Emma's knuckles hadn't yet hit the door when Henry excitedly pulled the pristine front door open. His grin was more immense than any she had yet seen him wear, and in spite of the situation, she felt herself relax at the sight. If Henry was happy, she was happy. That was, until the blur of another figure appeared in the background. Blue eyes settled on Regina's form, taking note of the typical business attire and resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Henry had informed her that his adoptive mother had, atypically, agreed to allow Emma into the house for dinner, but the expression on her face and the arms crossed over her chest suggested anything but pleasure at Emma's arrival.
"Regina." Emma greeted the former mayor with a stiff nod. The frown on Regina's face deepened.
"Miss Swan."
"Henry!" came the young boy's voice from where he stood, centered in the entryway between them. Emma and Regina looked at him in unison, and Emma's eyes caught the split second twitch of a smile at the corner of her son's other mother's lips. The blonde wondered absently if she'd ever seen Regina actually smile-as in, the non-evil, ulterior motive kind of smile, which was what she often displayed.
"Please, come in. The lasagna is almost ready."
There was an edge to Regina's voice Emma couldn't ignore but, as she slipped her boots off and tucked them neatly into the rack by the door, she considered that it was something she'd never heard before. The false-niceties were ever-present, but this time there was a hint of nerves. Nervousness was quite out of character for the usually austere older woman. Even when she'd offered Emma the apple turnover she hadn't seemed nervous.
So why now?
The blonde shrugged her jacket off to hang it on the coat rack, and then followed Henry and Regina into the kitchen. The smell of lasagna and garlic toast washed over her, elliciting a growl from her stomach. It occurred to Emma that she hadn't eaten anything since the cereal that morning at the diner with Henry. She cast a glance to the perfectly set table, noting the decorative china and wondering how often it was used. It seemed as though a great deal of planning had gone into this meal, from the deep bowls filled with colorful salads that looked absolutely delectable down to the single violet carnation in a vase at the center of the table.
"If I'd known I was coming to a five star restaurant, I would have dressed better," Emma commented, offering Regina and Henry a warm, teasing smile. "This looks wonderful you two. Itsmells wonderful too!"
"I suggested takeout," Henry piped up from where he had hopped up to sit on the counter, "but Mom insisted we cook here at home. Well, I didn't do much. I made the salads."
The buzzer on the oven went off and Regina moved from her place tending to the garlic bread to slip oven mitts onto her hands and retrieve the lasagna.
Emma couldn't help herself.
"You didn't leave your mom alone with the lasagna and bread though, right?"
Suddenly, Regina whipped around and Emma's gaze connected with hers as if by magnetics. She realized her mistake in an instant, for Regina did not take kindly to jokes, and the blonde's discomfort increased a tenfold. Henry, too, seemed to understand the insinuation that his mother might have poisoned the food, and he looked awkwardly at the ground, waiting for a reaction with bated breath. Emma's situation wasn't much better.
Much to both of their surprise, however, Regina only straightened and freed herself from the oven mitts. When she did speak, her voice was level and calm.
"I thought it only proper to forego the poison in the food," said the raven-haired woman, and Emma looked up at her in shock. "Just for tonight."
Had that been a joke?
Regina's lips stayed set in a firm line, but her left eyebrow raised slightly.
"I appreciate that," Emma finally responded, clearing her throat in the process.
The older woman gave a small grunt of acknowledgement and carried the lasagna to the table on a hot plate. Emma made herself useful and retrieved the garlic toast, while Henry pulled a container of fruit punch and a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. As the three of them took their seats at the table, Emma's level of anxiety steadily increased. So far the few minutes she had been there had gone better than expected, but she was still quite wary of the food and the woman who had cooked it. Not long ago she had nearly killed her son in an attempt to get to Emma—it was only natural for the blonde to be concerned. Even in spite of Regina's...joke.
By the time they had finished their meals, Emma was certain she knew every detail of how to build a heated and cooled birdhouse—complete with built-in nesting materials. Henry had taken quite a shine to his carpentry class at school, and he made sure to tell them everything he had learned—in rather excruciating detail. Emma herself had never been one for building things, and she surmised Henry must have gotten that gene from his father. When he had finished speaking, Emma caught Regina's eye and was surprised to find the dark haired woman seemed as equally bored of the conversation as Emma herself felt. She made a point to act interested, but it was very clear by the time Henry got up and began to collect dishes that she was relieved the conversation was over.
Emma followed suit and helped clear the table, commenting absently on the quality of the food and thanking Regina for her effort. A part of her still wondered if there would be after-effects—a sudden and abrupt need to sleep for five years, perhaps—but she felt no different as she followed her once-nemesis towards the dishwasher. Henry took the opportunity to envelop his birth mother in a strong hug before disappearing up the stairs to shower.
Uncertain as to why she remained in the kitchen, Emma studied Regina as the woman loaded the remnants of the lasagna into a smaller container and placed it into the fridge. Although she too looked stiff, some of the earlier tension that had been obvious had lessened, and now fatigue became the more apparent trait. Emma was fairly certain the woman had applied a thick layer of makeup under her eyes to conceal what would otherwise be dark circles indicative of a lack of sleep. Her skin seemed more pale than usual, and the business attire did nothing to hide the sag of her shoulders as she finally stopped moving and leaned back against the counter and raised her eyes to the blonde woman still standing in the kitchen.
"Thank you for indulging Henry this evening, Miss Swan," Regina said from where she stood, and for a moment Emma thought she was going to smile at her, but it never quite appeared. Her words reminded Emma that the only reason she had been so graciously invited into the house was because Henry alone had wished it so. Somewhere, deep down, that realization stung. In spite of herself, Emma dipped her head into a nod.
"You really do make great lasagna," Emma offered politely in return. Regina may not be the friendliest of individuals, but it was clear she had made a point to put their differences aside that night—for Henry, of course. "I'd love to take some for lunch tomorrow, if you're willing to spare some."
The older woman seemed genuinely surprised, but a level of mistrust was ever-present in her features. Emma detected it, and this time she was unable to subdue the roll of her eyes.
"Not every sentence that comes out of my mouth has ulterior motives Regina."
"Forgive me for finding it hard to trust the Sheriff who thought it appropriate to interrogate me not long ago. After I saved both her and her mother from certain death at the hands of Rumplestiltskin." Regina spat the words, but the energy that would otherwise be behind them was absent.
Emma frowned.
"You haven't slept much, have you?" she inquired, and Regina's shoulders sagged as the fight left her body.
"It's rather hard to sleep when your brain won't shut off."
"But...I thought the sleeping potion was supposed to help with that?"
A dry chuckle issued from Regina's throat, and she shook her head.
"I've already used all of it, and it just so happens that Gold is unable to make or procure more. Besides, it didn't actually help. If anything, since I've taken it, things have only gotten worse."
Emma shifted her feet where she stood, looking at the floor for a moment in thought. She couldn't pinpoint the reason, but an odd desire to help Regina get at least one full night of sleep threatened to overwhelm her. A tightness settled in her chest as she began to pry for more details.
"How have they gotten worse?"
Regina scoffed and didn't answer.
"Okay...well, it would really help me if I knew exactly what I was dealing with here, Regina. Can you at least tell me what they're about? Do you think it's a curse or just regular nightmares?"
"It's not a curse," Regina responded, skillfully avoiding the question on the subject of her nightmares. "I believe they are growing stronger because every night I am getting less sleep than the night before. They are a bit...emotional."
"Well," Emma pondered, beginning to pace a few steps, "You've been through a great deal in your lifetime. You've...hurt...a lot of people. I can't say I'm surprised to hear that you have nightmares, let alone extreme ones."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Regina snapped sarcastically, turning to rip open the door of the dishwasher so she could add the dishes from that evening to the others already inside it. "You can leave now, Miss Swan." She didn't turn around as she spoke.
But Emma wasn't finished.
"Look, Regina," she blurted out, approaching the older woman and watching as she rotated, crossed her arms, and gave a dramatic sigh. "I'm not trying to be a jerk. I want to help you. Like you helped me. And Snow. I know everyone's having a hard time adjusting to the fact that you can be good—myself included—but I definitely haven't forgotten that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for what you did."
"The Savior wants to save the Evil Queen, now, does she?" Regina replied, nearly hissing the words.
"If it means Henry can continue to have both of us, then yes, Regina, I want to help you." Emma Swan looked into the dark eyes, noticing how they searched hers for a long moment before the one they belonged to spoke again.
"I don't understand why you seem so invested in maintaining Henry's relationship with both of us," said the former mayor, keeping her gaze on Emma's. "Given what I've done...and how I've treated him..."
"Henry loves you," the blonde cut in, halting Regina's self-criticism in its tracks. "You raised him. I abandoned him. But I'm glad he found you. He wouldn't be who he is today without you. I owe you for that. I owe you everything for that."
"And that's why you're so insistent on helping me overcome my...condition?" Regina's tone was laced with sarcasm and distrust. Her eyes narrowed as if she expected Emma to back out now. But she didn't.
"What can I do?"
"Nothing. There's nothing you, or anyone, can do. I have to get through this on my own."
"That's not true Regina. That's never true."
"It is this time." The fallen queen's voice was low and heavy.
"What if..." Emma stopped short of her suggestion, understanding it was very unlikely it would be agreed upon. But, when she studied Regina's features again, she realized that through the reservation and fatigue and the hint of defeat, something else was present there. It was faint, but definitely there. Hope. Regina was absolutely clinging to the suspense of Emma's would-be offer. She said nothing to spur her along, but Emma suddenly knew Regina was desperate to hear the end of that sentence. "What if I stayed here for a night?"
Regina's response came a tad too quickly.
"And why do you think having you here would help me sleep any better?"
"Sometimes just knowing there is someone else in the house...someone older than eleven...can settle your mind. It's a subconscious thing. Just...knowing someone is there to help you if you need it." Emma was grasping at straws but, much to her shock, it seemed that her tactics had worked.
Regina considered her for a moment, closing her eyes briefly and opening them again when they were aimed at the floor, and then gave a stiff nod.
"Very well. You can stay on the couch."