Archive of Our Own ^beta

Walking Henry to school is one of Emma’s favourite things.

It’s genuinely one of the best parts of her day – especially when, like today, Henry has been at Regina’s for his designated half the week, and Emma gets to meet him outside the mansion on Mifflin and see him run to her with his schoolbag askew.

Henry is pink-cheeked with cold, bundled up in his stripy scarf and enormous puffer jacket. Regina bought the thing for him last year and he still hasn’t ‘grown into it’ as she claimed he would. It’s supposedly the warmest, most protective coat on the market, but Emma thinks the poor kid looks ridiculous and all but round when he’s zipped into the thing. She’d burst out laughing the first time she’d seen it.

(Do you want our child to catch pneumonia, Emma? Regina had snapped. Then Emma had shut up.)

“Mama!” Henry yells, and flings himself into her arms.

“Hey, kid!” Emma grins, catching him securely, through the thick padding of his coat. “Miss me? I missed you. Are you warm enough?”

“Yep!” Henry chirps. A woolly hat is crammed over his feathery brown hair.

“Good.” Emma chuckles, guiding him away down the street. It does get cold by the coast and she’s shivering a little herself, even in her big turtleneck and trademark leather jacket. “You excited for school today?”

“Yeah!” Henry enthuses, and Emma pretends to wince at his loudness, which makes him giggle. “We get to practise for the play after lunch!”

“That is exciting.” Emma agrees. He’s taking part in his first nativity this year, and it’s been all he’s talked about all month. It’s absolutely adorable, even if she is going a little loopy from hearing Little Donkey twenty times a night (the nights he actually spends with her). “You ready for your big performance tomorrow?”

“I think so.” Henry nods. Then he looks up at her with the biggest grin, his round cheeks bright red. “And then it’s Christmas!”

“And then it’s Christmas,” Emma smiles, and squeezes his little hand.

With only a couple of days to go before the big day, Storybrooke is at its most festive. Under a crisp blue sky, strings of lights hang between every shopfront, wind around all the antique streetlights and bare-branched trees. As they pass Granny’s, Emma glimpses Ruby and one of the other waitresses wrestling with a fake tree in the window. Every streetlamp is wound with tinsel.

Emma clears her throat, the mention of the next few days bringing up all kinds of heavy feelings in her chest that she does not need to feel around her five-year-old son.

“Did Mommy tell you our new Christmas plan?” She checks, cautiously keeping her voice cheery for him.

“Uh huh.” Henry nods. “I stay at Mommy’s Christmas Eve and then you come and get me after we have Christmas dinner.”

“Yep.” Emma confirms. “But that’s only if you’re okay with it. Is that what you want to do?”

Henry considers for a moment, screwing up his tiny face. Then he just shrugs and nods. “I guess.”

Emma isn't even mad. Yeah, she's devastated to not be spending Christmas morning with her kid, but Christmas afternoon and night isn't so bad either. Boxing day is fun. She gets to play with all his new stuff with him and eat all the leftovers.

And she gets it - Regina is the Christmas morning angel. She’s always up at the crack of dawn getting a head start on the food, arranging the presents and stockings in an aesthetic way, making sure everyone wakes up to the smell of hot cocoa. It makes sense that Emma's more relaxed style of Christmas - candy and PJs and Mario Kart and movies - is much more appealing for a kid desperate to stay up late.

“Christmas morning with Mommy is pretty great, huh?”

"Yeah." Henry considers again for a moment, tiny face lined with concentration. Then he declares. "But I like it best with all of us."

"Kid," Emma has to smile, even with the twist in her heart. "Do you even remember when it was the three of us? You were pretty little."

"I do so!" Henry insists.

Emma doubts it, but that makes her heart squeeze and melt even more. Her kid has actively imagined a Christmas with the three of them together. For a second, all she can do is look over her shoulder into the wind and try not to sigh.

“Well,” Emma says, pulling herself together and brightening up for Henry’s sake. “That’s okay, because Christmas afternoon with me is going to be pretty great too. We can play with all your new toys, and if you’re really extra super good, Santa might have brought you some extra stuff round to mine too.”

“I get two stockings?” Henry enthuses. “Woo! Yeah! I bet I do. I’ve been really good this year. Mommy says, and so does Miss Blanchard. And I got two stockings last year…”

“You did.” Emma grins. Part of her is dying to ask which stocking had better gifts, but she’s not actually that petty. For now, while he’s actually enjoying something about the divorce, she’s going to try and wring as much out of that happiness as possible. “And you get two Christmas dinners too...”

“That’s okay I guess.” Henry scrunches up his face adorably.

“What, you don’t want two Christmas dinners? I know I sure would.”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t want to have to sit at the table with Grandma.”

Oh. Emma tries to suppress a laugh and a wince at the same time. She understands now.

"I don't like Grandma!" Henry declares, as if she needed any further clarification.

"You and me both, kid." Emma mutters under her breath. 'Grandma' is Cora, Regina's absolutely batshit insane mother. (As much as Emma hates to stereotype, she really drew the short straw on the mother-in-law front. Ex-mother-in-law front.)

Henry turns up to her with huge eyes. “Huh?”

“Nothing, kid.” Emma pats him on the back and herds him along towards the school gates. “Did you open your advent calendar this morning?”

“I got a chocolate robin!” Henry tells her proudly. “And Mommy made pancakes.”

“Wow,” Emma’s surprised. Regina’s usually on an extra manic health kick in December, to ‘compensate’ for all the Christmas candy. Emma always told her that was a little restrictive. Regina always told her to mind her own business. (’Feel free to poison your body if you want to, but not all of us were born with your perfect metabolism.’) Maybe all Emma's concerned complaining finally got through. Two years too late, but still.

The subject of her ex-wife still makes Emma uncomfortable, even after all this time. She forces it down. It’s been nearly two years since they separated. After all, she’s always been good at putting her feelings aside – that was part of the problem. Now, she is practically an expert.

“You have fun today, okay, kid?” Emma gives him a quick hug as they stop outside the gates. “Be a good boy.”

“Okay.” Henry huffs, and Emma’s heart melts – he looks so tiny in his ridiculous coat and scarf. Then he catches sight of some of his little friends and waves and races off into the school with his backpack bouncing, and Emma waves until he’s been swallowed up in the building.

Then she sighs, ignoring the glances she gets from some of the bitchy school moms – divorce in Storybrooke is scandalous enough, let alone sapphic divorce between the sheriff and the mayor.

Emma scowls and stalks off. She bets they don’t give those looks to Regina. No, they probably smile and plan parties and exchange recipes for the fucking bake sale. She doesn't know how she ended up as the villain here, when these women complained about Regina for years before they separated. Whatever. She doesn't want to know.

Emma’s day at work is fine.

In fact, work has been one of her saving graces lately. Being the sheriff of a small town is never an easy task, but it keeps her busy enough to forget she spends Christmas mornings alone again now, just like when she was a kid. Like the last ten years never even happened.

So she buries herself in her work at the station, in exchanging banter with David and Graham and the others, in seeing every case through with the most detail. At work, she stops being sad, fucked-up, lonely Emma Swan with the failed marriage and the quiet house, and easily becomes everyone’s favourite easy-going Sheriff, bringer of doughnuts and dumb jokes and justice.

So her day is fine. It’s not bad, because there are no annoying prank calls from the local gang of evil teenagers, but it’s also not good because she has to make a call to Regina, which is very quick and business-like, but still makes her feel weird. She’s sure that if someone else overheard it wouldn’t even sound like they know each other at all, beyond work. She hates that.

She’s just excited when three o’clock rolls round and she gets to head back to the school to pick up Henry. He races out from the crowds of children with a big smile and his stripy scarf straggling almost to the floor, and Emma catches him in a big hug, swinging him up in her arms in that way that makes him giggle.

“Hey, kid!” Emma puts him back down carefully, tucking his scarf safely up around his neck. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah! It was so good!” Henry enthuses, clutching her offered hand and waving goodbye to his friend over his shoulder. “We went through the whole nativity and everyone remembered the songs and most of their lines. I didn’t even mess up once!”

“Whoa!” Emma grins. “You’re a pretty professional actor, huh? Maybe we should ship you off to LA, make some money off you.”

Henry giggles, hitching his trailing backpack onto his shoulders.

“I can’t wait to watch you, kid.” Emma squeezes his hand. “You’re gonna be great.”

“I know.” Henry says smugly, and there’s something so Regina about that it makes Emma snort. “I like the star song best because I get to do my line.”

“I’m gonna like that one best too, then.” Emma agrees. Ever since Henry announced he was playing the literal star in his school nativity this year, she’s been bursting with pride. Screw Mary and Joseph, the star is the most important part and that’s her kid.

On the way home they stop by Granny’s diner to pick up hot cocoa with extra cinnamon and whipped cream, a Swan-Mills family tradition – or maybe just Swan now, Emma thinks, seeing as Regina never partook anyway, so she doubts she would now.

(That thought pangs strangely in her stomach, the way all such thoughts have been lately. Ever since the divorce, really. The first year Emma was just relieved it was over – the stress and strain and sleepless nights, the whispered fights as they tried not to wake Henry, the drawn-out pain of trying. Now that relief has worn off, she just misses her.)

After daubing away Henry’s cream moustache, Emma gives him a giggly piggyback all the way to her apartment. They spend a suitably festive evening watching Christmas films on Netflix and eating slightly less festive (but still delicious) homemade tacos, and by the time Henry’s falling asleep on the couch, Emma is feeling warm and happy, almost ready to fall into bed herself.

On the TV, the end of Arthur Christmas is still playing. Emma gazes down at Henry’s sleepy face. He’s nestled into her body like a bear cub and she can’t help running her hands through his feathery hair. The motion makes him stir, which makes her feel crappy, but he just yawns and looks back at the movie dociley.

“You alright, kid?” Emma asks softly. “You wanna go to bed?”

Henry nods. His voice is all small and sleepy and adorable. “I’m excited for it to be tomorrow...”

“Me too, kid.” Emma smiles, squeezing him closer. His warmth and the smell of his hair makes her heart spill with love and comfort. “You’re gonna be fantastic.”

“But I don’t have my costume yet.” Henry yawns.

“Your costume?” An image of him in a star-shaped onesie comes to mind, and Emma grins. “Do they give you that tomorrow before the show?”

“No, Miss Blanchard said we had to make our costumes.” Henry settles his head on her shoulder, eyelids falling shut again.

Emma is beginning to feel alarmed.

“In class, though?” She asks cautiously, not sure she wants to know the answer. “You make your costume in class, right?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Henry mumbles. “Some other kids already have theirs. Toby has his dad’s favourite tea towel so he can be a wise man…”

“Henry, kid,” Emma whispers, but it’s no use. He is already fast asleep again. Snoring his little snores against her shoulder.

She stares at the TV.

So she has one night to make a star costume – from scratch – suitable for a school nativity play. Fantastic.

Become a parent, Emma. It’ll be fun, Emma.

What does she do? How can she even make a star costume? It’s easy for kids like Toby who can just whack a tea towel on their head. Her son has to be the star! Emma glances around the room, hoping desperately for a strike of inspiration. She has some glow up plastic stars Henry used to have stuck on his bedroom walls. No, that won’t work. They’d fall off, and besides, he needs to be one big shiny star, not lots of little ones.

Think, Emma! There must be something she can do.

But of course, there isn’t, so she ends up sighing and easing herself out from under her sleeping child. Annoyed at herself more than anything, she sneaks out into the hallway and does the one thing she really didn’t want to have to do.

The phone rings three times before she picks up and by the sound of her voice, she is annoyed at having been contacted at all. Emma knows at this time of night on a weekday, Regina will have just barely stopped working, maybe just poured her one treasured glass of wine and is definitely dreaming of bed, even if she’s too proud to admit it.

“What do you want, Emma? Is Henry okay?”

"Your son has just announced he needs a star costume ready for the nativity tomorrow." Emma hisses.

“He – oh for the love of –” Down the line, there is silence, then the familiar sound of Regina's sigh. Then, after a moment, her hard flat voice, "So he's my son when he's forgetful and inconvenient?"

Emma rolls her eyes theatrically, ever amazed by her ex's pettiness. "Way to miss the point, Regina -"

" - because I'm just saying, I think we both know those traits are more yours than mine."

"Fine." Emma grits out. "He's your son when he's being incredibly smug and bossy. Happy?"

Regina makes that aggravating derisive sound she always makes when she has no real argument but wants to sound superior. After a pause, she asks, "What are you proposing we do about this?"

"I don't know! I don’t have anything and the costumes stores will all be closed!"

"I'll see what I can do." Regina sighs.

Emma is surprised. "You really wanna take this one?"

"Do I really want to help my child prepare for his first starring role in a Christmas tradition? Yes, of course I do.” Regina snaps. “I'll cobble something together and drop it off at school before the show tomorrow."

For a moment, there is silence down the line.

Then, with a wrenching in her chest, Emma shakes her head. "No."

"What?"

"No, you're not totally taking over here.” Emma tells her firmly. “We both know I'm the handy one out of the two of us. I can help. I - I should help. We're both his mother, for God's sake."

"Fine." Regina says sharply. "Come over when you can."

Emma scowls. "Why do I have to come to yours? Henry's already settled here."

"Well, is he asleep?"

"Yeah."

"Then you can carry him to the car, he won't wake up. And you can take him back with you when you leave."

"Or you could just come over here." Emma rolls her eyes.

"We both know I'm the one with the craft supplies." Regina points out, using Emma's previous wording against her.

"Yeah, I guess you are." Emma mutters begrudgingly, and then hears herself adding with a slightly more wistful twist to her lips, "Pinterest mom."

"What?"

"Nothing." Emma's smile withers. "I'll be over in 10."

"Good." Regina says, and promptly hangs up.

So Emma quietly yanks on her own jacket and scarf over the sweatpants and tank she was planning on sleeping in, before gently coaxing Henry up and into his own ridiculous coat. He’s too sleepy to care, so he lets her pick him up and walk him out to the car.

“We’re going on an adventure.” Emma tells him, as she buckles him into the back seat. “To go and see Mommy. You don’t have to wake up though. Just sleep, if you need to.”

“Okay…” Henry mumbles, still clearly half asleep.

Emma climbs into the front and drives to Regina’s, scowling and cursing her life.

Ten minutes later, she’s pulling up outside the garden that she used to play in with Henry in when he was a baby. All the lights inside the mansion glow through the big windows. Steeling herself, Emma pushes open her door and goes around to pick up Henry. He’s sound asleep now, head lolling onto her shoulder.

Car locked, she heads up the garden path. The lawn needs mowing – that was always her job. Emma doesn’t know if that makes her feel smug or sorry. She knocks on the door as quietly as she can. Clearly, Regina has been waiting, because it springs open almost immediately.

“Hey,” Emma whispers.

“Hey.” Regina whispers back, her voice sharp.

Even after all this time, after working together, Emma still feels a kind of sharp tug in her heart whenever she sees her. Regina is wrapped in that silky grey robe over her pyjamas, though her makeup is still on from the day, her dusky lipstick a little faded. Big dark eyes dart up to Emma’s, unreadable. “Come on.”

Emma follows her into the warm glow of the den. In the window, the most picture-perfect Christmas tree glistens, all tasteful in silver and red, the lights twinkling softly. They shine off of Regina’s dark hair and turn her olive skin to gold as she stands there awkwardly, avoiding her ex-wife's eye.

Emma thinks this would be a lot easier if Regina wasn’t so fantastically beautiful.

“You can put Henry down on the couch.” Regina says softly, and Emma does, easing him gently onto the cushions. He mumbles and turns over, snuggling in. A small smile touches Emma’s lips, and she brushes the hair from his forehead.

When she turns around and catches a similar look on Regina’s face, her stomach jolts. No matter what they feel about each other, they both love this kid more than anything else on earth. And that’s something that binds them forever, stronger than any marriage certificate could.

“I’m, uh, just gonna go to the bathroom.” Emma says, suddenly needing air.

“Okay.” Regina nods crisply. “I brought the box of craft supplies down. It’s on the landing, would you mind grabbing it on your way back?”

“Course.” Emma nods, and quickly slips out into the hallway.

The air in this house feels oppressive, thick and heavy. Nothing at all like the lightness of her memories here. Come on, Emma, get a grip. She’s not here to mope about her divorce. She’s here to make her son the most kick-ass star costume Storybrooke Elementary has ever seen.

Emma returns to find Regina kneeling by the couch, holding Henry's tiny little hand in hers and gently stroking his forehead. For a moment she is thrown by the image of her beautiful, complicated, loving wife and their precious son bathed in firelight together and her heart clenches. Then she remembers they're not married, they're tired and annoyed, and it's already coming on ten o’clock.

So she drops the craft box with a huff.

“Here.” Emma gestures to it, and finally tugs her jacket off. “I hope you have a plan, because I –”

“Do you want a drink?” Regina asks tersely.

Emma stares. “Huh?”

“A drink.” Regina repeats, irritable. “I have mulled wine. I was saving it for a more festive occasion but it seems only right. If we’re to stay up until this star is done.”

“Sure. Thank you.” Emma says tightly. “Do you want me to take Henry up to bed?”

Regina blinks at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Kid’s already been moved and disturbed once tonight, I’m not gonna wake him up again just for routine’s sake.” Emma says, even though she is disappointed she won’t wake up with him tomorrow morning.

“Thank you.” Regina says. “I’ll go fetch your drink.”

Emma carefully picks Henry up into her arms once more – making sure not to disturb him – and carries him up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s weird, pushing the door open with her shoulder and going into the same smells and sights as before.

She tries not to think about the ache in her chest as she gently lays him in bed and covers him over with the dinosaur sheets she helped pick out. Tries not to remember her and Regina painting this room, spinning and laughing to the radio, after the adoption was confirmed. Tries not to remember building that bed herself when he got too big for his crib.

Instead, she just leans over her son and presses a kiss to his warm forehead. He’s snoring away, mouth slightly open, one hand trailing out from under the comforter. She switches on his nightlight, knowing he’ll want it if he wakes up. And then she closes the door very gently and heads back downstairs.

She passes Regina in the hall and is silently handed a glass of steaming, fragrant wine. She mumbles a thank you. Regina is expressionless, carrying her own glass into the living room. After a few terse sips, she sets it down and takes a seat on the floor opposite her, next to the craft box. Emma marvels and sighs at how impossibly elegant the brunette is, even sitting down on the carpet.

“Alright, this is what we’re going to do.” Regina says briskly, laying out the supplies as if they’re vital weapons in an arsenal, or, Emma thinks, like her stupidly expensive makeup on her vanity every morning. Same difference.

“I’m going to measure and cut the star shape from cardboard. You are going to unroll all the tinfoil I could find and we’re going to hope to God it’s enough. We can cover the star in foil, I’ll glue some straps to the back to go over his shoulders, and he can just wear his black trousers and a black shirt underneath. Got it?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t we paint it, too?” Emma says, frowning down at Regina’s craft spread.

Regina shoots her a scathing glance. “Paint it?”

“Yeah, we should paint the star gold.” Emma explains with a defensive shrug. “It should be gold, not silver.”

“You’re right.” Regina says, and for a triumphant moment Emma thinks she’s won. Then she adds, with all the biting sarcasm she can, “If you can find enough gold paint in this house you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Alright, your majesty. Let’s get this done.”

“Don’t call me that.” Regina snaps.

Emma ignores her, huffily grabbing the boxes of tinfoil and ripping them open one by one. She sits there, on the rug she once spilled coffee on, glowering and unravelling roll after roll of foil. The fireplace leaps and crackles. Regina moves very tightly and methodically, marking out the correct measurements of every spike of the star with her ruler and pencil.

Emma’s gaze keeps flickering over to her. She can see Regina’s in that overtired, overworked state that makes her act like a total bitch. If they were still married, this is when she would gently remove Regina from whatever task she was insisting on doing, slide her arms around her waist and hold her close until she finally relaxed in her arms, and coax her up to bed.

Sometimes she’d pour her a glass of her favourite wine and bring it in, sometimes she'd run her a bubble bath. Sometimes she’d just pull Regina down onto her lap and rub her shoulders and whisper dumb jokes into her ear until the stress melted away and she would actually giggle, relax, drop her head on Emma’s shoulder and whisper a thank you, darling.

What would I do without you, Emma? You’re my hero.

I do make a habit of saving cats from trees.

I mean it. Don’t laugh. I’m a mess and a raging bitch when you’re not here.

And I’m an idiot when you’re not, so it’s lucky for both of us we’re sticking together.

Always, Regina would promise, with such softness in her dark eyes that Emma could barely look.

Emma shoves the memories aside, forcing down the lump that has suddenly appeared in her throat. It’s this house, she tells herself. This house was her home once. Her first real home. And then it wasn’t. And that does weird things to a person’s brain.

She glances at Regina again, carefully cutting out the star shape with almost frightening focus. Regina really needs a massage, Emma thinks. Or a good fuck.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

Stop it, Emma.

But she can’t. She wonders if Regina is seeing anyone. If Regina kissed anyone under the mistletoe at her office Christmas party last week. Emma used to hate going to those things with her – the one at the sheriff’s station was way more chilled out and fun. Now she’d give anything to have been there, just to know if that slimeball Robin tried anything.

"Damn it!"

Emma glances up from her sheet of tinfoil, startled. "Huh?"

Regina scowls at her, holding up a bleeding finger. "Sliced myself."

"Here." Emma drops the tinfoil and leans forward, a furrow between her brows. She's swift and business-like in examining the cut. "You got any plasters?"

Regina stares at her. "The implication that you don't assume a parent of a five year old - your five year old - would ever not be in possession of plasters is worrying."

Emma rolls her eyes as she turns her back, heading through to the kitchen. "You still keep it in the top drawer?"

Regina sighs, hearing the draw open and knowing Emma has easily located her first aid kit. She brings it back to the carpet, opening it up and rifling through until she finds a suitable plaster.

Regina goes to snatch it from her with her left hand, but Emma quickly draws back. "No. You're gonna let me do it."

Regina purses her lips and rolls her eyes, but she sticks out her hand when Emma gestures for it. She sits in silence, looking away, as Emma gently dabs the tiny wound clean and wraps it in a plaster.

"For a helicopter mom you always were pretty bad at taking care of yourself."

Regina's dark eyes meet hers sharply. "What's it to you?"

Emma glances down, suddenly quietened. She forgets it's not her place to make comments like that anymore. She finishes securing the plaster and quickly drops Regina's dainty, familiar hand. "There. All done."

"Thank you." Regina says primly, then goes back to carefully slicing out the star.

They work in terse silence for a while longer. The only sound is Regina’s scissors cutting through carboard, and the slight crinkle and crunch of the tinfoil being unfolded. When Emma can bear it no longer, she hears herself ask, “How was the office party?”

“What?” Regina’s brows furrow distractedly.

“The office party.” Emma repeats. “You always hated them. I was just wondering if they got any better.”

Regina doesn’t look up from her work. Her full lips purse. “They didn’t.”

“Figures.” Emma rips into another box of tinfoil. She pauses, the question lingering on the tip of her tongue. She knows it’s not her place anymore, but she can’t help it. She’s tired and tense and sick of pretending tonight. “Did you go with anyone?”

Now Regina looks up, sending her a scowl across the room. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh my god, you did!” Emma realises.

“It’s none of your business.” Regina tells her briskly. Is it the dim firelight, or is that a flush of pink in her cheeks?

"Come on," Emma's features draw into an incredulous grimace. Her stomach is twisting unpleasantly. "You're not still seeing that sleazebag from the parks department, are you?"

"I was never seeing Robin." Regina informs her crisply. "You just have an over active imagination. You were always jealous of him. He's been nothing but decent and polite."

"Yeah, because he wants to get in your pants." Emma points out. “He all but attacked you at the Christmas party in 2019 -”

"For god’s sake," Regina scowls down at her work. "It's like trying to have a conversation with a child."

"Hey, forgive me for being protective of my wife." Emma mutters.

"Ex-wife.” Regina retorts, with a pointed glare. "Besides, there's being protective and then there's being stifling. You would have wrapped me in bubble wrap if you could."

"Oh, like that's not exactly what you're doing to Henry right now. And anyway, if you were wrapped in bubble wrap you wouldn't have cut your damn finger."

Regina says nothing. She just purses her lips in that way that makes her jaw tight and tells Emma she's really annoyed. A wave of dark hair flops against her cheek as she leans forward to focus on her work. Her perfect brow is furrowed in concentration.

"I like your hair, by the way."

"What?" Regina's dark eyes are still sharp, wary.

"Your hair, I like it longer." Emma shrugs. She stares down at the tinfoil as she unravels it. "I never got a chance to say. It looks nice."

"Oh." Regina frowns, one hand almost absently flying to touch her dark waves, which now sit just over her shoulders. "Well, I doubt I'll let it get any longer than this."

"It's nice how it is." Emma says quietly, still not looking up at her. Then, after a few long moments with nothing but the sound of crinkling tinfoil and carboard being sliced, she decides to throw caution to the wind. "Reminds me of when we met."

Regina lets a tiny smile wash over her for a brief moment. Then she just breathes out carefully. The girls they were when they met are long gone.

“It was much longer then.” Regina corrects her, but her voice is softer now, not snapping. “I’m glad I eventually realised braids are not a good look on anyone over the age of ten.”

Emma snorts softly. “Nah, they looked good on you.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “I thought we agreed to never talk about this?”

“Maybe.” Emma feels a small, bittersweet smile touch her lips. “But I guess now you get to bring up the plaid dress, so we’re even.”

“I forgot about that.” Regina looks up at her across the room, really looks at her for the first time. Despite the hard set of her jaw, there’s a softness in her gaze. “Come on, Emma. The one dress you owned back then and it was made of plaid.”

“Plaid isn’t a material, it’s a pattern.” Emma points out.

“Oh, now you care about words and their correct definitions?” Regina raises her perfect eyebrows. Something incredulous lingers at the corners of her mouth, almost a smile. “But when you tried to convince my parents za was a word…”

“Za is a word!” Emma insists, throwing aside an empty tinfoil tube. “It’s short for pizza and if you were actually cool in the nineties you would have known that. But as we’ve established, you were braiding your hair and playing with horses back then.”

Regina rolls her eyes. Emma sneaks another look at her as she goes back to carefully cutting out the star, and is surprised to see a small, soft smile on her lips.

“Your mom didn’t appreciate that one.” Emma mutters, remembering the stupid Scrabble game that ended in one of the famous Mills family screaming matches.

“No, she didn’t.” Regina snips the final point of the star free. “But you’d been riling her up all day. Pass me that tinfoil.”

“Me?” Emma’s eyebrows shoot skyward as she hands over the crinkly pile of foil. “That’s a joke. That was the year she gave me a gift basket of muffins someone clearly already gave to her. And they were all blueberry which she knew I didn’t like.”

“Oh, of course.” Regina remembers, the edges of her mouth twitching. “That was a low." Silence. Then; "I wonder if she ever misses her ongoing quest to give you the worst Christmas present anyone’s ever received.”

“Do you remember that one year she got me a gift card to that godawful steakhouse near hers? The one I said I hated, like, a thousand times?” Emma can’t help the grin tugging at her mouth at the memory. “And then she got mad at me for not being appreciative when she so obviously just did it so we’d come and visit.”

Regina shakes her head. Behind the swing of her hair, Emma glimpses the hint of an old, familiar smile. “Better than the time she got you oven gloves.”

Emma bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, I forgot about the oven mitt! What did we even do with that?”

“I have no idea,” Regina’s chuckle is quiet and throaty and tugs at Emma’s heart.

“She always hated me.” Emma grumbles.

“Well, she hates me too, you’re not special.” Regina remarks. “And everyone else I’ve ever been with.” She pauses, and that whisper of a smile is back on her lips. “Although you probably could have avoided some of the heat if you hadn’t worn ripped jeans the first time you met her.”

“Nobody told me it was a fancy restaurant!” Emma complains, old embarrassment heating her cheeks even as laughter bubbles up in her chest. “You could have given me a heads up.”

“I thought it was implied! I told you it was the French place by the port.”

“Yeah and I was too poor to even set foot in that neighbourhood. I didn’t know what the hell that was!”

“Still, you knew what my parents were like and you went with a tank top and ripped jeans.” Regina fixes her with her most withering stare. Her dark eyes twinkle nonetheless. “Bold move, twenty-three-year-old Emma. Bold move.”

“Ugh,” Emma sighs, groaning and wincing at the memory. “You know what, it was worth it though for the pure horror on your mom’s face when I came up and said hi.”

“She thought you were there to fix the leak in the ladies’ bathroom.”

Emma laughs. “God, I didn’t realise I was dressed like a plumber...”

“I loved you for that, though.” Regina says, and suddenly her tone is so much softer, her features softened at the memory. “I remember thinking how brave you were for shaking her hand and sitting down with us even after that. You acted like nothing happened. Even when she was so rude to you. Nobody had ever stood up to my mother before. Not that I’d seen, anyway. It made me fall in love with you even more.”

Emma’s breath has lodged somewhere in her chest. “You… you were in love with me when we went to that restaurant?”

Regina blinks. Colour flushes her cheeks as she realises what she just let slip. “I – yes, I think so.”

“You told me you loved me on our six month anniversary.” Emma reminds her. “When I told you.”

“I did.” Regina looks down at the star costume, a dark wave of hair falling against her cheek. “But I was in love with you long before that, Emma, I was just too young and shy and scared to admit it.”

Emma smiles a strange half-smile, all kinds of old emotions twisting inside of her. “Guess not many people get the privilege of ever seeing the almighty Madam Mayor shy and scared.”

Regina smiles. “No. I suppose you’re one of the lucky few.”

“You were so cute back then.” Emma reminisces fondly, images of the excitable but gentle girl with her intricate braids and her horses. “I mean, you’re cute now too but like – I’m glad I got to see you through all your growth.”

“Seriously?” Regina gazes at her across the room, eyes soft and warm with reflected firelight. One perfect eyebrow arches. “I’m just impressed you actually fell in love with who I was then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma shakes her head. Her heart aches sometimes, for all those insecurities she never was quite enough to get rid of in Regina. Still, she can try once more, right? For old times’ sake. "You were amazing then, and you're amazing now."

“I liked that when we met you needed me to be your knight in shining armour, because I think I needed to be that back then. I was young and dumb and embarrassing too, and nobody had ever needed me before.” Emma pauses, heat flushing her cheeks. “But I also like that I got to stand by and watch you become your own knight, too. And now you’re like, one of the most badass and powerful women I know but it’s also like – I can still see that sweet, big-hearted girl in you too. I just – it’s just nice, I guess.” Emma finishes lamely.

Regina is gazing at her. In the firelight, her olive skin glows almost golden, her dark hair shining. Her full lips are parted and for a moment Emma thinks she’s overstepped, she’s said too much – but then Regina closes her lips in a small smile, and her deft hands get back to smoothing tinfoil and shaping the edges.

Suddenly, there is a lump in Emma’s throat. She glances away from the fire as if scalded, and takes a long drink of mulled wine.

After a few moments of silence, Regina looks back up at her and says, “Henry’s first Christmas. That's the worst Mother memory.”

“Oh my god!” Emma gapes, mouth open. “I can’t believe we forgot about that. Jesus Christ, she really outdid herself with that one. I mean, premium bonds? For a baby?”

“Don’t forget the lecture on mental illness in adopted children.” Regina reminds her.

“Oh no, couldn’t let that one go.” Emma half grins, half winces. Then, without thinking, “Or Christmas 2014. Lingerie-gate.”

Regina makes an incredulous noise in her throat and looks up at Emma with wide, reproachful eyes. “Is that never talking about it again?”

Suddenly, Emma is right back there, sitting under the Christmas tree watching with increasing horror as Cora mistakenly opens her gift intended for Regina – her then-new wife. Emma dove across the floor with a yelp to grab the box back from her but it was too late. The memory of skimpy black lace and delicate tissue paper makes her laugh, and suddenly she’s wheezing, her shoulders shaking.

“Emma! Shh!” Regina scolds, glancing up at the ceiling. “You’re going to wake Henry.”

But she’s laughing too now, silently, and every time they make eye contact it gets funnier – Emma can remember the horror on Cora’s face like it was yesterday.

“That was the most mortifying moment of my life.” Regina hisses, once they’ve finally got their laughter under control.

“I know.” Emma cringes. “And I’m sorry. I should have kept a better eye on what she was doing. I just… All those gift boxes looked so similar and… I mean, all in all that wasn’t a bad year. We did have a good time after the left.”

Regina gives her a sharp look, and Emma blushes furiously.

“No, I didn’t mean – I mean the sex was pretty great but – I meant the ice rink. At midnight. With all the lights on and those scratchy scarves Granny knitted us…”

“Oh.”

It’s Regina’s turn to blush as she remembers.

After the disastrous Christmas day with Cora, they’d been so drained. Emma had suggested they go to the ice rink in town to cheer themselves up. It was Christmas, after all, and they shouldn’t just be slumped miserably on the couch together drinking eggnog. Regina had protested that it would be shut, but since Emma’s friend August ran it, they were able to swing by his house and pick up the keys.

He’d warned them furiously not to break any bones or sue him, but he’d been half-drunk and warm with Christmas cheer himself, and handed the keys over. So together, wrapped up warm in layers of jumper and coat and scarf, Emma and Regina had broken into the deserted rink in the dark, fumbled their way into pairs of ice skates. They were whispering and hushing their laughter, like they were doing something secret, even though they were allowed to be there. It still felt wrong, but also so right.

Skating around under the stars, all by themselves, under the infinite stars on Christmas night – Emma thinks that will always be one of the most magical moments of her life.

“I mean… It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Emma ventures, though her voice is hoarse. “Even at the end?”

“Oh, Emma…” Regina lets out a small sigh, realising what she’s talking about. Suddenly, the air in the living room is thick and heavy. “Most of it wasn’t bad at all.”

“Well, we still broke up.” Emma says. She tries to say it decisively and lightly but it comes out kind of brutal.

Regina stares at her with wide, inescapable dark eyes. Her tone is harsh. “You don’t need me to give you answers. You were the one that walked out.”

Defensiveness flashes into Emma’s throat. “Not because I wanted to.”

“Well, you did. Whatever the motive.” Regina mutters, then, shaking her head, turns back to the nearly-finished star costume. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Henry needs to be at school in nine hours and this still needs straps so he can actually wear it.”

“Right.” Emma mutters, and leans over to the craft box. “Glue gun?”

“Yes please.” Regina holds out her hand for it.

Emma sits on the rug, staring at the fraying fibres, while Regina secures the arm straps onto the back of the star with her stupid glue gun. The fire crackles and hisses. That sound used to be so comforting, but now it just makes her skin itch.

“There.” Regina says at last, holding up the completed costume and studying it with dark, critical eyes. “It’s far from ideal, but it’ll do.”

“Thank you, Regina.” Emma says softly.

Regina turns to her, dark hair swinging across her shoulders. “It was a joint effort.”

“Still.” Emma mumbles, with a shrug.

She doesn’t know why, but her heart feels warm and tender, welling with appreciation for this woman who she, unfortunately, does not hate at all. She wishes she could pull Regina into her arms, to squeeze her close and rub her back and tell her she’s incredible and that she’s sorry for all the stupid shit she said and did when she was hurting.

Regina is clears her throat awkwardly, and suddenly Emma realises she’s been staring at her. Cheeks flaming, she looks down at the carpet. “I should probably go. I’ve ruined enough of your evening as it is.”

“Emma.” Regina sighs. She’s gazing down into her own lap. “You haven’t ruined anything. I mean it. Nothing that helps our son is a waste of time.”

“You’re right,” Emma realises, and can’t help looking up at her with a small smile, imaging Henry in his costume. He’s going to look fucking adorable tomorrow, and Emma cannot wait.

“And I can’t let you drive all the way back to yours at this time of night.”

Emma is confused. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t have to drive back home just for the night. Henry has to be up for school early. My guest room is already made up, and Henry’s things are here…” Regina trails off, and for the first time Emma sees a jarringly vulnerable flash of uncertainty on her face. “I’m saying you can stay. If you want to.”

“Oh.” Emma’s mouth is open, heat prickling up her neck. She feels her brows knit together. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Of course.” Regina says. Her perfect features are smoothed into a mask of impassivity, but Emma can see the disappointment in her breath, the line of her neck as she nods.

“Regina, I didn’t mean –” Emma winces. She can’t help shuffling forward onto her knees on the carpet, closer to the brunette. “It’s just that it’s late and you’re stressed and you’ve had some wine and I don’t know if you’ll appreciate having me in your house when you wake up.”

“I’m not stressed.” Regina snaps.

Emma almost laughs. Trust Regina to only pick up on that one thing.

“Come on, Regina. You know you can’t lie to me.” Their eyes meet. “You may not be my wife anymore, but my superpower is still always perfect with you.”

“Leave, then.” Regina says, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “If you think that’s for the best.”

“That’s not what I –” Emma sighs. She’s never been able to talk to anyone as easily as she once did with Regina. Why now is it so difficult to get a full sentence out? “I just meant I don’t want to be in your way or put you out. I know I’m hardly your favourite person.”

Across the room, Regina’s wide dark eyes meet hers. There’s a moment of pure, open pain and uncertainty in the twist of her brows, her parted lips, before at last she gives in and says quietly, “You’re not my least favourite.”

Emma can’t help the tiny smile that tugs at her. “Still. All the more reason for me to get out of your hair.”

With a huff, she gets up sharply and starts gathering her things. Her leather jacket from over the arm of the couch, her boots from the floor. Where did her car keys go down?

“Emma.”

Regina’s voice is soft but insistent, and it stops her in her tracks.

Emma glances at her over her shoulder.

“Stay.” The brunette is still sat on the floor, just gazing up at her with an unreadable look on her beautiful face.

Emma wets her lips, swallows around the lump in her throat. Forces a casual, careless eye-roll. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay. I don’t need your charity.”

“Well maybe I need you.”

That hits Emma like a punch in the heart.

She just stands there, in the middle of the room where they once slow-danced in their pyjamas, blinking in the light of the Christmas tree. When she finally speaks, all she manages is a very lame, “Oh.”

“Forget it, I’m being pathetic.” Regina says, quickly standing up and turning away. She’s pretending to tidy something away but Emma can see right through it, can recognise the regret and shame in the sharpness of her movements.

“You’re not pathetic.” Emma tells her, with sudden strength and sincerity.

No matter what petty bullshit and old wounds exist between them, no matter whether she loves her or hates her or a strange mix of both, she will never, ever stand for Regina speaking about herself that way. She never has, and she doesn’t intend to start now.

Throwing care to the wind, Emma steps closer, enough to lay a gentle – but firm – hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “That’s your mother talking, not you.”

Regina says nothing, but does nothing either. Under Emma’s hand, her shoulder is warm. She can feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

“And if you need me, you have me.” Emma promises. Her voice is low and warm, but her breath trembles a little as it passes her lips. “No matter what’s going on.” Regina smells like home and promises and that stupid expensive shampoo she never shared.

“I just –” Regina turns suddenly, and Emma jerks back out of instinct, frightened to be so close. Her ex wife gazes up at her with conflicted dark eyes. “I’m sorry to put this on you. I know you’ve been struggling. And I know you think I haven’t. But I have. And it’s Christmas, and I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want Henry to have to miss you.”

She pauses, full lips parted as if debating whether or not to say it. The silence is full and heavy. “I miss you, Emma.”

“I miss you, too.” Emma whispers. She has to, with the size of the lump in her throat. Any louder and she’ll cry. “All the time.”

“Then stay.” Regina says. She takes a careful breath in and Emma can see her gathering herself, smoothing over her emotions. “Just for tonight.”

“Okay.” Emma whispers, with a sincere nod and a lump in her throat.

Regina’s dark eyes flicker up to hers, uncertain beneath those gorgeous lashes. For a moment Emma is tongue-tied herself. Then Regina methodically holds out her hand and says quietly, “Glitter, please.”

“What?”

“Glitter.” Regina repeats, casting her gaze back towards the star costume. “The foil gives a nice effect, but it should have glitter.”

“Smart move.” Emma nods, and rummages in the craft box until she finds some, all silver and gold. “Will this be enough?”

“We’ll find out.” Regina says, and then, shifting over on the carpet with the star costume carefully in hand, “Help me?”

Emma nods.

And so she finds herself sat on the carpet with her ex-wife, both of them daubing a giant cardboard star with glitter in companionable silence, by the dim flickering lights of the Christmas tree. It’s a strange evening, but she’s had stranger.

Once Regina decides there is enough glitter, they finish up with the straps and dust themselves off. Wordlessly, they tidy away the craft supplies back into their box, except the little knife and measuring-thing Regina says she needs to use to cut out the face-hole tomorrow when they can actually see Henry in it and know where it needs to be.

“The guest room is set up already.” Regina tells her as they head upstairs. For the first time in hours, awkwardness edges her tone. “I’ll fetch you some things to sleep in.”

“Thanks.” Emma runs her hand along the banister. She remembers winding it with tinsel, Christmas music blaring, Regina laughing and trying to catch a very sticky, glittery toddler Henry, right here on these stairs only a few years ago.

She’s so tired she doesn’t even realise until she’s crashing into the guest room that it’s made up for Regina’s mother. Cora is coming to stay Christmas night, and that’s why the sheets are pulled so deathly tight, ironed so perfectly flat. Why the jokey photos and keepsakes that usually – for all Emma knows – line the windowsill have been hidden away.

She sits down on the end of the bed. Her chest wells with old and new tenderness for Regina, letting her stay tonight. Asking her to stay tonight. She smiles to herself.

Emma is surprised by the gentle sound of the door opening. “Hey.”

“Here.” Regina says, edging in and placing a pile of neatly-folded clothes carefully on the end of the bed.

Emma’s heart bursts with warmth when she sees what they are – her old Rolling Stones t-shirt, and a pair of faded sweatpants. Emma thought she’d just misplaced both items in the move and hadn’t thought of them since. But she’s glad. She runs a hand over the soft, familiar fabric. Regina wore that shirt more than she did anyway. Just to sleep in, but still. Emma can think of a thousand nights cuddling up to her with that sleeve slipping off her shoulder. It smells like fresh laundry and Sunday mornings.

“Thank you.” Emma stares at her, the shirt in her hands, wondering what else Regina has carefully saved, washed, kept for her. If there are any more remnants of her past life haunting this house.

“It’s nothing.” Regina says quietly.

It’s not. Emma wants to tell her. It’s really not.

But she’s tired, and her bravery went out with the Christmas lights. So she just conjures a small smile and says, “Really, thank you Regina. Night.”

“Goodnight.” Regina says softly, and then she’s slipping out of the door, gone.

As she’s lying in the guest bed, staring up at the ceiling, she reflects on the aftermath of the divorce. Emma always thought she had the raw end of the deal, having to move out of the mansion and get her own place.

It wasn’t like Regina was deliberately mean about it. 108 Mifflin was her house after all, had been in her family for years. Emma had moved in when they were together and so was only fair Emma should move out when they separated. Especially since Henry’s bedroom was so established there. But still. Buying a new, small apartment at thirty five was hardly the sign of a stellar life plan. Plus she had to pay for a bunch of new stuff, and deal with all the paperwork and stress of moving.

But now, wrapped up in the same sheets she used to fold and launder, Emma wonders if maybe Regina had it harder. Having to sleep in their bed alone. To cook in their kitchen without her. To face the memory of every day and night spent together everywhere she turned.

Emma rolls over with a huff, unable to get comfortable. How many times did they make this bed together? Complaining about Regina’s mom coming to stay, or gossiping about Emma’s college friends coming up. She had to fix the radiator in here one year and fucked it up so bad they gave up and called a professional. They laughed about it after, though.

The pillow is too soft. Emma chucks it off the bed and flops back down. Time seems to creep by and she’s only getting less tired – she tries to comfort herself with thoughts of Henry in his star costume tomorrow. Getting to see him sing on stage with all his friends. It does soothe her, but it doesn’t help her sleep.

Eventually, she rolls out of bed and pads to the hallway, intending to grab a glass of water. She gets the shock of her life when she finds another dark shape in the shadows, coming out of the bathroom. For a moment they both freeze.

“Trouble sleeping?” Regina asks, her voice guarded and quiet.

Emma nods. “Something like that.”

“Me too.” Regina sighs. Silence settles, buzzing like static. Emma wonders if she’s going to slip past, to disappear into the bedroom that once was theirs. She doesn’t. She just stands in the darkness, in her nightdress, her dark hair rumpled. Her feet are bare.

Emma blinks, her eyes adjusting to the dark. She doesn’t know why she’s not leaving either.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She whispers.

Regina nods tightly. “I don’t like you being in the guest room. It feels wrong.”

Emma blinks, her breath caught in her throat. She hates it too. She hates that she is a guest in this house that was her only real home. But she can’t say that when she’s fucking pathetically, desperately, overwhelming glad to be back in this house at all.

Taking her silence wrong, Regina turns to go. The panic Emma feels shocks her.

“Regina.” Emma catches her by the arm, expecting Regina to throw her off and stalk back to her room.

She doesn’t. She just freezes on the landing, her breath coming heavy. Then she turns around and Emma is struck by her beauty, even in the dark. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s sliding her arms around to Regina’s waist, pulling her in close. And Regina is letting her.

“Emma…” Regina whispers, and slowly her gaze flickers up to Emma’s. That’s how her name should sound, that’s that voice she loves so much.

She’s so close Emma can feel the warmth of her breath against her neck, see every dark eyelash, smell the lingering scent of her body lotion. Those beautiful full lips are parted. She’s leaning in, and Emma’s eyes are fluttering shut, and – “We shouldn’t.”

Emma blinks slowly. She feels like she’s just been woken up.

“Yeah.” She whispers, voice tight around the lump of disappointment in her throat. “You’re probably right.”

“Probably.” Regina repeats, and her gaze falls to Emma’s lips. A tiny furrow appears between her brows. “But it’s Christmas, and I don’t care.”

Emma’s heart half-vaults into her throat and suddenly Regina’s lips are on hers, urgent and hungry, but familiar as if they never left, never stopped kissing. Instinctively, Emma’s hands settle on the small of Regina's back and pull her closer, closer. Her head tilts, her mouth opens. Regina’s breath hitches into her lips. Emma remembers the rhythm of it all too well.

When at last they break for air, Regina’s dark eyes cloud with guilt and she turns away sharply. She smooths the dark hair from her flushed face, not looking at Emma. The ragged sound of their breathing fills the darkness.

Oh god.

Emma can still taste her lip balm. Smell her hair. Feel the ghost of her plush lips –

“This is bad.” Emma says, shocked at how breathless she sounds. “Right? This is bad, what we’re doing?”

“Most likely.” Regina nods again. She finally turns back to her, dark brow creased.

“But it’s Christmas.” Emma shrugs, repeating Regina’s own words back to her in a fit of reckless hope. “And I don’t care.”

And then Regina’s hands are against her neck, pulling her down, and this time once they start kissing they don’t stop. Emma’s heart speeds up and so do her roaming hands, and Regina’s doing that little whiny thing with her breath that’s always driven Emma insane.

As Regina’s back hits the door, Emma can feel her fumbling for the handle, and after a few awkward seconds they’re stumbling backwards into the bedroom that used to be theirs – that still is in this way, in this moment.

Once it’s safely shut behind them, Emma wastes no time in wrapping her arms securely around Regina and hoisting her up into her arms. Regina instinctively holds on and wraps her legs around Emma as she has a hundred times before. Her fingers dig in, but she doesn’t care. It only reminds her this is real, this is happening, this is now. Regina’s lips open for her tongue, mouth working in time with hers. Her heart is ready to thunder out of her chest.

Without thinking, Emma sets Regina down on the edge of the bed and leans over her as she lies back, hungrily chasing her warmth. Regina’s hands never leave her neck, insistent, familiar. Emma can’t help turning her head and pressing a kiss to one palm.

Before either of them can think better of it, Regina is sitting up, helping Emma pull her shirt over her head. Helping her unbuckle her belt as she slips her own robe off her shoulders. Pulling Emma down over her, peppering tiny kisses against her neck. God, she forgot how good Regina was at this. Those gorgeous full lips. That warm, warm body…

-

When Emma wakes up on Christmas Eve, the other side of the bed is cold.

For a second she thinks she’s dreaming – she’s in their old bedroom, the queen-sized bed she shared with Regina, the sheets scented with the brunette’s favourite detergent. Emma rolls over and breathes it in, half-asleep and happier than ever. Soft morning light leaks through the curtains. Then all the memories come creeping back to her and she groans into the pillow.

What the fuck did we do?

Rolling out of bed, Emma pads over to the mirror and assesses herself. At some point in the night she tugged her sweats back on, clearly cold. She’s grateful for that. What she’s not so grateful for is the sex-hair, which is as bad as ever. Even worse considering she’s in a house with her ex-wife and their five year old son.

Fuck!

Now panic is really setting in. Panic, anxiety, resigned awkwardness… but not, Emma thinks, regret. No, they both needed what happened last night. And she’s not sorry it happened. Whatever the consequences.

She fixes her hair before heading cautiously downstairs. She can hear Henry’s excitable little voice, and something sizzling in a pan.

Emma lingers quietly in the kitchen doorway, just watching for a moment. It’s like being back in time. Regina is standing at the stove, already impeccably dressed for the day in a dark-red dress and blazer, but wrapped in that stupid apron Emma always teased her for. She’s talking to Henry in the soft, sweet voice she reserves only for him, while he sits at the table kicking his legs and laughing. She wishes she could freeze time, somehow. Keep this moment in a snow globe.

Regina has cooked – more pancakes, piled high on the table. Henry is eyeing them eagerly. The smell of bacon is what really gets to Emma though. She knows Regina would never eat such things for breakfast herself this time of year, and Henry’s only interested in the pancakes. Regina cooked Emma's favourite things. For her. As she always would the morning after really great sex.

Emma sighs.

This is going to be a long, weird day.

Internally, she’s scolding herself for letting whatever exists between her and Regina get in the way of Henry’s big day – then she simply tells herself she’s not going to let it. All that matters today is Henry’s nativity. That's it.

So Emma takes a steeling breath, pastes on a big grin, and sidles into the kitchen.

“Morning!”

“Ma!” Henry yells and flings himself out of his chair to hug her.

“Oof, you’re getting too strong for me, little man.” Emma squeezes him close, relishing the softness and the sleepy smell of his hair. Then she lets him go and sits at the table next to him. “Good sleep?”

“Yeah!” Henry nods vigorously. Then, unnecessarily, “Mommy made pancakes!”

“She did.” Emma agrees. Then, with a more nervous glance up at Regina. “And bacon and eggs…”

“Yes, she did.” Regina says briskly, scraping the cooked bacon from its pan to a plate.

Ok, Emma thinks, guess we’re not addressing that then.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emma offers, standing up.

“It’s fine.” Regina catches her eye briefly, shaking her head. Then she quickly loads the pan into the dishwasher and places the plated eggs and bacon onto the table beside the pancakes.

Almost automatically, she hands Emma a bottle of maple syrup down from the cupboard – Emma takes it like a precious jewel, wondering if Regina’s realised. (Emma’s the only person in that house who ever liked maple syrup.) “Thanks.”

Regina flashes a quick smile.

It’s agonisingly awkward, but luckily they have their small son to distract them. He chatters about school and the play and his songs and his friends and birds and dinosaurs and Emma and Regina tease and encourage him as appropriate, all the while avoiding each other’s eye as they eat their breakfast.

Emma wishes Regina weren’t such a good cook. The bacon is a million times better than she can get it herself. It tastes like all the best mornings of her life. She tries not to shovel it into her mouth so obviously. Regina picks at her eggs and avocado distractedly.

After breakfast, they measure Henry against his star costume and cut out the circle for his face. When he tries it on, Emma nearly dies of cuteness overload – and then again, when she glances sideways to share a smile with Regina and spots the tears shining in her ex-wife’s dark eyes. She wants to pull her into a hug and tease her for being a sap like she used to, but she can’t do that anymore, it's not her right, so she just pretends she hasn’t seen and snaps some pictures of Henry on her phone.

“I’ll send them to you.” She promises.

“Thank you.” Regina says. “What do you think, Henry? Does it feel okay? You don’t think it’s going to come apart, do you?”

“I love it!” Henry cheers, bouncing up and down. His little face, through the circle of sparkly tinfoil, is aglow. “I love it, I love it, I love it! I’m the best star ever!”

“You are.” Regina agrees, looking overcome with love again in that way that makes Emma’s heart soft. But then she draws herself up and puts on her ‘mom-face’ as Emma calls it, and says, “But next time Henry, you must tell us as soon as you get given an assignment or a project to make for school. We’re lucky you remembered at all last night or you might not have a costume now. I know it’s hard to remember sometimes, but you try as soon as you get news like this, okay?”

“Okay…” Henry nods, scuffing his feet along the floor.

Emma jumps in to help. “Your mom and I had to work really hard to get it done on time. We love you and you look super cute, and we know you didn’t mean to leave it so late, but it wasn’t very nice for us to have to rush.”

“I’m sorry!” Henry says, looking between them with huge eyes. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you.” Regina smiles and bends to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

“Now, you better take that thing off so we can get your coat on for school.” Emma says, and helps him out of it. Regina is ready to help him into his coat. Though their hands barely brush, eyes barely meet, it warms Emma’s heart to see how easy it is for them both to slip back into this teamwork, this co-parenting.

“Do you want to walk him to school?” Regina asks, when Henry has gone to use the bathroom.

“Sure.” Emma says, happily surprised. “If that’s cool with you.”

“Of course it’s cool with me, Emma.” Regina says. She glances up at her. “It was meant to be your day anyway.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles warmly, and then their eyes meet and they’re both thinking about last night, about hands entwined and pressed into pillows and heated kisses and –

“I’m ready!” Henry announces, appearing in the doorway.

“Okay!” Emma is grateful for the interruption. She tugs her own jacket on quickly and hands him his school bag, picking up the star costume under one arm. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Bye Mommy!” Henry gives Regina a quick hug, before shooting off towards the front door.

“I’ll, uh, see you the school, then?” Emma asks, keeping one eye on Henry in the doorway.

Regina nods. “Yes. The play starts at one.”

“I know.” Emma says, but she has a feeling Regina isn’t reminding her to be petty, but out of care. Emma turns around quickly to hide her small, strained smile. And then just like that, she’s back out into the cold with the door of her old home closed behind her.

The rest of the day is uneventful – Emma has some things to do at the station but mostly she’s just passing time waiting for Henry’s show to start. On her lunch break she texts Regina the pictures of Henry from this morning. They’re impossibly adorable. She makes one her new lock screen.

As she waits and works, her brain keeps going back to images and flashes of the night before.

She wonders if they’ve made a huge mistake. Surely not. It wasn’t that weird this morning, and it’s not like it’s ever going to happen again, right?

Right?

Emma can’t help but feel disappointed by that thought. She knows she should feel relieved.

And yet… every time she closes her eyes, the image of Regina in her arms is seared into her brain. The feel of her lips against her skin. Snatches of their conversations keep coming back to her.

I miss you, Emma.

Stay.

Maybe I need you.

It’s just because it’s Christmas, Emma tells herself. Everyone gets lonely at Christmas, and lonely people do stupid things. Especially a woman who never had a family to celebrate Christmas with at all until she fell in love, and a woman whose real family is a complex fucking nightmare. They were married for years, together for longer. And it’s not like they broke up because the chemistry went away, or even the love.

Emma tries to put it all from her mind and get on with work, but it’s hard. It’s hard because last night was a harsh reminder of everything she’s ever wanted and needed, and everything she’s lost.

Was it just a normal mistake? She wonders. Or was it… maybe not a mistake at all?

She sighs. No. Don’t go there. Emma refuses to get her hopes up and be disappointed.

She refuses to think about anything that isn’t her son, in his nativity.

When the time comes to leave, she shrugs on her jacket and walks the short way to the school in a blur. She spots Regina from halfway down the street: the brunette is waiting outside the gates, towards the back of the gaggle of families wrapped in their coats and scarves. She is alone, of course, dressed impractically in her dress and heels, her spine held high. The cold wind teases the ends of her dark hair. Emma pushes back memories of last night again, but also of the last ten years.

“Hey,” Emma greets, her breath a frosty mist as she comes up beside her.

“Hey.” Regina echoes.

Thankfully, they don’t have to wait long before one of the teachers comes to let them in, guiding them into the school auditorium where dozens of chairs have been laid out in front of the little stage.

Wordlessly, automatically, Emma and Regina sit beside each other, as they have not done at one of these things for a long time.

As the principal comes out and thanks everyone for coming, Emma feels a rush of excitement at the thought that their kid is somewhere behind the curtain in the stupid star costume they made for him, super excited to show off all his hard work.

She can’t help giving Regina an excited smile, and the look she finds on Regina’s face – in her sparkling eyes – mirrors her joy exactly. The curtain is pulled back. The music starts. And to her surprise, Regina’s warm hand slips into hers. Emma’s heart squeezes as she threads her fingers through hers. Her palm remembers hers exactly. The first notes of Mary’s Boy Child start playing on the piano.

They laugh at the antics of the adorable kids playing Mary and Joseph, ahh at the tiny Angel Gabriel in his feathery wings and tinfoil halo, and then finally the spotlight hits centre stage and their son is standing there, beaming, his little face so proud, surrounded by their hastily made star, which actually doesn’t look half bad, Emma thinks.

Regina squeezes her hand when he opens his mouth and proudly declares, “I’m the brightest star they’ve ever seen!”

Emma’s heart is melting.

The whole audience is laughing when Henry runs around the stage, ‘leading’ the three wise men to the stable. Emma is in stitches, but she can’t help glancing sideways and watching Regina – her dark eyes shine with that soft awestruck wonder she always has when she looks at Henry, and she’s trying to hold her laugh back, but Emma can see her shoulders shaking.

Once the show is over and the children are holding up the plastic baby Jesus – swaddled in yet another tea towel – both Emma and Regina get to their feet to applaud. All the kids hold hands for their bow, and Henry looks around the crowd quickly. When he spots his parents sitting side by side and clapping for him, his little face lights up in the biggest grin.

Emma cheers wildly, ignoring the looks some of the other parents give her. What matters is her son on stage laughing and Regina next to her, beaming at him.

After, Henry runs to find them outside, backpack trailing off one shoulder, his coat buttoned up wrong in his haste to go meet them.

"Oh, there's my star!" Regina immediately falls to her knees, somehow impossible elegant even in her tight skirt and heels, and folds her son into a big hug. Henry's little arms fly around his mommy’s neck and he jabbers away about everything he did and said.

Once he releases her, he runs to Emma, holding out his arms to be picked up. Emma grins, bending to heft him into her arms. She can't resist swinging him a little, even though it makes Regina's jaw tighten in momentary panic like it always does.

She catches the brunette’s relieved gaze over Henry’s shoulder as she hefts him securely in her arms and for a second there’s almost a shared smile, a shared pride no one else will ever understand, a warmth blossoming in Emma’s chest –

“You were so good, kid!” Emma enthuses, quickly turning back to her son. “The shiniest star in all the sky. That’s you for sure.”

“Thanks Mama!” Henry’s cheeks are bright red. “Everyone loved my costume!”

“Well, Mommy and me worked really hard on it.” Emma whispers to him. “But you’re the one who made it special.”

Henry flings his arms tighter around her and Emma’s heart explodes with warmth the way it does every time her kid hugs her like that. Over his shoulder, she meets Regina’s eye. The brunette is standing watching with that soft, awed look on her face, her head tilted.

Then she comes up to them, putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder and pressing a light kiss to the side of his head. “How about we get home and make some mince pies?”

“Yay!” Henry cheers, making Emma wince at the volume so close to her ear. Regina seems to catch this and have to stifle a laugh.

“Mince pies sound good.” She agrees.

“Is Emma staying now?” Henry asks suddenly.

Regina and Emma exchange a glance.

“Uh –” Emma starts, but to her surprise, she is cut off.

“Would you like her to, sweetie?” Regina asks.

Henry just shrugs. “Well I just thought cos she stayed last night. Aren’t you guys in love again?”

“Oh.” It’s Regina’s turn to be stumped.

“Henry…” Emma holds his little hand. “Mommy and I care about each other a lot. But the most important thing is that we both will always love you the most. But, it’s probably best if I go back to my house for tonight. That way I can make sure Santa doesn’t get confused and forget to drop off your second stocking, alright?”

“Alright.” Henry allows, nodding as Emma carefully sets him back down. A gaggle of tiny children are waving him over, and he shoots his moms a look. “I just need to go say bye to my friends, ok!”

“Emma –” Regina’s voice wavers a moment, and pauses, flipping her hair smoothly out of her face. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Emma nods, following Regina hastily out of Henry’s hearing range

“What’s up? I know that –”

“Why don’t you stay tonight?”

“What?” Emma blinks, surprised.

Regina is standing looking up at her with wide dark eyes and that tiny crease between her perfect eyebrows. She’s dead serious. “Henry would clearly like you to. It would save you having to drive over here to pick him up tomorrow. We have the guest room made up for you. And…” She pauses, her whispered voice soft. “Christmas is supposed to be a time for family. What’s more important than making sure Henry spends it with his? All of his.”

“I…” Emma can only nod, feeling herself frown, her mouth open. She would like to. Of course, she’d like to. “Only if you’re sure, Regina, I don’t want to intrude. This is your home –”

“Our home.” Regina says, and for a moment they both stare at each other in wide-eyed shock.

Then Regina, frowning, blushing, corrects herself – “Mine and Henry’s. And as a part of Henry, you are very welcome.”

“Oh.” Emma, eventually, nods. Something tight inside her chest feel like it’s easing, unravelling, softening. “Okay.”

Regina’s dark eyes are wide, shining. A tiny smile winces at the corner of her lips.

“I’ll just have to drive back home and pick up Henry’s stocking, though.”

“What?”

“After what I just said about making sure Santa doesn’t forget.” Emma reminds her. “I mean, he can have his actual presents from me when we get back to mine, but his presents from Santa he should have in the morning.

“Oh.” Regina, who is gazing at her with wide, shining eyes, nods. There is something soft and wistful about her voice. Something amazed. “Of course.”

“I’ll go now.” Emma offers “Then I drive over.”

Regina’s smile is pulling more obviously at her mouth now, and she simply nods.

-

Making mince pies together has always been a Swan-Mills family tradition.

Regina often baked when she was stressed, and Christmas Eve – the night before a day that promised to be full of emotional torment from her mother – was a stressful time for her. So every Christmas Eve as far back as Emma can remember, she’d come home from work – or over to Regina’s, in the years before they moved in together – to be met by the smell of spices and the warmth of the oven. Once Henry got big enough to want to knead pastry with his tiny chubby fingers and lick the back of spoons, he was Regina’s number one assistant.

When Henry was three, Emma had the whole of Christmas Eve off work, and she remembers vividly joining Regina in the kitchen. Christmas classics played on the radio, and Henry was dressed in the most adorable little elf outfit Emma got for him.

At one point he grabbed a handful of flour in one fat fist and threw it everywhere – Emma burst out laughing and somehow it disintegrated into a full on flour-fight. Henry’s little giggles live in her memory forever. As does the look on Regina’s face as she sunk to the floor by the glowing oven, her apron splattered, flour dusting the tip of her nose and her cheek, powdering her dark hair. When Emma kissed her, she tasted of sugar. Emma got the blame, of course, though Regina laughed about it after.

(“How is that fair? The toddler started it!”

“And you enabled it. You’re an enabler, Emma.”)

So Emma’s not sure if she even should interrupt when she gets back to Mifflin Street after picking up the stuff for tomorrow. She eases through the front door carefully. Through the crack of the kitchen door the faint tune of Christmas music plays, and Regina’s soft soothing voice, instructing Henry what to do next.

Emma lingers quietly in the doorway. Regina is wrapped in her apron with some of her glossy dark hair held back in a clip, looking achingly domestic. Henry is already in his reindeer pyjamas, helping her fill the little cases of pastry.

For a long while Emma just stands there, listening, aching, not wanting to interrupt. She gives silent thanks for even having this much of her family.

Regina notices her then, dark eyes wide. “Emma.”

“Hey,” Emma says, lingering in the doorway to hide the bag of ‘Santa’s’ presents behind her back.

Henry grins at her over the counter, holding up his flour-covered hands. “Mama! Look! I’m helping!”

“You sure are! Mommy couldn’t make them without you.” Emma grins. “You have fun, okay? I’m gonna go drop some stuff upstairs.”

She slips back out and up to the guest room. She doesn’t even look at the door to their – no, Regina’s – bedroom. Inside, Emma hides the gifts for Henry’s other stocking under the bed just for safety. Then she flops down on the mattress with a big huff.

She and Regina need to talk about what happened last night. But it’s impossible until Henry goes to bed. And she has a feeling once Henry goes to bed, it’s going to be harder to talk about it and easier to just… let it happen all over again…

If Regina wants that of course.

Which Emma doesn’t even know if she does, but then, she sat with Emma at the play today, she held her hand, she invited her back here for Christmas Eve night!

Emma is broken from her thoughts by a sharp knock on the door. “Come in!” She calls, hastily sitting up.

Regina’s face appears around the door, quickly followed by Henry’s smaller one. It almost makes Emma laugh - they’re like two secret agents.

“I invited you here so you could be a part of these things.” Regina tells her. There’s a strange gentleness hiding behind her smooth face and brusque voice. “Not so you could sit in my guest room and sulk. Now come on.”

“Yeah, Ma, come on!” Henry goads, laughing.

“Alright then!” Emma huffs theatrically and heaves herself off the bed, making him laugh even harder.

Over the top of his head, Regina is gazing at her warmly. Emma doesn’t think she’s supposed to have caught her eye. It makes her stomach flutter.

Back downstairs, the mince pies are in the oven, filling the kitchen with the most gorgeous festive smell. Emma helps clean up, licking spoons and ruffling Henry’s hair, doing stupid dances to the Christmas songs and pretending not to notice Regina gazing at her like that, like she did all those years ago in that stupid French restaurant.

When the mince pies are done, they all have one hot from the oven, piled onto the couch with The Snowman playing on TV. Every year since Henry was a baby they’ve watched it together on Christmas eve – with the exception of last year, of course. Now, with Henry snuggled between them both under a blanket, his eyes bright and focused on the magical story on screen, Emma can’t believe they were ever so stupid as to miss a year.

After the movie ends they set out the standard mince pie and glass of milk for Santa, and Emma and Regina put Henry to bed together like they used to. He’s sleepy, but grinning with excitement about Santa coming, and his enthusiasm is infectious.

Once he’s safely tucked up, Emma finds herself back on the landing with Regina. She’s unsure what to do, what to say. They haven’t been alone together since last night. What’s the protocol for this?

“I think I’m going to turn in, too.” Regina says quietly, self-consciously smoothing the back of her hair. She’s avoiding Emma’s gaze, her dark eyes flicking towards her bedroom door.

“Okay.” Emma says, then jerks after her when Regina starts to walk away. “Wait, Regina –”

The brunette turns. Emma can see the depth of her breath in the way her chest rises and falls. She looks tired, Emma thinks, longing to hold her close again. “What?”

“Don’t you think we should talk about it? About what happened last night?”

“Do you?”

“I mean… yeah.”

“Alright.” Regina draws in a breath and stands taller, her arms wrapped tight around herself. “I think we can both agree it was a – lapse. One we both enjoyed. One I think we both needed. And there’s no shame in that. And no need to let it make anything awkward, or complicated.”

“Right.” Emma nods. With a sigh, she moves a little away from Henry’s door, just in case. “I meant what I said, though. If you need me, I’m here. And I don’t just mean for sex or for Henry or – I mean that no matter what happened between us, you’re still important to me. I want you to be okay, Regina.”

“I am okay.” Regina says, but her voice is as thin and hoarse as the lie.

Emma just nods, her attempted smile more of a wince. She can tell Regina isn’t ready to talk about this, so she lets it go. When she is ready, Emma will be there. Like she should have been two years ago.

“Night, Regina,” Emma says softly, cracking open the door of the guest room.

Regina looks over her shoulder and gives her a small, beautiful smile. “Goodnight, Emma.”

-

Emma doesn’t know if Henry’s managed to get to sleep yet, but once again, she can’t for hours.

She tosses and turns, throws the covers off then pulls them back on. She can’t stop all these thoughts, memories, regrets. She can’t help feeling like this – Christmas with her son and her wife, the love of her life – is both back within her grasp and further away than ever, all at the same time. She tries to think of all the excited kids lying in their beds right now waiting for Santa to come. She tries to tell herself it’ll be okay, whatever happens.

Eventually, with a sigh, she climbs out of bed and tugs some thick socks on. She plans to go grab a glass of water, or maybe a cup of that chamomile tea Regina always drinks. That used to help her sleep.

As Emma pads down the stairs, she sees they left the Christmas lights on – the faint, soft golden glow from the tree and the other decorations spills out under the living room door. She puts her head in to turn them off, but –

“Oh. Hey.” Emma whispers in surprise.

Regina is curled up on the end of the couch, a red blanket draped over her lap. She sits up, startled at the sight of the blonde, her dark eyes wide. It’s the first time in a long time Emma’s seen her like this; hair rumpled from sleep, olive skin looking fresh and vulnerable with no makeup.

“Are you okay?” Emma ventures, taking a few more steps into the room.

Regina nods hesitantly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Emma says wryly, mirroring their last late-night conversation, though the energy is entirely different right now.

“Do you want to sit down?” Regina offers, and the question throws Emma off, but she does.

So she just smiles and nods. “Okay.”

“I’m watching –”

“Oh my god,” Emma breathes, as she sinks down onto the couch beside Regina and sees what’s on the TV.

“It’s silly, I know.” Regina shakes her head, but when she looks at the screen her eyes are swimming with emotion.

Emma can’t help shifting closer, rubbing her knee gently. It’s not a come on – it’s how she always used to show Regina she understood, that she was there, whenever she could see her getting overwhelmed. Regina’s soft hand lands on top of hers. She’s warm.

On the TV is - paused – an old home video of Henry, maybe just over a year old, crawling around the floor in a Santa-themed onesie.

“It’s not silly. It’s beautiful, and I’m really glad you’re letting me join.” Emma says softly.

Regina’s thumb rubs over her knuckles. Wordlessly, she presses play.

It’s just a dumb video, but Emma immediately understands the tears in Regina’s eyes. Baby Henry drags himself around the rug with determination, his chubby cheeks red, eyes bright. The camera keeps zooming in and out as it follows him. They both jump when, presumably from behind the camera, Emma’s jokey voice says, “Wonder baby! Look at him go! See his power!”

“Emma!” Regina’s voice chimes in from the background.

“What?” Cameraman-Emma asks innocently, and the camera pans up to reveal a tired-looking Regina in a robe, damp hair curling at her shoulders.

“Get that thing out of my face.” She chuckles, as it zooms in on her.

“Yes, ma’am.” Emma’s voice replies, and the shot pans back down to Henry, who is now happily sat on the floor, almost right under the low branches of the Christmas tree. He stares off into the distance, and Emma – now, in the present – can’t help thinking that maybe it’s cheesy, but he is the best gift either of them could ever have hoped for.

“Oh! Gina, get him –” Emma own voice on screen voice breaks her from her thoughts and she watches Regina duck into frame and scoop baby Henry up onto her hip just before he can grab for one of the sparkly, but sharp, tree decorations.

Emma watches with a dazed heart as the grainy past Regina bounces little Henry until he starts giggling and grabbing for her hair. She’s humming a Christmas song under her breath, and it’s only when the camera runs up to her that she laughs and stops, and suddenly the footage cuts out and it’s just their older, most weary selves sitting on a sofa side by side, staring at a blank screen.

“Oh man.” Emma breathes, before she can stop herself. The breath huffs out of her, strained and heavy.

“Indeed.” Regina murmurs, and it’s only then Emma turns to her and realises she’s crying.

“Regina, don’t cry,” Emma soothes. She wants to pull her into her arms. She wants to kiss her hair and call her Gina and touch her as easily as she did in that video, but she can’t. So she just twines their fingers even tighter together and tries to soften her voice into something kind. “Don’t be upset.”

“I’m not.” Regina takes a long breath in, self-consciously dabbing under her eyes. The reflected glow of the lights shine in her gaze. “I just – I just miss it.”

“I know.” Emma whispers, because she does. And she needs Regina to know that. “Me too.”

“It’s stupid but every Christmas just makes me think about time passing and about family…” Regina shakes her head. “Having you here is just amplifying all of it. I know Henry is only five, and I do truly treasure every millisecond of time I have with him, but I feel like he was that little two minutes ago and if I blink again he’ll be twelve, and then he’ll be eighteen and moving away to college and he won’t want to speak to me. And I just want to freeze time. Is that selfish?”

“No, it’s not selfish.” Emma assures her, shifting on the couch to meet her eyes easier. “But it’s also nothing to worry about. Yes, he’s getting bigger and yes I kind of hate that sometimes too, even though every new thing about him is like a miracle. But it’s just… more stuff for us to enjoy. More Christmases and birthday cakes.”

Regina’s eyes are still trained on the blank television screen, her head tilted to the side sleepily. “I suppose so.”

“And what’s all this crap about him not talking to you?” Emma gently brushes her knuckles against the back of Regina’s hand. “Henry adores you. You’re the best mom in the world. He’s always going to think that.”

“Is he?” Regina shrugs. Suddenly, she looks very small in her red pyjama shirt, nestled in the couch. Her dark eyes shine with sudden tears, her voice thick with it. “I’m sure that’s what my mother thought and look at us now.”

“Gina.” Emma can’t help the way her tone firms up. She tilts her head, trying to meet Regina’s eyes. “You are nothing like your mother.”

Regina says nothing, just keeps staring at the TV with that intense, hard look on her face that Emma knows means she’s trying not to cry again.

“I know this shit is scary. Hell, I’m scared every time I’m with him.” Emma confesses. “I get it. Your mom was an abusive asshole, and I never even had a mom in the first place. On paper, neither of us should have a clue what we’re doing as parents but I don’t think any parents do. We’re just figuring it out as we go along, but in a way, doesn’t that put us in a better position? We know exactly how not to be parents. We know what we wanted – what we needed – when we were Henry’s age. And we’re giving it to him. Every day.”

Now Regina’s looking at her. Now, Emma’s a little choked up herself. But she has to finish.

“He is the most loved kid in the whole world.” She manages. “And that’s down to you and me.”

Regina nods, and reaches out to grasp Emma’s hand again, squeezing tight. Emma smiles gratefully, glancing away as tears spring to her eyes. Suddenly, Regina is moving closer, wrapping her arm around Emma’s, laying her head ever so gently against Emma’s shoulder. Emma smiles, warmth spilling through her chest as she pulls her in closer. Just like before, they fit perfectly.

“You want to watch another?” Regina asks, leaning to grab the remote. “I have a whole bunch of these queued up. I don’t even know what’s on half of them.”

“Sure.” Emma agrees, resting her head against Regina’s as the brunette clicks through the video files.

The next one starts playing, and it turns out to be a video of toddler-Henry going down the slide at the park. He grins and breathlessly runs up to the camera after.
Regina nestles closer to Emma in a way that sets Emma’s heart on fire. (But not in a bad way. A comforting fire; a bonfire in the dead of winter.) She takes a soft breath and, very quietly, admits, “I’m so glad you’re here, Emma.”

“Me too.” Emma says, watching their baby son on screen.

And so they sink into the early hours, reliving some of their most treasured memories over the years. After one video, Emma sees the time in the corner of the TV and nudges Regina with a smile. “Hey, look. It’s past midnight.”

“So?” Regina’s dark brow twists in confusion.

“So? Merry Christmas,” Emma whispers.

“Oh. Yes. Merry Christmas.” Regina replies, with a distant smile. Her voice is hoarse from tiredness, low and gorgeous. Emma’s missed hearing it like that.

“I’m glad I’m spending it with you.” Emma confesses. And suddenly she’s talking, saying things that have been on her mind all month, in the dead of night when she can’t sleep. “I never liked Christmas til I met you, you know. When I was a kid, it was always more of a nightmare than a fun time. Everyone was always extra sad and the presents were always just embarrassingly and the homes were all understaffed because people wanted to be with their real families, which just reminded us we didn’t have any.”

“Emma…” Regina shifts upright a little in her arms, looking at her with such familiar love and compassion Emma can barely meet her eyes.

“And then I grew up and I was a Grinch about the whole thing to hide how bitter I was about never really getting to experience it.” Emma laughs, and the sound sticks in her throat. “But you… You made me love it. Just because I had someone to do all that dumb cliché stuff with. Go to the Christmas markets, bake, put up a tree. I finally got it, when I was doing it all with you. The first time we went ice skating?” She grins. “That’s one of my favourite memories of all time.”

“Please.” Regina’s voice is small and raw, but she’s smiling. “I humiliated myself.”

“You made me fall in love with you.” Emma corrects softly. “That was the first time I’d ever seen you not look elegant and it was incredible.”

Regina looks down into her lap, fingers twisting in the blanket. That gorgeous, rare pink blush is colouring her cheeks. “That was a special night for me too. I – I thought you’d be annoyed at me when I hurt my ankle. It’s stupid, I know, but back then I thought that was how people responded when you got hurt. But you carried me off the ice and helped me get my shoes back on and –” Regina smiles to herself, shaking her head slightly. “You probably don’t even remember, but when we got back to your apartment you made me put a bag of frozen peas on it because you didn’t have any ice packs.”

“I remember.” Emma says.

“I’m sorry your Christmases were so awful when you were younger.” Regina says quietly, rubbing her arm. “You don’t know how much I wish I could go back in time and –”

“I do know.” Emma tells her gently, wondering if maybe she’s crossing a line.

Regina just looks up at her. “If it makes you feel any better, you made Christmas what it is for me, too. When I was growing up, Christmas was just… hell. Mother was all her worst parts tenfold around Christmas time. The day had to work in precisely the right order every time, everything had to be perfect, I had to be perfect and… Then you came along and made me see that Christmas isn’t about expensive gifts and outfits and diets and showing off to your stupid relatives. It’s about… Warmth. And love.”

That last word, love, lingers in the air between them.

And it’s half past midnight, and it’s Christmas, and fuck it, Emma’s had enough of not saying what she means. (That’s what wrecked them the first time.)

So she looks over at Regina and tells her, quietly, “I still love you, you know.”

Regina’s dark eyes meet hers, wide and almost frightened, but not surprised. She just looks at her for a moment. The sound of her breath is loud. Emma doesn’t feel embarrassed or trapped. She feels a thousand tons lighter.

“I love you too.” Regina breathes, and that’s when the feeling pierces Emma’s heart again.

“Then what are we doing?” Emma asks, the words rushing out of her. “Why are we living like this?”

“Because –” Regina’s voice trembles, her neck working. “You… It didn’t work. We tried. That love wasn’t enough anymore. You told me that.”

“I know.” Emma whispers, and it’s the biggest regret of her life. “But I think maybe I was wrong. I was tired, and I was scared. I was running, like I always do. It wasn’t that our love wasn’t enough anymore, it’s just that I wasn’t trying hard enough anymore.”

“Emma –” Tears are gathering in Regina’s eyes now, threatening to spill. “Do not put all the blame on yourself. I was – I did my share of ruining everything, too. I gave up right when you did.”

Emma nods and pulls Regina’s delicate hands into her lap, squeezing them, never wanting to let them go ever again. Never knowing why she did the first time. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I am too.” Regina says, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t know how much I think about it. Tiny things I should have done differently.”

Emma smiles a bittersweet smile that makes tears sting her eyes. “I do know. Because every day since I left, I wished I didn’t. I wish I could go back in time. I’d make it up to you, Regina, I’d make it work. I thought it was too hard but then time went on and I realised being without you was so much harder. It’s been so hard, Gina.”

“I know.” Regina nods, tears spilling freely down her cheeks now. She wipes at them delicately, avoiding Emma’s eye. “We made a mistake.”

Emma waits until she has Regina’s gaze again to ask her the question that’s been burning inside her ever since. “Do you think it’s too late to go back and un-make it?”

Regina looks at her in shock. Tears cling to her lashes. For a moment she is silent. The house is still, lit only by the twinkling of the Christmas lights. Then to Emma’s amazement, she shakes her head. “No. I don’t think it’s too late.”

“Are you serious?” Emma breathes, scarcely daring to hope. “You think there’s still a chance… for us?”

“I want there to be.” Regina tells her, and that means more than anything else she could have said.

Emma shifts closer, wanting to kiss her, unsure if she should.

Tentatively, Regina edges forward and leans in to slide gentle hands against the sides of Emma’s face. This time when their lips meet, it feels different. There’s no burning hunger, no lust. Just need, which is something else entirely.

Emma’s eyes flutter closed. She can taste the salt of Regina’s tears on her lips, but her warmth and her smell and the silkiness of her hair is all that matters. Emma tilts her head, placing her hands lightly against Regina’s waist as their mouths move in slow, perfect tandem.

This kiss feels like coming up for air after a long time underwater. This one feels like a homecoming.

After, they linger close, their foreheads touching, breath against each other’s lips. Emma wonders if this is a Christmas miracle.

“We should get some sleep.” Regina murmurs.

“Yeah,” Emma whispers.

And so Regina switches off the TV and Emma does the tree lights, and as they head up the stairs in darkness, their hands brush, and then entwine. They say another goodnight on the landing and Regina looks up at Emma with shining eyes and leans in for another kiss – short and chaste, but the feel of it lingers against Emma’s lips long after she’s closed the guest room door.

(She finally sleeps, then, in the guest bed. She hopes one day she won’t have to, but for now that hope is enough.)

It may not be the easiest Christmas of all, but in years to come, they will look back and remember it as the most important.