just watching,” comes a voice from the couch.

“It took you long enough, Greg!” she whispers out harshly. Gregory shrugs.

“Hey, you're the one who gave me this shitty job. I was busy,” he counters. “What's wrong this time? You get knocked up again? You know they say the tail thing has a higher probability of happening with every freak of nature you have, right?” He's teasing. She's missed this, really she has. It's been years since they've seen each other, because Gregory isn't lying. It's a demanding job. But catching up will have to wait.

“It's my son,” she tells him. He sits up straighter.

“What? What happened? Did he eat his first goat? Murder the local pastor? What?”

“I think he can see the True Face of Humanity,” she says. Gregory gapes at her for a moment before shaking his head.

“Hold on, hold on. I thought you were calling me here for something, I don't know... bad.”

“This is bad, Greg!”

“So he can see the evil in people. Big deal.”

“It scares him.”

“He'll get used to it,” Gregory tries to reassure her. He fails.

“I don't want him to get used to it. I want to keep it from happening all together!” Her hands come up to clench her hair. “Just... tell me you know a way to turn it off.”

“I'm sorry, but why would you want to disable your child like that?”

“I don't. I just want him to be as human as possible,” she corrects. Gregory leans forward.

“Exactly. Why. Would want to disable. Your child,” he emphasizes slowly. Regina pins him with a glare and tight lipped frown. “Alright, alright. Christ. Let me see what I can find.” He stands up from the couch.

“Thank you, Greg. I'll owe you one,” she says.

“Heh. You owe me several,” he jokes, giving her a small smile. It wavers when he gets a good look at her. “Hey, you feeling okay?” he asks suddenly. She blinks for a moment, then shrugs.

“Yeah, fine, why?” She looks down at herself, as if expecting to see whatever it was Gregory saw.

“I don't know,” he says, tone uncertain. “You just look a bit... faded.” Regina punches him in the arm, interpreting it as a slam on her hastily put on makeup and styled hair.

“Just go find out what you can, asshole.”

-

John comes home later that night and hangs up his jacket. Regina meets him at the door and gives him a kiss.

“So? Any word on our monsters?” she asks hesitantly. John sighs and shakes his head.

“They were just guys doing construction on the sidewalk. They work for that new guy, what's his name? Uh... Gerard Argent. Apparently they do some freelance contractor work. Stiles' teacher says they went out for recess and he just started having some kind of fit.”

John walks to the kitchen, but Regina is rooted in her place as soon as that name slips from her husband's mouth. Argent. She tries to recall how old the Hale's youngest, Cora, would be. A few months older than her son. Young enough to be in one of the kindergarten classes? Fuck. Hunters are too close for Mieczysław to be developing less than human attributes. These thoughts are running so fast in her head that she startles when John wraps his arms around her from behind.

“How is he?” he asks. Regina brings a hand up to his arm.

“Upset. But... he'll be fine,” she says, putting her faith in Gregory's efforts. “He'll be fine. But let him stay home tomorrow?”

“Gina, he needs to learn how-”

“I know,” Regina interjects. “But give me a day. I'll talk to him about... about why he's scared and why he doesn't want to go. Maybe I can keep a meltdown from happening like this again,” she reasons. She knows she's won when he sighs against her neck. She turns to give him a peck on the cheek. “Don't worry. I'll fix this.”

She will. She'll fix everything.

-

Gregory comes through incredibly early that morning. Diluting her son's Sight will actually be easier than she anticipated. The instructions he leaves her with are fairly part and partial for creating simple potions. It's the “active ingredient” that makes it so special, that will help make Stiles overwhelmingly human and repress his... other genetic material. Blood of the human parent. She almost freaks, but it turns out only a few drops are needed for it to be potent enough to work. Thank fuck, because she's left the days of blood sacrifices way, way behind her. Far too much mess for so little satisfaction.

So before John gets up that morning for work, she manages to procure a home glucose meter. John walks blearily into the kitchen to make coffee when she stops him.

“Hold on there, Mister Officer,” she says teasingly. He gives her a dopey smile as he drops a kiss on her hair.

“Why can't Mister Officer have his coffee?”

“I want to check your blood sugar before you have anything,” she says, holding up the machine. John's eyebrows shoot up.

“Blood sugar? Neither of us is diabetic. Where did you get that?” he asks.

“Melissa let me borrow it,” she lies. “And hey. Don't think I don't know what you and your partner eat for lunch okay? I have eyes all over this town. We talked about eating better. Now hand over your finger.” She snaps twice for domineering effect and John rolls his eyes as he gives her his hand. She takes a deep breath... and intentionally draws a bit too much blood with the silly needle thingy that came with the meter. John intakes a breath sharply.

“Easy there, Warden,” he jokes. Regina gives him a look and uses a testing strip to soak up a bit of the blood. The rest she cleans off with a cloth napkin she had at the ready. She puts a band-aid on his finger and kisses it. “So? How's it look?” he asks, finally going over to make his coffee. Regina looks at the machine and shrugs knowing he can't see it.

“Order a light lunch,” she supplies instead. She hears him groan and mumble, but she knows he will.

“You know,” he says on his way out of the door. “The election starts soon for sheriff. Maybe getting in better shape isn't a bad idea.”

When John leaves, Regina gets to work on brewing up the necessary ingredients. Many are used in common cloaking and perception altering potions and hex bags. It's John's blood that will force the properties of the herbs to work on a genetic level, accenting Stiles' human blood and diminishing everything else.

She wonders if he'll lose her eyes in favor of John's. She's grown to love seeing those big bambi eyes look up at her.

She pours some of the concoction into an eye dropper and heads upstairs. The only sound coming from Stiles' room is the occasional sniffle and whimper. Pushing the door open, she sees him huddled under his blankets, sock covered feet poking out at the end. Gently, she sits down on the bed and places a hand on the mound of blankets.

“Sweetie, can you come out for a second?” she tries. Her son makes a distressed sound from underneath the covers. “Please? Just for a little bit.” There's sniffling again, and then the lump wiggles and a head pops out. Tear-reddened eyes look up at her out of messy brown hair.

“Do I have to back there?” he asks.

“Not today, baby, but you will tomorrow,” she tells him. He almost buries himself back into the blankets, but she pulls on the covers and gathers him into her lap. “I promise, Mieczysław, when you go back? You won't see any monsters or scary faces. Lean your head back for me, honey.” Stiles sniffs and does as she asks, the back of his head resting against her arm. She positions the eye dropper over one eye and then the other. Her boy lets out a pained whimper. “Does it hurt?”

“It burns,” he says and tears escape his closed eyes. However, he isn't struggling and he isn't screaming, so she assumes it's more a discomfort than actual pain. After a while, Stiles' warily opens his eyes, blinking away the excess moisture. The whites are even more irritated now, but as Regina stretches her reach over him again, they don't change.

His eyes remain a honey brown.

-

Melissa brings Scott over later that night, claiming the boy was in near hysterics when his friend didn't show up at school, asking his mother if the monsters he couldn't see got Stiles. Regina tells the boy that Stiles is just fine and resting upstairs. Scott hesitates at the foot of the staircase and Regina gives him the go-ahead. Then he's flying up the steps and to Stiles' room in a flash. Melissa laughs and shakes her head.

“I swear, I thought he was going to blow a gasket.”

“Do you have to go into work soon? I'd hate to break them up after just a few minutes. You and Scott should join us for dinner,” Regina suggests. Melissa smiles at her and nods.

“I will totally take you up on that offer. I wasn't exactly looking forward to Chinese again at 2AM.”

They go into the kitchen to set the table and finish other preparations.

“Hope you like Italian,” Regina says, bending over to take the lasagna out of the oven.

“Love it,” Melissa says. “So, is Stiles doing alright? I know transitioning can take its toll. Scott was so scared to start school without him.”

“He should be back in class tomorrow,” Regina tells her.

John comes home soon after that and they all sit down a wonderful meal. Melissa and John get into a competition on who has seen the weirdest stuff on the job. Both have some great, if not exactly child-friendly, stories to tell. Regina just sits and listens. She could easily win this game, but hearing these tales from her husband and her friend are so much more amusing. The boys are alternatively eating and having their own conversation about their new teacher and what Stiles missed today and all the things they'll do on the playground tomorrow. It's turning out to be quite a nice evening.

So, of course, that's when everything falls apart.

-

She and Melissa are cleaning up while John and the boys are in the living room playing. They're both laughing about a particular story John shared that evening when it happens. Regina is carrying the now cleaned and dried casserole dish to its cabinet when the dizziness hits full force. She hears the sound of the dish breaking, but she doesn't realize that she, too, is on the ground until Melissa is turning her over. She's telling Regina to look at her and is flashing a pen light in her eyes and Regina can't help but notice the similarities between John's cop voice and Melissa's nurse voice. Speaking of John's voice, she hears him telling the boys to stay in the living room as he rushes to her side.

“Gina, what happened?” he asked, panicked. “Melissa?”

“I don't know. I think she fainted,” Melissa tells him.

“Do I look like a Southern debutante?” Regina slurs out. John huffs out a nervous laugh, his face still concerned.

“Can you sit up, babe? Melissa, would that be okay?” he asks, already putting a hand under Regina's back. Melissa nods and takes one of Regina's arms to help. The kitchen is still tilting, but it's beginning to settle. She squeezes John's hand in order to calm him. She makes to stand, but Melissa's hand on her shoulder stops her.

“Hold on, let me see,” she says, shining the pen light in Regina's eyes again. Regina tries to quell the flash of irritation she feels; Melissa is just trying to help. Because she dropped the dish. Because she fell.

Because she was dizzy.

She manages to fend off John’s concerned hands and convince Melissa that she doesn't need to go to the hospital. Her boy is worriedly poking his head around the corner. She steadies herself as much as she can and goes to him, smiling and running a hand through his hair. It's just another scary moment that has passed.

Only it hasn't. Not really.

-

It keeps happening, the dizziness. She's not naïve. She knows what it is. She just doesn't know why it's happening now, when it should be years down the road.

She's starving.

It's not the kind of hunger humans experience. Her hunger is not painful. It is, however, draining. It gets to a point where just playing with Stiles for a day begins to wear her out. She finds herself sleeping more; it's a mechanism of self-preservation. Her body seems to realize she has no intention of feeding it and is trying to cut energy costs where it can.

John is getting worried, she can see it. Even after winning his election and becoming sheriff, he's still tuned in to how she's feeling. It comes to a breaking point when she finds it hard to get out of bed the morning of Stiles' first day of first grade.

“Just for a check-up,” he says over breakfast. “Just go in, see if it's something, I don't know, like a thyroid issue. Like my cousin Miranda had.” She can't even say no. John has been pushing for this since her fall, and she's running out of excuses to say no. So she goes. She sits in the waiting room, and sits on the thin-paper covered exam table, and she lets a doctor look at her. It's not like they're going to know what it is that's actually slowly draining her.

And they don't. No, they jump to far worse conclusions than that.

“Cancer?” John whispers out. Regina holds his hands tighter in hers.

“They think,” she stresses. “They don't, uh. They don't really know for sure.”

He holds her close that night. Talks about what options they may have. The doctors they'll talk to.

“We're gonna figure this out,” he promises into her hair.

She nods and tries not to cry.

-

Stiles is excited about first grade. He comes home every day and talks his parents' ears off about what they're learning and what he and Scott got up to. They haven't told him anything. Not yet. They want to wait until the doctors come to a more cohesive conclusion of what they think it is.

But Stiles is very much like his father and there's very little he misses, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

He notices how quickly she tires in the afternoons. How difficult it's getting for her to do certain things. She's angry with herself to an extent, at how acutely this is all happening, how quickly it's started to affect her. It's getting harder to even keep her eye on the hunters and the Hale pack. Trouble is brewing, she can feel it, just under the surface, waiting to explode. But when she can barely find the energy to make dinner or take her son stargazing? She certainly doesn't have time to examine the supernatural chessboard. Especially when her son starts asking tough questions.

“Mama, are you sick?”

She does cry that night.

She cries and she thinks of all the reasons she isn't stopping this. Why she doesn't just go out and satisfy the hunger within her, make a couple of deals. Just enough to ensure that she can hold out for a few more years. Just enough so she can stay with John and watch her son grow up. She can stop it. She can stop her deterioration, John's worry, and her son's questions.

She knows why, though. It wouldn't stop with just one or two deals. If she gave in, if she let herself have that satisfaction after all this time without it... She doesn't know if she could hold on to herself, the person she is now. She was born to be a deal maker and she's been denying that nature for years now. She loves her son and her husband, more than herself, more than her stars. So much so that she refuses to risk it.

She won't give up this life she's traded her existence for.

-

That doesn't mean it's not hard.

When her hair begins to fall out, the doctors say it's because of the chemotherapy. They don't realize her form is beginning to break down. John helps her shave off what's left. His hands are steady, though he frequently has to blink back the tears. He brushes off the sheared strands from her shoulders and takes her face in his hands. The press of his forehead on hers is grounding, even as she feels the tears running down her cheeks (hers or his, she doesn't know).

Melissa brings her multicolored bandanas to wear, though Regina politely turns her down. She chooses instead to rock all of the flashy earrings she has. Even when her clothes begin to hang loosely off of her, she makes sure her makeup is perfect and her jewelry is eye catching. And when John comes home one day, a box in his hand and a sad smile on his face, she doesn't cry. She doesn't cry when she opens it up to reveal small, beautiful star-shaped diamond studs. They're by no means flawless and yet they are still perfect. She doesn't cry when he helps her put them in. She doesn't cry when Stiles can't stop playing with them and shining them in the light. She doesn't cry when John kisses her gently that night.

“We're going to figure this out,” he promises again.

She does cry then. Because she can feel it. After all this time, she feels it in him, even with her diminished reach.

He has a wish. And it's for her to live.

She clutches at his hands, so tightly she fears she’s hurting him.

“John, I’m not-” her throat closes up momentarily. “We have to be realistic about this,” she says desperately. The wish burns within him, a siren call that she knows can be heard by her kind for miles around. She’s almost overwhelmed by the strength of it, coming from a man who has never before wished for anything outside of his means. A sob shakes his body.

“Please, Gina,” he whispers. “I can’t- I can’t do any of this without you. I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

-

Of course, nothing they do helps. She still winds up in the hospital.

Stiles comes to visit one day and his head is shaved too. She runs her hand over it, smiles through her tears, and tells him how handsome he looks.

“You're gonna get to come home soon, right, Mama?” he asks. John winces behind him.

“Stiles-” he starts. Regina weakly raises a hand.

“We'll see, baby,” she says. Stiles bites his lips and looks at the ground. John rubs the back of his neck and kneels down to his son.

“I have to get to work, buddy. Can you take care of your mom until I get back?” he asks. Stiles nods, determined.

“Okay, Dad!”

“That's my little man,” John says. He goes to tussle Stiles hair, stops his hand midway, and just bends down to kiss his shorn head. He leans over Regina as well to give her a kiss.

“If you're feeling a little better tonight, I'll see if Melissa will let me slip in something from the Italian place, okay?” he says.

“You sure do know how to woo a girl,” she says into the kiss. Stiles makes a gagging noise behind them and they chuckle.

“I love you guys. I'll be back by the end of my shift,” he says.

“Bye, Daddy!”

“I love you. Be safe,” Regina calls to him. She's almost reluctant to let him leave. This is the weakest she's felt since this all began.

She knows she shouldn't have let him leave when she wakes up to find Gregory glaring down at her. Stiles is asleep curled up next to her, mindful of the IVs. Gregory's glare focuses on him before he speaks.

“He's the cause of this, you know,” he says, resentment evident in his voice. If she had the strength, she'd reach up and slap him. “Conceiving, giving birth. Creating life. That's what drained your reserves.”

“It doesn't matter,” she tells him. Because if given the chance to make a difference choice, she wouldn’t. She'd choose her boys again, in a heartbeat.

“I don't understand, Regina. You're letting yourself wither into nothing. Why?”

“This is how I want to die,” she says, pulling her son tighter to her, as tight as she can.

“Lesser?” he sneers.

“Loved.”

For a moment, the only sound is the beeping of machines and the soft snoring of the child in her arms.

“He has a wish now,” she says quietly. Gregory rolls his eyes and turns his head away.

“So?”

“So I want you to look out for them.”

“I'm done, Regina,” he growls out. “I am done with these... humans.”

“You've been there for me since the beginning, Greg,” she says angrily. “And now? Now, at the end of it, you won't help me?” Gregory is silent then, still glaring holes into the wall.

“I'll keep our kind out of this town, but that's it.” He looks back to her. “Don't ask for anything more, because I won't-” his voice catches, his glare refocusing on Stiles. “I can't do it, Regina.”

He leaves and she knows this is her last night.

She holds her son and kisses him wherever she can. He stirs in his sleep, but soon settles.

Her boys will be okay. They will have each other. They are strong and they will survive without her. As she feels her strength further fail her, she basks in Stiles warmth.

When she slips away, it's like she can once again taste that cosmic potential.

-

His dad is late. His mom is gone and his dad is late and it feels like the world is closing in around him. He was supposed to take care of her... He pulls his legs up in the hospital chair, puts his head in his hands, and he tries to stop crying. Even as it gets harder to breathe and his vision darkens around the edges, he tries.

Eight years later, he's never really stopped.