So Does This Make Us Both The Other Woman?

26. That Ship Has Sailed (And Good Riddance To It)

She remembers waking up on that first morning in Storybrooke, awareness filtering through her as she sits up that she'd changed something, that she'd gotten what she'd wanted. Back then, before she'd understood the empty nature of a curse built on the misery of others, she'd awakened with a low excitement and satisfaction, with the knowledge that anything was possible.

(That had been the day that Emma Swan had been discovered wrapped in a blanket on the side of the road, her mind taunts her. There aren't many memories she can think back to now without that dark reminder ever-present in her awareness. She can't regret, but she can overflow with remorse, can ache with the knowledge of what she'd taken from Emma. And now...)

And today, she wakes up smiling.

This bed smells unmistakably like Emma and salty sweat and other...messiness from the night before (and there's the distinct scent of chocolate marshmallow ripple and a stickiness between her thighs that doesn't feel quite so natural). She feels light and unburdened in a way she hasn't in a while and her skin is thrumming with the need to move, to go for a run or exhaust all her magic (what had they done with their combined magic last night and how is the house still standing?) or write a dozen ordinances on the spot.

She rolls over, her eyes flickering open, and her breath catches in her throat.

It shouldn't surprise her that the spot beside her is empty and cold, that the door to the bathroom is wide open and there's no one making noise down the hall, but somehow it does anyway. She'd actually believed that Emma might stay today.

They hadn't talked much the night before, not after Emma had draped herself half on top of Regina and they'd both drifted off. And before that, they'd been too distracted to get through a full conversation without one of them breaking off midway for more enjoyable pursuits.

There had been laughter, so much of it that she thinks she must be dreaming some of it up. Lovemaking- in whatever form it had been in, less the love most often- had been terrifying or dutiful or angry or ever-so-serious for her until now, even when she'd wanted it, but last night had had bickering and nervous giggling and a minute straight when Emma had folded onto her side and laughed madly at Regina's huffy-dazed face after Emma had made her come with magic alone. Which is her skill, not Emma's, and Emma had stolen her idea without any permission and–

She's beaming again, and it fades just as quickly when she takes in the empty room once more. She'd thought that this was going to last this time, no more reasons to back away. Had Emma woken up and realized what- who- she'd done and bolted?

She's determined to find a reason for this that isn't the latter, and she climbs out of bed, wandering naked through the apartment and half-hoping that she'll find Emma passed out in a corner somewhere. Instead, she discovers a frying pan and a mixing bowl on the counter, both clean and unused.

It's easy to piece together what had happened. Emma had gotten up and started preparing breakfast when the domestic reality of it all had hit and she'd bolted. When Regina's honest with herself, it isn't as unexpected as it had been at first. Emma is impulsive to an extreme, and in a vulnerable mood after a breakup, she'd sought out the woman who loves her. When regret had set in, she'd run from her own house and is probably telling David all her woes now and listening to his encouragement to go get her man.

She feels suddenly nauseous, tense again and all her energy seeping away, and she closes her eyes and teleports directly into her shower at home.

She scrubs between her legs until they're red and raw and watches as water runs over the red marks dotting her breasts (Emma had sucked so hard the first time that she'd called her Miss Swan that there's a noticeable purple mark darker than the rest there) and she waits until she's breathing easily before she exits the shower.