A/N - Tumblr prompt: Regina goes to see Dark Swan in the hopes that they can talk, but Emma's only interested in having some fun and they end up at a tattoo parlor.

Regina Mills stood over the concrete well and gazed down into the abyss. It was as empty as she felt. There were no signs of life, nothing to restore her faith in the impossible. Her heart had turned cold in the previous weeks; she'd grown numb to the world around her. Ever since she'd lost the one constant in her life— the one person she could always count on— Regina had veered from the course. She closed herself off from anyone and everyone who cared about her. Her disbelief turned into anger, her anger turned into frustration, and her frustration into grief. Nothing worked. Nothing brought Her back. Regina felt as though she'd failed.

As she loomed over the hand-crafted ledge, the morning fog thickened. It was a humid Thursday in June; there were no singing birds, no blue skies, and no cheerful citizens chatting along the sidewalks. Regina had disappeared from her office virtually unnoticed. Stacks of papers had piled themselves on top of her desk, but she no longer had the capacity to read them. That morning, she was pulled to the forest; she was drawn to the site where she first fell in love with the strong-willed blonde. Without leaving a note or telling a soul, Regina vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, her eyes shut tight.

Her knees grazed the curved base, the touch of stone sending chills down her spine. Shoulder-length brunette hair fell effortlessly across her base of her neck. With a clenched jaw and tightly pursed lips, Regina adjusted her grip on the one item she never let out of her sight. Raising her right arm slowly, the mayor of Storybrooke held it at eye-level; seeing the name that had been seared into the blade still gave her goosebumps.

Regina was firmly planted with her legs locked at the knees and braced herself. This wasn't the first time she'd done this, but she hoped it would be the last. They were running out of options. This was her last hope.

Inhaling deeply, Regina glared at the inscribed letters. Her heart was beating outside of her chest, rattling her entire body. But she wasn't going to give in. She wasn't going to give up. Regina needed to see Her face again. She had to know She was ok.

"Dark One," Regina began, nearly stumbling over the title, "I summon thee." Holding her breath, Regina waited anxiously for the forest to shake or for a violent clash of thunder, something to tell her that She was there. "Dark One, I summon thee," she tried again with more desperation. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger, her knuckles as white as snow. A slight growl formed in the back of her throat as she harnessed all of her power into this simple, yet daunting task. "Dark One—"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you begging is unattractive?"

And just like that, without any warning, without the same grand entrance the previous Dark One was famous for, Regina whipped her head up and found the person she'd been searching for. Appearing from behind a wide Oak trunk, the former sheriff strutted forward. Clad in leather— leather shirt, leather pants, leather boots, and even a leather cuff— Emma Swan slithered through fallen trees and around extended roots, her hips swaying from side to side hypnotically.

"Emma?" Regina gasped, lowering the knife. Her lips parted as her jaw slackened at the woman's presence. The Savior's once soft and enviable golden curls were pulled back into a tight ponytail that draped over her left shoulder. High cheek bones were made more prominent by her dark-shaded blush and blood-red lipstick; heavy mascara and maroon eyeshadow had stolen the innocence she once projected. Careful not to get too close, Regina maintained a safe distance from the new Emma.

The daughter of Prince Charming and Snow White sneered at Regina in amusement. "What?" Emma tilted her head to the side. "Too much black?" she asked with mock offense, quickly glancing down at her outfit. "I think the Darkness suits me just fine." She smirked mischievously at her adversary-turned-friend, taking immense delight in the woman's confusion.

Regina's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach like an anchor; she could hardly move. Taken aback by the Savior's unsettling appearance, the formerly evil Queen blinked rapidly. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she'd been keeping inside. All of those weeks without seeing Emma's smile, without eavesdropping on the stories she would tell Henry, spotting that red jacket out of the corner of her eye— after all the time she'd without the Savior, Regina was nearly speechless. "I- I…—"

"You- you- you what?" Emma taunted, a slight hissing escaped through her words. "Don't tell me you missed me?" she teased as she took another step forward. "Let me guess, my parents sent you. They couldn't handle the pain of losing their daughter again. Mommy and Daddy are too scared for their own good?" With a disgusted scoff, Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head disdainfully. "They always were gluttons for punishment. Well, now they're paying for their crimes."

"Don't say that," Regina piped. "They would do anything to have you back and you know that."

The corners of her mouth twitching, Emma gazed at Regina quizzically. "She speaks."

Regina held the dagger firmly at her side and contemplated whether to use it or not. "Henry asks about you," she murmured. "He wants to know when you're coming home."

As if he'd been erased from her memory, Emma remained stone-faced, never so much as batting an eyelash. "He's a big boy," she said flippantly. "He can take care of himself."

"And Neal? Does the same apply to your toddler brother?" Regina countered. She wasn't stupid. She knew drawing sympathy from the Dark One didn't work. But this wasn't just the Dark One; this was Emma. This was the Savior— the same woman who'd sacrificed herself for Regina. Somewhere deep down, beneath all of the makeup and the leather suit, Emma was still there. She had to be.

Scooping up a twig, Emma examined it carefully. She pinched it between two fingers and inspected it as if it were a priceless antique. And then, suddenly, she snapped it into two. "I've gotta say, I'm disappointed in you, Regina. Guilting me? Seriously?"

Regina watched as Emma tossed the remnants of the stick over her shoulder and washed her hands of it, the hardened tone with which Emma spoke evoked a churning in her gut. With a relenting sigh, Regina boldly closed the gap between them. She locked eyes with Emma in an effort to prove herself, her intentions, her purpose. When they were only several feet apart, the brunette did something she never thought she'd do. As her heartbeat rang through her ears, she loosened her grasp on the cold handle and outstretched her arm. "I'll make a deal with you," Regina began cautiously, "It's yours on one condition: you give me one hour. No one else has to be present; just the two of us."

Cocking an eyebrow, Emma peered down at the peace offering. The reflection of the bland sky nearly blinded her as she caught a peek at her name still engraved across the sharp blade. She cringed at the sudden brightness, though she readily recomposed herself. "One hour," she repeated.

With the speed of a fox, Emma made an attempt to swipe the weapon, but Regina was one step ahead of her. Cool, calm, and collected, Regina waved a hand over the dagger and in a puff of purple smoke, the same that Regina had arrived in, the knife was gone. "After we talk."

Emma furrowed her brow in irritation, the dimples in her chin more prominent than every. And, for a moment, she looked like her old self. But, just like the dagger, that too disappeared. That brief flicker of innocence vanished, only to be replaced with a sly grin and narrowed eyes. "I've got a better idea." In a swift leap, Emma grabbed Regina's arm and with the finesse only the Dark One could possess, magicked them out of the forest.

When she caught her breath and felt a steady surface beneath her feet, Regina spun in a circle like a dog chasing its own tail. Flaring her nostrils and biting her tongue, she closed her hands into fists and slowly turned to face Emma. "What the hell did you do?"

Now chic in black leather pants and a leather tank top, her hair let loose from being tied up, Emma sat on a glass counter with her legs crossed one over the other. A man with a four-inch long beard and blue denim vest was staring up at her in wonder, his red bandana stained with a puddle of sweat from his forehead. "Unclench, will ya?" Emma sighed, completely ignoring the buzzing sounds and grunts of pain oozing from the back room. "God, you're so uptight. You'd think being a villain would loosen you up a little. Oh wait, you're a 'hero' now; that explains a lot."

A loud shriek shook the small building as Regina jumped in her spot. The only thing separating herself from the tortured soul crying out was a blue and red Grateful Dead curtain. Hanging on the gray-painted walls were framed portraits of various body parts, the glint of the camera's flash evident in their newest art pieces. Half-naked women, scaly and sharp-toothed snakes, Great White sharks, and terrifyingly large spiders smiled back at Regina as she explored the decor.

"So help me Gods—"

"Ah ah ah," the blonde said in a staccato, waving a her index finger. Pulling out her phone, she held it up to the bearded man and asked, "How much and how long?"

Closing his mouth long enough to take a serious look at the screen, Mr. Denim replied, "I'd say 80 bucks, maybe an hour."

"Perfect!" exclaimed Emma, giddy as a teenager at the mall. Leaning in closer to the strange man, she whispered something in his ear. "Do we have a deal?" In between loud gulps, Mr. Denim nodded solemnly. "Great."

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose like tired soccer mom, on hand on her lower back. "Emma, this is ridiculous. Just how do you expect us to have a conversation while you've got a needled repeatedly stabbing you?"

Sliding off of the ledge and landing like a feline, Emma chuckled. "Who said it was going to be me?"

Behind the counter, Mr. Denim stood by the printer as it spit out a translucent sheet of paper; the image was blocked by the man's burgeoning beer gut. Regina took one glance at the unsavory human and shook her head adamantly. "No. No, absolutely not."

"Are you ready?" Mr. Denim asked the women. He held the stencil in such a way that his meaty hands hid the design, much to Regina's utter dismay.

"Yeah—"

"No—"

For an awkward seven seconds, Emma and Regina engaged in a silent staring contest. In those seven seconds, Regina glowered at the blonde woman and did her damnedest to wear her down. But, in the end, it was Emma who had won the battle.

Somewhat uncomfortable, Mr. Denim cleared his throat and pulled apart the curtains. "First chair on the right."

"After you," Emma said, gesturing for Regina to walk ahead of her.

Outside of Storybrooke, Regina was basically powerless. Although she'd detested the town for decades, there was a comfort in knowing she was still the Queen. Out in the real world, though, no one knew who she was or what she was capable of. To this frightening fellow with a picture of a pit bull with a baby's body on his forearm, she was just another customer. And worst of all, to Emma— to the new Dark One— she was nothing.

As she crossed the threshold and entered unchartered territory, goosebumps ran down Regina's spine at the site of a grown man panting as a woman with pink hair decorated his leg with a black alligator. Yellow eyes and a pink tongue jumped out at the viewer, while a pointed tail curved along the man's thigh. The only thing that distracted Regina was the scent of rubbing alcohol that permeated the room and stung her eyes.

Unable to bear the thought of how many people had been in the same seat, Regina stood at the head of the chair and tried not to stare at the worn out material. "All right, where are getting this?" Mr. Denim asked as he began setting up shop.

Emma walked over to Regina and reached for the woman's torso. With a stern, but careful nudge, Emma said, "Right here." She pointed to the spot without touching Regina, further prolonging the mystery.

Now wearing latex gloves, Mr. Denim— whose real name, according to the wall, was Arnie— wiped the chair with a paper towel doused in rubbing alcohol. He turned some screws and raised the seat, pat it with a friendly smile, and said, "Hop on." Regina jutted her chin out and gawked at the rest area with distaste. Praying that it would all be over soon, she lowered herself onto the leather cushion and focused on touching as little as possible. "You're gonna need to take your shirt off," said Arnie.

"I beg your pardon?" Regina snapped.

Before Regina could slap the artist, Emma intervened and shimmied Regina's blouse down several inches. "There. Just do it like that."

As if he couldn't care less, Arnie laid the paper across the empty patch and smoothed it out several times. With great care, he pulled back the corner to reveal a purple version of what would soon be a permanent fixture on Regina's body. In total, the preparation time took less than 10 minutes. Emma leaned against the wall casually, right in front of Storybrooke's mayor. Not too far behind her, Regina heard a buzzing sound as Arnie tested the machine.

"Are you going to tell me what I'm about to be branded with, or are you going to make me wait to kill you?" Regina wanted to know.

Emma tossed her head back, entertained that Regina actually thought she could hurt her. With a slight shrug and an impish grin, she said, "I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Regina went rigid. Although bent, her knees locked fiercely as she hugged the chest cushion for dear life. Arnie dipped the needle in black ink and stepped on the pedal, the mechanism now buzzing merrily. The moment the metal tip dug into her fair skin, Regina felt a low growl form in the back of her throat.

With the oxygen stolen from her lungs, Regina let out a long hiss, her mouth dry and her teeth ground together. It was as if someone had just dug their claws into her skin and dragged them every which way with no intention of letting go. Every time Arnie lifted the gun for more ink, Regina saw colorful dots around her.

In an effort to take her mind off of the agonizing engraving, Regina licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. "Where have you been?" she spat between pained groans. Her eyes were closed, but she knew Emma was still there; she could feel her. There was a concession to Regina's question, as if it was all she had left; as though that was all she wanted to know.

Hovering over the work-in-progress, Emma watched vigilantly as Arnie scrupulously drew each line. "Around," she answered evenly.

Regina put all of her energy into her breathing. She quickly found that holding it in just made it all worse. "We looked everywhere for you," Regina retorted with resentment.

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right places," the Savior suggested callously.

"Believe me that when I say 'everywhere,' I do in fact mean everywhere." Her knuckles blanched and her fingers numb, Regina added, "You completely disappeared, Emma."

"Yeah, well, what if I didn't want to be found?"

Whether it was the angle of needle in her flesh or Emma's abrupt and excruciatingly thoughtless comment, Regina's eyes suddenly shot open. She craned her neck as far as she could turn it until she could see Emma and stared into the woman's green orbs— the only part of the sheriff that had stayed the same. "Then why did you come today? If you wanted to stay invisible, why make yourself seen?"

Something flashed across Emma's pale face, something she didn't notice but Regina did— Regina recognized that flicker of humanity; she'd missed that. Shaking her head as if shaking it off, Emma nudged Arnie and grunted, "How much longer?" By her count, half an hour had already passed by.

"20 minutes?" Arnie estimated, his gravelly voice sounded like cars tires on a dirt road.

"Is that it, then? You're going to ignore me for 20 minutes?" Regina accused. "We had a deal, Emma. One hour and we could talk—"

"No, you said one hour. That was it. You didn't say doing what. I never agreed to some Kumbaya session!"

"And I sure as hell didn't agree to a damn tattoo!" As adrenaline coursed through Regina's veins, her chest felt ready to explode. Virtually trapped beneath a large man with a sharp object, her patience was running out. The frustration and heartache she'd been stifling all this time, all these weeks without Emma, finally broke through the walls she'd built around herself. With every second of silence that passed, Regina found herself focusing more and more on the pain. She needed to talk, to say something to distract her. She didn't want to waste any more time. "Emma, listen, I understand that you're the Dark— that you're in a dark place right now," Regina began, fully aware of the strangers around them, "but that does not give you the right to ignore your family when it's falling apart. Do you have any idea wha they've been going through?" What I've been going through, Regina silently added.

"Did you ever think that I know what I'm doing? That maybe, just maybe, I was staying away for them?!" For you, Emma thought.

As if it had never occurred to Regina, the brunette knit her brow together and searched Emma's stiff features. "You were trying to protect them," she realized. Judging by the way Emma turned to look out at the curtains, Regina got the only answer she needed— maybe the only answer she would ever need.

In the midst of the revelation, Arnie let out an abrupt cough, the needle lifting from Regina's flesh. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, although neither women seemed to take any notice; Regina had even relaxed a bit under the steel instrument. His ears turned a bright shade of pink as he continued with the one task he'd been assigned. He'd worked on many, many people in his 16 years of tattooing, all with their own baggage and stories. He'd had drunk clients and underage clients, divorced clients and single clients; never once did he ever pry into their personal lives. He'd found early on that everyone had something they wanted to forget, to run away from— whether or not they came to him to do it was never clear, but he could tell they all wanted something more out of life. Whoever these ladies were, whatever their history was, one thing was glaringly obvious: they cared a great deal for each other.

Unable to peel her gaze away from Emma, Regina sat quietly for the remainder of the session. Emma, meanwhile, avoided any and all eye contact with the Queen. She kept her back turned towards Regina, as if to express apathy for their situation. But, Regina wasn't so easily fooled. She noted the way in which Emma hugged herself, the agony with which she clung to her own body with the same strength a child holds to their parents at a dentist's office.

"Are you done yet?" Emma grumbled without looking at Arnie.

Swiveling around in his own chair on wheels, the older man set down the machine for the last time. "Finished," he declared proudly. With his gloves still on, he tenderly cleaned off the excess ink and small drops of blood from Regina's newest symbol; a wave of relief washed over the woman as she felt the cold paper towel laying against the wound. "Would you like to see before I dress it?" Arnie asked.

Checking her cell phone, Emma shook her head and grabbed Regina by the wrist. "No time. Thanks. Keep the change" Tossing a wad of cash Arnie's way, Emma practically dragged Regina out of the store. The sheriff lead the mayor into an abandoned alleyway lined with dumpsters and without so much as a cautioning, magicked them back to the well. Regina didn't know how Emma had done it, and frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to. "Ok," the former Savior huffed. "A deal's a deal. Now where is it?"

Her chin nearly touching her chest, Regina responded with a morose, "Under the deathtrap you call a car."

Cackling slightly, Emma said, "Damn. You could have at least put it somewhere I wouldn't have checked."

Helpless and dejected, Regina watched as Emma walked away from her. The farther the woman got, the more it hurt to see her disappear. "Emma, wait. I—" But it was too late. A swirling cloud of black smoke engulfed the blonde from head to toe and just like that, she was gone. Once again, Regina had born witness to the Darkness stealing the woman she loved. And there was nothing she could do about it.

That night, Regina returned to the manor feeling as hopeless as ever. She'd forgotten that Henry was staying the night at his grandparents,' which meant she had the house to herself— the old, large, lonely mansion was all hers. She didn't know how she was going to tell Henry or Emma's parents about what had happened, about how she'd made contact with Emma only to return to square one. She was ashamed she hadn't been more forceful, though she knew she wouldn't have stood a chance. Emma was too powerful; not even a fight could have prevented her from leaving again. However, at least now Regina knew why Emma had left, which meant the Darkness hadn't taken complete control. Not yet.

With an empty glass and a full bottle of wine, Regina grudgingly carried herself up the winding staircase and shuffled to her room. She poured a reasonable amount of Merlot into the rounded bowl and brought the liquid to her lips; her throat burned slightly as the alcohol traveled into her system. After kicking her heels off and removing her jewelry, Regina moved to take off her shirt. She fell short, however, as the thin material caught on the bandage just above her shoulder blade. It wasn't that she'd forgotten about her adventure, so much as the throbbing had subsided long enough to put it out of her mind.

Carefully, Regina removed her blouse. Reaching as far as she could, she pulled back the plastic layer that had been thoughtfully pressed against the unknown design. Without a mirror, Regina could only see the tip of the piece. Taking another swig of wine in preparation, the Queen inhaled deeply and turned on the light in the bathroom. Turning about 40 degrees to her right, she counted to three before glanced over her shoulder and looking at the reflection.

The moment she laid eyes on it, Regina was speechless. Drawn with great care and concern was a fallen feather, curved at the base as if it were plunging downward. Regina was rather unfamiliar with birds, but that didn't matter. She knew exactly what it was, and she knew exactly what it meant. Staring at the swan feather, anything but angry, Regina gave a slight nod to herself as her eyes watered slightly.

Shutting off the lights, she headed back for her room, only to be greeted by a surprise waiting on her pillow— one that hadn't been there just moments before. A 13 by four inch box sat on top of the spot Regina placed her head at night, a folded card taped to the lid. There were no signs of breaking and entering, which only meant one thing.

Written in a slanted and hurried script, Regina read the message to herself: "Not just for my family. For you too." There was no signature, but it was no mystery who it was from. Opening the unmarked package, Regina's heart skipped at beat as she peered down at the familiar object. Just as it had earlier that morning, the name carved into the blade gave Regina goosebumps. And, as she lifted the dagger out of the container and fixed her gaze on the engraving, Regina's heart thawed just a bit. There was still hope. They hadn't failed after all. Emma Swan was still in there somewhere. And wherever she saw, she was going to be ok.

A/N - Hey! I hope you all enjoyed the story! I've been having a bit of writer's block with "Fool for You." I know what to write, just now how to write it. Hopefully this will help me get over that block!