Disclaimer: Not a single ownership was given.

This is not just a sad story, it's a devastating one. The title says it all. Writing it has been one of the most torturous experiences I've ever had. Yet, not writing it never seemed like an option.

The main plot was inspired in the TV Show 'The Big C'. I hope despite the sadness of all, some people may still appreciate the high levels of angst.

And of course, a special thanks for the advisory service offered by a dear friend. If patience is a virtue, yours is certainly being exercised (I regret nothing).

This is not supposed to be how it ends.

It doesn't make sense. Not considering all the things they've been through, or who they really are (a secret they share, a past they have left behind).

Regina never expected a happy ending. Well, that's not entirely truth. She did once.

Once upon a time…

When she was young and naïve and so very much in love.

His name was Daniel and the only thing she has left of him now is a bittersweet memory of all the things that could have been, but never were. That, and the darkness that consumed her after losing him and losing herself in the process.

It took 28 years, a curse and a savior until Regina could finally find some happiness again.

And she did. Or, come to think about it, happiness found her.

And it's different from anything she's ever imagined or dreamed of.

This life that she has now is not perfect, far from it really. It's loud and crowded in a two-store house not nearly big enough for their teenage son's long limbs and his inherited clumsiness, or his mother's appalling collection of boots and leather jackets and all the babbling and laughter of the two little ones.

It's fights about whose turn it is to do the dishes, to pleeease turn the TV down, eat your peas, don't pull your sister's hair, use your own words (thanks for that Miss Swan. You're very welcome your Majesty), can you pick up the kids from school today, guess what? your son doesn't seem to find necessary to go to college, why are you so impossible? why are you so uptight? shush, you'll wake up the kids. no tv until you do your chores, why did you let them stay up until late? don't talk to your mother in that tone young lady, did you give them sugar before dinner again? how many times do I have to repeat myself? why do you always make me look like the bad guy? maybe I should go to the PTA's meeting this time, why? and Emma's restrained smile when she admits the possibility you might be somewhat of an intimidating figure for your daughter's second grade teacher and then you just throw one of the pillows at her because how is it possible for someone to be endearing and completely maddening at the same time?

No, her life is not perfect. Nor is her house, her marriage, her children and especially not herself. She could never be, not when The Evil Queen will always be part of her past.

But Regina has come to terms with that. It took her a long time and hard work, and fights, and tears and breaking things and makeup sex and whispered apologies in the midst of moisten kisses and hiccups in the darkness of their room, in the softness of their bed, in the middle of the night.

Words pressed against her skin by soft lips until they finally poured into her heart.

Happiness has finally found Regina.

And it's nothing like she expected it to be. But only because is so much better.

Because is not perfect but it is real. And now, now she just can't seem to let go.

And once again, as so much in her life for so long, there's nothing she can really do about it.

It's cruel and definite.

It's a familiar feeling, to be at the end of the abyss so completely aware of the inevitable downfall. Only this time is infinitely worse because where before there was just the idea of what she was about to lose, possibilities and expectations, now it's losing everything she knows and holds dear.

It makes her want to scream, to run, to cast a curse and stop time. Again.

And yet she wouldn't dare to do any of those things. Not anymore. Not this Regina.

Because there's happiness in her life.

Something to hold on to. Something to ground her. All the people she loves and the feeling of being loved by them. Her teenage son who no longer looks at her like she's some villain, just mom, and who is embarrassed to be kissed by her in public, but not enough to be spoiled whenever he has the flu. There are her beautiful children who look at her with nothing but love and trust and sometimes annoyance because of course she would be the bad cop when it comes to their education. And there's her gorgeous wife who gives her coffee-tasted kisses in the morning and never leaves the house without pressing 'I love you' against her lips.

Her family.

And all of that (them) is so much more than she believed to deserve. Much more than she's thought to be possible, after all those years and all those tears.

Sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the doctor's office, unable to breathe, to even move when the man in front of her delivers her greatest fear through dry words, Regina can't help but be stunned by the realization that this is the end of the line.

Much to her surprise it's not a curse that will stop her from seeing the smile on her children's faces for much longer or waking up another day by the side of the savior (her savior).

No. It won't be magic; black or white. Or the actions of revenge of the enemies she has left behind, in another life.

She almost feels like laughing (the hysterical, desperate kind of laughter that bubbles in your throat leaving a bitter taste in your mouth) just because it's silly really, to think that The Evil Queen will be vanquished by nothing more than a small little thing, a tiny spot. A betrayal of her own body.

Melanoma. Stage four.

Perhaps that is her doing after all. The blackness that possessed her heart for so long, making a stand over her body, claiming it back.

And there's not much Regina actually hears after the words have been spoken, just glimpses of technical details she cares little about and the one thing she does: how long she has left.

Six months, maybe a year. It's hard to say.

It breaks her heart in ways she didn't believe to be possible, in ways no heart could ever survive, simply because all she can think about is: there's not enough time.

It's too much.

Certainly more than she can handle at once, and all of a sudden Regina needs air, and solitude, because the tears are coming and she was never one to shed them in front of strangers.

The doctor shows some concern about her abrupt urgency to departure. Regina merely mumbles a paltry excuse while reaching for the nearest exit. Outside, on the hallway, heart pounding and eyes closed, she hears a voice talking to her. The nurse asks if there's anyone she can call, a family member perhaps.

Regina thinks about her family and swallows whole a sob.

There's no need, she hears herself saying using the imperious voice that once belonged to a mayor in a small city lost in Maine. A voice she hasn't used in a very long time.

Outside the building, the wind is cold, even though the Sun is high in the sky. The sounds of the city hit Regina all at once and for a short moment all she can do is observe as people around her keep going with their lives.

Like absolutely nothing has changed.

It's a sunny day in Boston.

And then her cell phone rings inside her purse and reality regains speed. Through the phone's display she recognizes Emma's name and immediately Regina brings the device to her ear.

The one thing she needs now is to listen to her wife's voice.

Then she'll know what to do.

.::.

"This can't be happening", Emma lets the words out with a breathless gasp, not daring to look at Regina, focusing her attention to the soothing caresses her wife instinctively offers her thigh instead.

Sitting on their bed, the room half lit by the glimmer of the lamp on the nightstand, they speak in low voices, even though is long past the kids' bedtime and they're all sound asleep by now.

"I'm sorry dear." When Emma does look up, is only to find those dark, compassioned eyes, glistening with nothing but love. And such sorrow that her tears can barely be contained as well.

She can't accept it. She won't.

"There's gotta be a way." Her voice may fail her, but her determination doesn't.

"Emma, the doctors said-"

"A magical one then. A potion, a curse, a deal with Rumplestiltskin, I don't care!"

"I do! That's not our lives anymore." Regina responds frantically, but then she seems to think better and subsides, her voice under control. "When you chose to leave Storybrooke with me, we left all those things behind."

"We go back then!"

"Darling, you know that's not an option."

"No! Telling our kids that their mother is going to die is not an option! You, leaving me, that's not an option!" Regina reaches for her face then, a sad, subdued smile trembling in her own lips, her open palm collecting Emma's tears - the ones that have managed to escape.

"The barrier, I wouldn't be able to-"

"But I can." Emma replies without missing a beat, fire burning in her eyes in a desperation that Regina can do very little but relate to, feeling it all the same, although keeping it to herself.

The fierce determination that Emma displays, along with her blind stubbornness, is anything but a surprise. "I can Regina, and I will."

.::.

Welcome to Storybrooke.

It's been a long time since Emma has come across these words. More than she ever thought it would be when she left all those years ago.

Turns out leaving Storybrooke with Regina had been the final line - or so warned her parents.

David and Mary Margaret.

Charming and Snow White.

It almost seems like forever since Emma has allowed herself to think about them either. But as soon as she crosses the line on her way back to the small town, all the memories flood back in. Like no time has passed at all.

She can still hear the voices. Loud and harsh. Her parents and her own. Regina awfully quiet for once in her life. Henry with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his head under her chin, remarkably silent.

She remembers her mother's angry tears and the betrayal cracking through her voice. How could she do that? How could she choose the Evil Queen over her family? At first Emma had tried to explain: Regina was family too, the mother of her child, so honestly, how could she not?

Only her parents didn't seem to understand that. And they certainly didn't understand any better when Regina had been officially exiled and their beloved daughter, their savior, simply decided to join her.

Her father pleaded, vehemently though his tone was gentle, almost too polite. Concern written all over his wrinkled forehead, in a similar expression to one Emma had so many times portrayed herself. Her mother had begged then. Redden face and blurry eyes. Don't do this, please don't do this. And then came the anger, the threats and demands over her responsibilities. To the town, to her people, her family.

To herself.

If you cross this line you can never come back. And in the end that was the one thing they could agree on.

After that there was silence while Emma packed her belongings. Her mother refusing to speak, refusing to believe that it was actually happening. Her father trying to make Emma come to her senses, to restore peace. Terrified of losing his daughter once again and still unable to stop the events in course.

She hugged David on her way out, in that stiff way born somewhere in duty and a blundering affection. Snow held her head high, proud and unyielding, building a barrier too tall to either of them overcome at the time.

Unsure, in front of the woman she had hardly come to know as a mother but loved nonetheless, Emma hovered before turning her back and walking away.

You will regret this decision, were her mother's last words to her, six years ago.

With a sad smile and a knot inside her stomach once she parks the car in front of Granny's dinner, Emma can't help but think that had been the one thing she never did regret: loving Regina.

Not then, not even now, when she was about to lose her.

Not ever.

.::.

It's Ruby who gives Emma their new address.

The house is pretty. White fence, big garden and all. A place once would have scared-off bounty-hunter Emma straight to the woods with its alarming suburban qualities.

A place that Detective Swan could never afford with her annual income and for a moment memories of her own home invade Emma's mind: the small backyard where she had camped in a tiny tent with her kids, a tent she had built herself; the heater that never really works properly, but resulted in nights in front of the fireplace drinking hot cocoa and playing scrabble with an unbeatable Regina. The burnt lamp from the porch that her wife's already asked her to change a million and two times, but that she always manages to forget. The thin walls that have turned their lovemaking into a quiet affair.

Their house may not be a palace or a picture taken from a catalog, which once had burdened Emma when she thought about Regina, born and raised like fucking royalty, living in a place that was anything but. And then Regina had made herself at home, painting walls and renewing their furniture - a hobby she had come to enjoy over the years - filling their home with everything she was, and that, plus the kids' laughter, overshadowed all the bleak spaces. Her wife's happiness speaking louder than her upbringing ever could.

Emma blinks and the memories fade.

There are some toys scattered around the garden and a swing hanging over the big tree and the meaning of it hits Emma before she can brace herself.

They've moved on.

And at the sight of the life that her parents have made for themselves, Emma is painfully reminded of her own childhood and the things that could have been and never were.

It's not like she would change a thing about her life, especially when all paths led her to where she is now, but the memories are more bitter than sweet, and the idea that Snow and Charming have a whole new life in which she's not a part of, well, it's not an easy pill to swallow.

Even if she was the one to walk away all those years ago.

Emma, control your emotions, she almost says it out loud, and the voice inside her head is suspiciously similar to one she knows all too well.

Then she rings the doorbell and a little girl opens the door. It gives her pause for the briefest of moments, blonde curls, blue-greeny eyes and a face that look just like Emma's, in a way that her children never will.

Henry may have her chin and crooked smile but that's as far as it goes. Then there's Imogen, who wasn't born from either of them but walks tall like every bit of her mother. And Michael, the miracle baby - made from science, not magic -, who came when they had almost lost hope and depleted all of Regina's life savings. The boy who has her eyes and a sweetness that Regina claims not know who he takes it from, but Emma does whenever she thinks about the girl her wife had been one day, before tragedy struck.

So no, none of her children look like her, but this one standing in front of her certainly does.

"Hi," is the only reply she can come up with while those mirror eyes inspect her head to toe.

"You're a stranger." The girl states vaguely inquisitive.

"I guess I am." Emma has no way to retort her logic. Not when all those years torn them apart. "Are your parents home?"

Before the girl can reply, a voice comes from inside the house and the familiarity of it, is enough to make Emma queasy.

"Eve, honey, who is it?"

Emma is not sure of what she had been expecting. Of course the years have passed by. She knows it because Henry is taller than her now, Imogen can already tie her shoe-laces and Michael finally sleeps the whole night in his own bed. She knows because of the wrinkles that now live at the corner of Regina's eyes, the ones that haunt her image in the mirror, something Emma dismisses with kisses and the assurance that the former queen has never looked more beautiful.

However, seeing an older version of the woman who was the same for 28 years is at the very least disconcerting.

Especially since, with her hair longer than Emma has ever seen and a full smile spread on her lips, Mary Margaret has never looked so young. Or happy.

The smile, however, disappears in the moment her eyes blink with recognition.

"Emma?" Snow's features go blank and her voice fades over her inability to say much more.

"Hi." It's the only reply she seems to manage. Again.

Without taking her eyes off her oldest daughter, Snow pats the little girl's head and instructs with a tender voice. "Eve, sweetie, why don't you go help your sister feed the fishes in the pond?"

"But mommy you gave me a time out because of the name-calling."

"Well, we both know you're not going to do it again, are you?" She gives the girl a knowingly look that is immediately rewarded with an enthusiastic nod in agreement. "Then consider this an early release for good behavior."

"Got it!" The girl happily complies and soon disappears from Emma's sight, her loud stomps over the hardwood floor and the knock of a door on her way out to the garden in the backyard, indicating her obedience.

"It's you." There's sadness in Snow's voice now, and her lips quiver, barely conceiving her emotions. "You're really here…"

"Yep." Emma agrees with a loud pop for the last syllable and even though her expression is versed and her reply contains only three letters, barely forming a word, Snow knows immediately that something is just not right.

"What's wrong?" Snow's voice is soft and the concern in her eyes is genuine.

No matter what have happened, Emma will never not be her daughter. And mothers will always care.

Emma doesn't answer right away, because, standing in front of her, is the woman who used to be her best friend, the person who first took her in when she got to Storybrooke and had no one else. Even without curses and genetic relations, years could never erase the bond they share. However, Emma can still remember this particular look in the other woman's eyes and she simply knows that this is not just Mary Margaret. This is her mother asking.

So when her words escape, is with all the burden she's been carrying, all the sorrow that's been menacing to drown her ever since Regina came home with a death sentence.

"It's Regina…" She confesses with a small voice, careful not to spill her sadness all over.

Snow could never understand her daughter's affection for the woman whose mission in life for so long had been to destroy their happiness. The woman who led her to a childhood apart from her parents, a whole lifetime until destiny finally brought them together.

Truth was Snow had loved Regina once, the young girl who saved her life. But she would never forgive the woman who had taken her daughter from her.

So the idea that Emma had managed not only to do just that, but to love the woman as well, it was too much. It had been too much, an unbearable reality for Snow to face it. Or so she had thought. Because then Emma had left and for a long time there was this empty space in her life. A void that had remained after all those years.

But now, at the sight of her long lost daughter near to tears in her doorstep, Snow realizes she couldn't care less about any of it. All she knows is that her daughter is in pain, and her instinct is to soothe her, to make it better.

With a frown of absolute empathy, Snow extends her arms and Emma, for once, doesn't hesitate.

It took Snow six years apart from her daughter and her warm tears soaking her own cardigan until she could finally understand that, regardless of her feelings for the Evil Queen, there was nothing she could do.

Emma loved Regina.

And now, her daughter was about to lose her true love.

.::.

After the tears have dried, Emma sits awkwardly on the couch, waiting for David to arrive and for her mom to return with a tray of hot chocolate and home baked cookies.

Some things will never change.

The room is decorated with a flowerish wallpaper and Emma can't help but notice the sweet perfume she's come to associate with her mother's presence, along with so many details that are simply her. The fresh flowers in the vase, the pads embroidered by hand that cover the couch. She's particularly fascinated by a handmade garniture of colored paper birds hanging over the window, when the sounds of laughter coming from outside catch her attention.

Pulling the lace curtains, Emma manages to have a full view of the huge backyard where, without a care in the world, two girls seem busy enough feeding the fishes on a small pond.

Emma easily recognizes the blonde one who opened the door for her, Eve she remembers, and with her, a girl with long dark hair and fair skin. A perfect copy of her mother.

Their mother.

"I hope you still like cinnamon in your chocolate." Snow's voice startles Emma and she nearly trips over the tea table behind her, stepping away from the window.

Snow doesn't quite understand what just happened until she hears the girls' giggles and is presented with a devastating realization.

"You… have a beautiful family." Emma offers then, with a kind, sincere smile and it breaks Snow's heart altogether.

"It's… not complete." Snow trails off, but Emma chooses not to dwell on it.

"How old are they?"

"Well, you've met Evelyn. She's five. And then there's Jo. She's just turned seven." Emma raises an eyebrow at the information, to which Snow makes sure to add. "I only found out after…"

"I-, we have a daughter too." Emma avows, stepping over her mother's words, gawkily. "And a boy. Besides Henry I mean."

"You do?" Snow asks with a torn smile.

"Yeah," Emma's smile just bloom at the thought of her family. "Imogen and Michael. They are quite the handful."

"And Henry?"

"Seventeen and still growing if that's even possible. He's already a head taller than me. Has a driver's license. Eats like an ostrich. Hasn't showed up with a serious girlfriend so far, much to Regina's relief."

Snow listens to her daughter intently, both mesmerized by the information she's been receiving but also by the look of sheer happiness displayed all over Emma's face. After a second Emma stops talking and it takes a moment until Snow realizes there are tears streaming down her own face.

"I'm sorry," Snow apologizes, fishing a handkerchief from one of her pockets.

"No. I am. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't!" Snow is prompt to undo the misunderstanding. "I just… Emma, you have a family too."

The statement is almost overwhelming.

"Yeah." Emma agrees distantly. "Wanna see?"

Is an offer that Snow wouldn't even dream to refuse, not when her daughter has this proud smile dancing on her lips. A smile that says 'look mommy, look what I've done.'

"Sure."

Swiftly Emma fishes the phone inside her jacket's pocket and in no time Snow is presented with the image of the Swan-Mills clan. Instantly she recognizes her daughter and grandson, Emma wearing an attirement that indicates she still works with law enforcement and the boy who so long ago Snow helped to build birdhouses, now taller and more handsome she could ever had pictured it, a broad smile all over his face as his long arms envelop both of his mothers into a hug. This, of course, leads to the sight of Regina.

And there's where lays the real surprise.

Because this Regina looks nothing like the Evil Queen Snow remembers. Her hair is still short, and her outfit is still perfectly refined even thought the style is much more relaxed in comparison to the power suits she used to wear as mayor. But, what makes all the difference is her genuine smile, and something in her eyes, a softness that Snow hasn't witness since she was only a girl herself and Regina, her savior.

Then her attention is captured by the image of the two kids. The girl can't be older than her two youngest daughters, light brown hair, a constellation of freckles sprinkled over her nose and a tooth gap. And then there's the little boy, with his dark curly hair and serious brown eyes.

"Oh Emma," Snow can barely contain a sigh, taken aback by the glimpse of what her daughter's life has turned to since she left. With a shaken voice, she adds. "You have a beautiful family as well."

"I know." Emma agrees quietly, her eyes still fixed on the picture. "Which is why I need your help."

.::.

They don't have magic anymore.

Not in Storybrooke, not in this world.

After Rumplestiltskin left, all the portals had been sealed off and eventually all the magic left in this world simply worn out until there was nothing.

Snow is not sure of what to do. Had this been Eve or Jo, she would hold the girls tight and whisper sweet nothings until slumber would visit them and make it all better.

But Emma is broken in ways that her other daughters have never been, nor, Snow hoped, will ever be. They are young and innocent whereas Emma has lived, learned and lost more than it is fair to bear.

"Honey, I'm so sorry."

"No you are not!" Emma responds aggressively, her frantic moves making Snow take a step back. "This is what you've always wanted."

With an angst cry Emma tries to hold still but can only manage for so long. From the top of the stairs Snow feels the girls observing, scared, and it only takes one minute, the time she uses to appease them, for Emma to escape through the door into the starry night.

It's her father who finds her later, when the cool sea breeze has turn into ice cold wind. Quietly he approaches her at the spot that was once her son's refuge.

"I had a feeling I would find you here." He says and she doesn't respond, just stares straight at the tide that never ceases coming. Her body however breaks under her father's intent stare as she shivers despite her stubbornness.

David doesn't hesitate. He takes off his jacket and immediately puts it over his daughter's shoulders. She doesn't move away, and he takes that as enough of a thanks.

Then they stay side by side, for a long long time, until David's voice once again break the silence that only the whistles of the wind have dared to break it so far.

"I'm sorry." He uses that low tone, the one that shows he cares about Emma. It's been a long time, but she can still remember. "Snow told me about Regina."

It's not the name that breaks her, but the memory of the face that comes with it.

So this time, when the tears come, much like the tides against the shore, there's nothing she can do but watch as they keep coming.

.::.

Emma returns home that same night, despite her parents' objections, despite knowing better than taking that long road in midst of exhaustion and an overwhelming grief.

She returns home because she can't stand the idea of wasting one more minute away from Regina.

There's an urgency in having her wife near, touching her, feeling her presence, and it goes against the tic of the clock, their time together escaping through her grip like a handful of sand.

When Emma gets home the sun is coming up and the bed is filled with almost everything she holds dear in this world. Henry is sleeping in his own bed, a history book forgotten over his chest and the lamp on his nightstand still on, until Emma turns it off. Then she walks into her room, trying to be quiet, but that's something she's never been too good at and as she's discarding her other boot off, Regina stirs in bed.

"You're home." She says with her voice hoarse of sleep and a deliberate lower tone in order not to wake Imogen or Michael.

"I am." Emma replies and for a long moment just stares at the sight of this woman who she's learned to love so completely.

Regina closes her eyes then, slipping into slumber almost instantly, which doesn't stop her from bossing around any less.

"Come to bed, will you?" The brunette commands, eyes still closed.

And for once, Emma just does as she's told.

.::.

Regina insists on telling Henry herself.

They leave the house together, in a Saturday afternoon, and Emma is left home taking care of the little ones with strict instructions of not feeding them any junk food, which she wholeheartedly plans to follow until she doesn't and ends up ordering two pepperoni pizzas for dinner.

Mother and son take forever to come back home and when Emma finally hears the sound of the door being open, so do the kids, who run to their mom enveloping her legs into tight hugs, their voices trampling each others' as they speak at the same time eager to share the smallest details of their day.

Henry moves quietly then, hands in his pockets and head down until Regina leaves to the other room, a peck on Emma's lips, Michael in her lap and Imogen on her heels, leaving their son and the former sheriff alone.

Then, the kid looks up and Emma can see the redness in his puffed eyes and all she can really offer is a broken smile of her own, which seems to be the code for a bear hug, because that's what she gets next.

Emma can't recall the last time Henry hugged her so fiercely, but she holds a vague memory of him doing so, all those years back in Storybrooke, when his head still fit perfectly above her chin and she was still his infallible savior.

"What are we going to do?" He asks shakily, wiping the tears off with the back of his hands.

"Oh kid," Emma holds him tight and just sighs because her son may have always known how to make the right questions, but that still doesn't mean she has the answers.

Especially when it comes to this.

.::.

For a while nothing really changes simply because Regina is too damn stubborn to let some mild thing like a fatal condition slow her down.

Like a dynamo she just keeps moving and moving, taking care of the kids and the house and refusing to stop or, god forbidden, to surrender.

It's infuriating, something Emma is not afraid to point out, and they are constantly fighting about it, knocking heads and arguing loudly until they are both equally unhappy and exhausted, and yet unwilling to give in.

That is, until the symptoms kick in and the cancer starts to take its toll on her body, and at the cost of her own obstinacy Regina is bound to bow.

So when it happens, it almost seems sudden.

Her body starts to fail her, and the treatments that were supposed to make her feel better end up actually making her feel worse.

She doesn't like it, not one bit. And it breaks Emma's heart at the same time that drives her crazy, because Regina knows all about taking care of her family and being the one in charge, but when it comes to being taken care of, she knows very little.

Vulnerability is something that Regina could never pull off with grace and no disease would ever change that.

"You need to eat!" Emma insists, exhaustion overflowing through her pores.

"You try to eat tasting nothing but dry rubber. It's the same as trying to eat your cooking dear," Regina wrinkles her nose in distaste. "No offense."

"None taken." Emma dismisses naturally, too tired and too used to it by now. "You're skin and bones Regina, eating is not optional."

"It is, when this is the alternative."

"Regina, we are not negotiating this!"

"Or what? Are you going to shove this down my throat?" Her question is almost a challenge.

"No." Emma responds slowly, but can't pretend the thought hasn't crossed her mind. "But only because you are going to eat it and not force me to do just that."

She's serious, Regina can tell.

"I'll try some more later." She concedes and the condescendence in her tone is enough to make Emma lose her temper.

"For God's sake you're worse than the kids!" Emma takes off the tray, putting it down forcefully over the nightstand. Regina closes her eyes, flinching at the sound of it.

When she speaks, her tone is cold and her words, sharp.

"I'm sorry if my condition upsets you."

Emma just sighs regretfully. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, for what is worth, all of this is much worse when you're the person dying."

"Could you not…" Emma has to restrain her aggravation and tone it down. "Do you even possess any control over what comes out of your mouth?"

"Not since chemo, no."

"Regina-"

"No! You don't understand! Caring for me may have been challenging until now, but being underneath my skin while this illness is eating me alive is something I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy. And we both know I had plenty of those, your mother dearest included."

"Hey, I know this is hard, but it's the only way."

"It doesn't have to be." Regina counters in a blink, her voice gaining a softer quality when she finally says what she's been meaning to. "Emma, I wish to stop the treatment."

This immediately pulls Emma attention as she snaps her head up. "You what?"

"If you would just listen to me-"

"No! Why would you even say something like that?"

"Because I'm dying darling and if that doesn't give me the right, than what will?"

Emma gets up all at once, the tray long forgotten on the nightstand, ignored by both parts. Pacing back and forth, Emma doesn't reply right away and Regina takes that as a sign to keep pushing.

"Look, we were both aware that doing this treatment was only a matter of buying us more time. But honestly dear, ever since this started I've only felt worse and worse. It makes me completely worthless and I hardly have enough strength to spend time with the children anymore."

Even though is clear for her that she's pushing a dangerous boundary, Regina doesn't stop. "Now, we both know that I'm not getting any better. There's no such a thing as stage 5 melanoma. So why can't we just enjoy the time that we have left?"

"Because is not enough!" Emma urges, and it hurts Regina to see her so despondent, so at loss. But not nearly as much as it will to waste whatever time they have together prostrated in a bed, a faded version of herself.

"Oh Emma," Regina extends her arm and wordless Emma comes to her, unable to refuse her wife in any way. With the lightest of touches, Regina brings them close together until her forehead is pressed against Emma's. "All the time in the world wouldn't be enough."

"Yeah," Emma agrees shakily. "but growing old together wouldn't hurt either."

This time Regina only gives her a smile through unshed tears. And then Emma knows she'll give in to her wife's wishes simply because she can't recall the last time she's seen this smile and because she doesn't know until when she'll be able to.

"What do we tell the kids?"

The answer comes after an eternity of silence. "The truth."

.::.

Imogen and Michael don't quite understand what's happening. All they know is that Mommy doesn't feel well, everything is sad now, and Mama is spending a lot of time at home.

Then, on a sunny Saturday, sitting on a bench at the park with ice cream cones melting in their hands and green grass under their sneakers, they are told that their mom is going on a very long trip to a beautiful place far far away.

The trip is called death, and once you do it, you don't really come back.

Imogen questions why Regina has to go in the first place and Michael has a hard time grasping the concept of time.

What does forever mean? And when does it end?

Then there are the more pressing matters: who is going to sing them lullabies if Mommy is not around? Mama is good at telling stories, but her singing voice is not the best. She also doesn't know how to cook and that's a real problem cause pizza all nights is not good for your tummy, or at least that's what Mommy always says.

Imogen gets angry then. This trip is stupid and if mom has to go, then why can't she just go with her?

As soon as the question leaves their daughter's lips, Emma stands up, overwhelmed by the wave of sorrow and frustration that suddenly strikes her, and is Regina who takes over, pulling Imogen to her lap with infinite patience and tenderness, and with her lips sealing a kiss over her head she explains to their little girl that she needs to stay to help her Mama looking after her brothers.

Michael is far too young to realize the irrevocability of all, but he is a sensitive child and over the next weeks he becomes clingy and overly attached to Regina, refusing to eat unless she's the one feeding him, or to go to bed without her goodnight kisses.

Imogen has bad dreams about her mom leaving in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. And other bad dreams she hasn't had in a long time, dreams from when she was very little and her other mother, the first one, got really sick and the policeman came in the middle of the night and took her away.

Does this mean she'll have to leave again?

She asks during dinner, between telling about her day at school and handing the note that her teacher sent and it's probably a good thing that her mom wasn't feeling well enough to join them during dinner tonight because the looks at Mama's and Henry's faces tell her she might have said something really bad.

Emma doesn't answer right away, almost too angry to speak, and it takes a few moments for her to regain her cool and for Imogen to realize she's not the one her Mama is angry at. And that, what first had looked like anger, turned out to be just this great amount of sadness.

When her Mama does reply, is looking straight into her eyes, same way she does when she absolutely wants the truth and nothing but the truth and Imogen ends up telling where she hid Michael's toys or confessing she might have been the one who broke her mommy's favorite vase.

Listen kid this is your family. Forever. For good. So no, you're not going anywhere, ok?

Then her Mama continues having dinner and so does Henry and Michael isn't even eating anymore, just playing with the food on his plate and everything is still sad, and her Mommy is still very sick, too sick to make them dinner or to even check if she's doing her homework (which is mainly the reason why she got that note from her teacher in the first place) but at least she can breathe now.

Still, most of the nights, Imogen appears at her mothers' room and sneaks into their bed, just to make sure her mommy isn't going anywhere without saying goodbye.

Henry helps a lot at home and, despite the protests of both of his mothers, decides to hold on to the college applications for a while. It's enough to drive Regina crazy and there's not a single opportunity when she doesn't bring the subject up, but he knows how to handle her better than anyone, always defusing her attempts with a boyish smile and ease.

Turns out his acting skills are quite admirable because at night, when sometimes he wakes up by the sounds of his mom throwing up in the room next door, he remembers of how strong she always seemed to be, like she was made of steel or something else entirely, and how fragile she is now and all of this make him so sad that he doesn't even know what to do with it so, laid down on his bed, Henry just closes his eyes and turns the volume of his iPod up until there's nothing but white noise and absolutely no chance of any unwanted thoughts invading his mind.

At first he would go to their room, stand by the door and watch as Emma led Regina back to bed, rubbing gently her lower back and whispering inaudible things to his mother's ear. But then they would notice his presence and Emma would say "It's okay kid, I got it covered." And his mother would look absolutely devastated by being seen like that, yet she would try to reassure him with a forced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, born from a strength she shouldn't really waste anymore only to make him feel better.

Now he wakes up all the same and goes check on the little ones only to come back to his bed afterwards and put his headphones back on.

The louder is the music, the more silent become his thoughts, which is a good thing because on days like these even the good memories hurt.

Heck, especially them.

.::.

Emma tries to handle all things herself, takes a leave of absence from work and dedicates her full time to the kids, the house, Regina. And still it's not enough.

It doesn't take long until she's exhausted and Regina can see it in the dark marks underneath her eyes, and in the fact that she's lost weight, and the house is a mess and the kids don't have clean clothes to wear and the kitchen stinks.

So Regina does the only thing she can (and never thought she would).

Snow arrives two days later and Henry is too stunned to even manage a decent welcome to the woman he hasn't seen in over six years.

Instead he gawks, the door open and a sudden embarrassment because the house is a complete mess.

"Grams" The words leave him in a puff of air and the woman only smiles at him, almost beaming.

"Oh Henry, look at you!" She doesn't wait for an invitation – or permission – simply enveloping him into a tight grandmotherly hug. The only thing missing, really, is for her to press his cheeks.

Oh wait. Scratch that.

"What are you doing here?" He asks awkwardly and not trying to be rude, but very unsure of how his mom is going to take this sudden visit.

"I called her," The voice comes from behind them, and both turn into her direction at the same time, startled to see Regina – albeit for very different reasons.

"Regina-" Is all Snow manages to say, very surprise at the sight of a woman who looks nothing like the Evil Queen she used to know - or any of her other versions for that matter.

"Mom, you were not supposed to leave the bed."

"First of all, I may be sick but I'm still the parent here, so I'll take no orders from my children. And in the second place, aren't you going to invite your grandmother to get inside? This is not the education your mother and I provided you with."

Regina's tone is as regal as ever, but there's a delicacy in her voice that almost diminishes her reprimand. The fact that she's wearing PJs and a robe in the middle of the afternoon also affects greatly her authority figure, although not in the eyes of her son, apparently.

"Sorry." Henry apologizes with a slight blush and turns again to Snow, "Please come in Grams. Do you want something to drink?"

"Thanks Henry, that's not necessary." Snow politely declines.

"Henry dear, why don't you go makes us some tea?" Regina suggests with a warm, tired smile.

"Okay." The boy promptly obeys, leaving the two women alone in the living room. A quick scan is sufficient for Regina to immediately notice the condition of the room, or the lack of it. Rolling her eyes, she indicates the seat in front of her to the younger woman with a simple gesture.

"Things aren't usually this messy, but I'm sure you can forgive us given the circumstances."

"I was surprised when you called me." Snow sits stiffly at the end of the couch, not sure of how to respond to that.

"Well, I won't insult you by lying about my motives. Had I had a choice, we probably would never cross paths again." Snow almost scoffs at the answer, but relaxes all the same. There's the Regina she remembers. "However, if there's anything that all of this has taught me, is that there are more important things than pride and old disagreements."

Snow nearly chokes trying to contain her pique. "I don't think 'disagreement' is a term that applies to our history Regina."

"And I don't think I'll live much longer Snow. So call it as you will, I'm finally paying the price for my misdeeds and you can revel in it as much as you like once you're back home, with your dearest Charming and your brand new family living happily ever after." The sneer in Regina's tone is more than familiar. Some wounds no time or happiness would ever heal. "That's not the reason why I called you."

"Then why?" Snow's voice trembles. She had forgotten Regina's ability to wound with words by merely playing with hard truths.

"Why else?" Regina keeps her facade, but right there lays her weakness, in the crack of her poise as soon as Emma's name is barely alluded. A stranger might not have noticed it, but that was something that Snow and Regina were definitely not.

"Where is she?" Snow asks, concerned.

"Grocery store. We were out of apples." Regina answers simply. And the domesticity of all is almost an inducement to Snow's spite but then she thinks of Emma crying in her foyer, lost and asking for help because she was about to lose her true love.

This woman.

It's enough to keep Snow going. "Does she know I'm here?"

"She will, once she arrives."

"She won't take well."

"I wouldn't expect it, no." Regina replies calmly, and then something happens inside her because the bravado simply fumes like smoke all of a sudden, leaving a softer version of Regina behind. "Will you be able to stay? Until-"

"Yes. It's all been settled. Charming will take care of the girls."

"Good." Regina says absently, like the effort of the conversation has taken too much. "That's good."

When Henry returns, a tray in hand and suspicion over the silence that reigns in the room, is only to find his mother asleep on the couch, a thin blanket placed over her body and his grandmother looking pensively by the window.

"Uhm, here's the tea." He announces, clearly confused by what just took place.

"Thanks honey," his grandmother says taking one of the cups with both hands, only to add next. "Now how about you help me clean up this mess before your mom arrives?"

.::.

It's the loud thump that wakes Emma. Then she notices something is amiss, Regina's side of bed empty and the sheets cold. The room is dark and the panic that suddenly rises in her chest sharpens her senses.

"Regina?" Emma calls for her wife, her green eyes adjusting to the absence of light in the room and it's not an answer what she receives, but a familiar growl coming from the floor on the other end of the bed.

It takes her seconds to reach her, less than that even, and then the sight of Regina prostrated on the floor wrecks her inside. "Babe, what are you doing on the floor? Did you fell? Are you hurt?"

Emma's solicitude is met with a dead glare and when she tries to come closer, it's only to be chided by a tormented voice. "Don't touch me."

Regina's reaction takes Emma by surprise, but not enough to tamper her concerns. Nonetheless she respects her wife's wishes and steps back, giving her the space demanded. With a patient tone then, Emma tries again, her voice almost a whisper. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened?" It's the bitter response she gets, wrapped in anger and roughness. But Regina lashing out is not nearly enough to make Emma budge. Not after almost seven years of marriage.

To be truth, it's not even new.

"I don't know. I was sleeping." Emma replies plainly, and something in her tone or her words is enough to set Regina off.

"That's right! You were sleeping!" The words come out as an accusation. Of what? Emma is not sure. Something inside her simply understands that Regina needs a target right now. And there she is, just standing, waiting. "I woke up in pain and you looked so damn exhausted and all I had to do was to get those stupid pills. But I'm weak!" Regina spits the word with nothing but pure disgust.

Emma tries to come near her once more, but is prevented again, Regina's raised hand standing between them, barely visible when the only light in the room comes from the moon outside.

"I couldn't stand up for myself and then I felt nauseous because of the pain which led me to where I am now: an invalid laying on the floor, bathed on my own vomit." Regina blinks for a long time, fighting hard her own tears. "I suppose dying with dignity is a luxury that won't be conceded to the former Evil Queen."

"Why didn't you just wake me?" Emma's words escape strangled, torn by Regina's utter dejection.

Big brown eyes look at her with something that might be disbelief.

"Because you were exhausted." She repeats matter-of-factly, almost exasperated by Emma's lack of insight. Then she sighs deeply, the confession slipping through her lips. "And I'm tired of being a burden."

Emma's reaction is irrepressible, all barriers and courtesies forgotten once she kneels besides her wife, taking her face in her hands and forcing her to look directly at her own eyes.

"You are never a burden." She states with absolute conviction and deposits a kiss on Regina's forehead, only to add with a smile. "Also, you stink."

There's a groan then, the derided kind Regina would give her whenever Emma was being deliberately silly or annoying. It's weak but it's still there.

"Well, I'm drenched in my own vomit. What's your excuse?" Regina raises a perfectly outlined eyebrow and Emma plays along.

"Maybe I was trying to interest you in a bath." She explains casually, offering Regina an innocent smile, then adds. "Together."

When Regina looks at her, Emma doesn't see the sickness or the sadness, the tears or the pain. She sees Regina's eyes glimmering and the faintest line of a smile, resting in the corner of her lips, near the scar she loves to kiss. Everything about it is achingly familiar and that being so, her invitation is nothing but earnest. "Care to join me?"

.::.

Later, when the room and the pillows smell like apples and cinnamon from Regina's oil bath, and they are lying in bed, their skins warm and soft touching underneath the clean sheets, Emma feels Regina's hand entangled in her hair, her long fingers lost in her golden locks, when her voice breaks the silence.

"I would like for you to take me away." Emma smiles then, eyes closed, almost dozing.

"Where to, your Majesty?" She indulges, playfully.

"Some place beautiful. A beach, an island, could be anywhere, really." Something in Regina's voice makes Emma suspicious though.

"Are you serious?" She inquires intrigued and Regina doesn't reply for a long time, so long that Emma is almost asleep when the words finally reach their destination.

"I don't want to die in our bed."

Emma doesn't say a thing and Regina simply assumes she's fallen asleep, but in the dead of night, listening to her wife's heartbeats and the constant rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, Emma's eyes remain open.

Sleep never comes.

.::.

Emma burns their savings and takes her family to a small piece of paradise.

The house is spacious and more than comfortable; the floors are made of shiny hardwood, the windows are wide enough to let the Sun in freely and the master room has a huge king-size bed that stands right in its middle with a perfect view of the infinite blue ocean that goes on for miles and miles.

It turns out to be the perfect thing, since Regina barely leaves the bed these days.

She's in pain a lot, even though she tries not to let it show, and Emma finally has to agree that Snow's presence isn't the worst idea of all times when she's totally in charge of the little ones.

With time and weakness Regina has become more docile and the fact that she barely puts on a fight anymore isn't a relief as much as a sign that their time is adding up.

Emma tries not to think about it, focusing her attention on the mundane things, small steps such as remembering the timetable of all the medicine Regina is supposed to take, developing an obsessive interest in the minor signs of her symptoms after having read everything there's to know about the disease on the internet and attending her wife's every need before she has even expressed them.

It's overbearing and overwhelming. Devastating and terrible and she doesn't cry anymore, but only because she never allows herself to feel it, either.

Henry notices Emma's behavior, how she's being consumed by this illness as well, only in a different way. And it makes him aware and concerned, but talking to Snow doesn't seem appropriate, which kind of only leaves him one option.

The lights in the room are off since they hurt Regina's sensitive eyesight, but it's a full moon outside and the night is bright.

At first it seems she may be sleeping but then the slightest movement of her body and the softest of whispers tell otherwise.

"Hello there." Regina greets her son with a tired smile and he doesn't move at first, unsure of what to do.

"Hi mom."

"Come here," She says, petting the bed lightly, and there's no question mark but it hardly seems like a regal command or anything like it. In fact, there's very little in the woman in front of Henry that reminds him of his mom. He complies anyway.

"Can I get you anything?" He asks sympathetically, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hands in his.

Regina looks at him then, a knowingly smile faintly drawn in her lips. "You can tell me about whatever is bothering you."

Henry hesitates then, because sure his mom's been the only one to ever make Emma stop and listen, but she seems so fragile now, so exposed.

"I just miss you. That's all." Some tears threaten to escape against his will and it's not untruth. It isn't.

"Don't." She replies weakly, her hand still holding his as her eyes close despite her best efforts to stay awake. "I'm still here."

.::.

Sometime later in the same night, after Snow and his siblings have gone to bed and Regina is once more drifting in a dreamless sleep, Henry finds Emma sitting by herself on the wooden deck, her feet dangling in the water and a half-empty bottle of whisky resting by her side.

He approaches her quietly, barefoot and uncertain steps.

"It's way past your bedtime, kid." She tells him without turning, eyes still lost in the ocean, wind making her long hair dance wildly.

"I could say the same thing to you." He replies simply, sitting by her side. "The little ones were asking about you during dinner time."

"I wasn't hungry, ok?"

"That's gonna sit well then." He eyes the whisky bottle and for a moment Henry could not be more of Regina's son. His demeanor and the look of blatant disappointment such a bright reminder of Regina's that it leads Emma straight to the first years of her relationship with the former Mayor of Storybrooke, when everything was troubled and crude, and both of them knew so little about love.

The memories make Emma ache inside. She grips the bottle and seals its mouth with her own lips. Then she closes her eyes and let the alcohol burn over the pain she's feeling.

It's her son's voice what brings her back.

"She's been sleeping a lot lately." His remark is delivered casually, his eyes purposely fixed on the stars. The reply is a hard truth that rips its way out of Emma's throat as her voice comes out lacerated.

"It won't take long now."

There was a time when she would have protected Henry, telling him half truths, diverting from the low blows of life. But death is not something one can brush away and even though Emma insists on keep calling him 'kid', both of them know he's two seconds of becoming a man.

Maybe that's why she hands him the bottle.

He doesn't take it right away, just looks at Emma's profile, how she closes her eyes and breathes raggedly, a vivid picture of complete devastation. And the fact that for once she's not putting on a mask and pretending to be strong, touches and frights him in ways he can barely understand. Because it means that this it. There's really nothing left to do.

His mother is really going to die. And all they can do is watch. And be there when it happens.

He takes the bottle and drinks one long, heartfelt gulp.

Then he coughs, roughly, only to take another swig.

In silence they drink together, until the sun comes up.

.::.

Regina wakes up in a haze of what has been the sum of her days lately. The curtains dancing to the wind that comes from the open window and a faint vestige of a lingering pain that menaces to overcome whenever the pills effects start to wear off.

Then she notices the presence of someone else in her bed. Someone who is not Emma.

Her tongue finds no comfort in her dry lips and cotton-mouth, and the intake of air demands a whole lot of effort, enough to make her pant laboriously. Still, when Regina opens her eyes and sees the image of her youngest son sound asleep by her side, a smile unfolds softly over her lips.

She wants to pull him closer. To touch his thick dark hair, and inhale the sweet scent of peanut butter and milk that the boy carries with him, even in the early mornings. But she can barely move and even though he's right beside her, he couldn't be farther.

"Michael?" Snow calls from the door in an almost whisper and Regina can barely see his tiny hand holding tightly the white sheets in the midst of sleep or his socked feet escaping the covers, her vision blurred with gleaming tears. Then she moves, ever so slightly, but enough to let Snow know she's awake.

"You can… come in." Regina concedes breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just- I woke up and couldn't find him anywhere."

"You didn't. I think it's time… for my meds." She takes a long breath. "Where's Emma?"

"She's hmm-—indisposed this morning." Snow dismisses the subject lightly with no intention of mentioning the hangover her daughter and grandson are nursing at the moment or the scolding both of them got for their immature and completely inappropriate behavior on the night before. "Why don't you tell me what you need and I'll get it for you?"

"Some water and a handful of vicodin would be lovely." Regina says and waits patiently while Snow eagerly attends her wishes. In a way the whole situation is almost familiar.

"Here," The younger woman offers her the pills and the water, which Regina takes promptly. The cloud of pain is increasing steadily. "I should probably take him back to his room."

"No… don't." Regina replies closing her eyes and feeling the immediate effects of the pills hazing her consciousness. "Let him be."

Snow hovers then, unsure of what to do and unwilling to leave just yet. Even with her eyes closed, Regina can still feel her presence. "How bad is Emma?"

The keen approach shouldn't really surprise Snow. Still, she tries to placate her concerns.

"It's only a headache, maybe a stomach flu. Nothing for you to worry about."

"I'm not talking about the drinking, dear." Regina opens her eyes then, and for the briefest glimpse Snow is reminded of who she's talking to.

All bets are off then.

"Well, what do you think?" Snows voice is neutral but no longer contains that sugary quality that always annoyed Regina. The dryness in it is more than welcomed by the former queen. Snow and Regina will never be close, but here's to civility and sheer sincerity. "She's a wreck."

Regina nods in understanding, hardly surprised at all. It does not lift the weight whatsoever. Her son stirs by her side then, still asleep, and it's the incentive she needs to release the words she has been postponing until this very moment.

"Snow, I need you to make me a promise. One you shall keep, for this one is my dying wish." Regina's tone is sovereign and severe.

Snow recognizes it immediately.

"Regina-" She tries to object, but it's prevented with a single glare.

"Once this is over, you'll take my family back to Storybrooke, make sure they are well and taken care of." A long breath. Inhale, exhale. "Emma is strong but we both know the pain of losing the ones we love and what it can do to us." Regina explains with a detached voice, her eyes dark and resolute.

Snow tries to reply then, her voice betraying her emotions "Regina, what you're asking-"

"Just say yes." Regina pleads wearily.

"I promise," Snow agrees with tears streaming down her face. "But you didn't have to ask. I'd do it anyway."

"Very well," Regina concurs pleased, her final words barely escaping in a whisper before she inadvertently drifts back to sleep. "Then this time, mean it."

.::.

It's a sunny afternoon like any other when it happens.

Emma is coming home from the grocery story, and on her way inside she passes her kids and Snow. They seem busy enough building a sandcastle a few steps in front of the house. She hears Snow clapping her hands as Imogen and Michael giggle. Sitting on the porch, long legs stretched over the long chair, Henry reads a book and ultimately inspects their architectural endeavor.

"Need help?" He asks eyeing the two paper bags Emma has in her arms.

"Nope, I'm good." She winks at him and opens the door with a single handed maneuver, swinging the bags weight over her hips.

"How is mom?" She asks her son casually, before going inside.

"I just checked on her, she was sleeping like a log." He replies without taking his eyes from the book, but rethinks and adds. "Don't tell her I said that."

"Your secret is safe with me." Emma agrees good-natured as she enters the house.

The kitchen is pristine clean (thanks to Snow), so Emma decides to help out keeping things in place and starts putting the groceries away. The cartons of milk go straight to the fridge. The jar of peanut butter that Michael has become addicted to, cereal and pancakes mix boxes required by her mother go into the cupboard. The shiny apples are put in a bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. With a grin, Emma picks one of them, split it in half and along with a plate and a spoon, places it in a tray.

She can already hear Regina complaining about being fed like a baby, but Emma knows how much she appreciates the fruit. In the tray she also puts a glass of water and a flower she picked up at the market. Emma doesn't know the name of it, but it's red, pretty and it smells good. Something Regina will enjoy, even if secretly.

On her way upstairs she still hears the kids outside, her daughter telling what seems to be a story and every now and then Michael's voice interrupting it by screaming non-sense words like Bananas and Dragon Fire. It makes Emma roll her eyes and when she enters the master room, is back first, then the rest of her and then the tray, her voice light with something that could be almost mirth.

"Rise and shine your Majesty!" She says placing the tray on the table on the opposite corner of the room, to face Regina, at last.

Her smile oscillates when Regina barely seems to regain conscious. She does open her eyes though, and Emma will take whatever she gets. "Are you in the mood for your favorite dessert?"

"What took… you… so long?" Regina's words are evidence of her iron will, her breathing shallow and painfully labored.

"You wouldn't believe in the traffic of the main street. Who knew so many people actually lived here this time of the year?"

"Emma…" Regina calls her name, completely ignoring her story and something in her tone, however subtle, captures Emma's attention.

"What is it babe? What do you need?" Huge green eyes filled with concern focus in Regina.

"Shut up" She says and tries to extend her hand with little success, "and get here."

"Is it the pain? Do you need more pills?" Emma asks clearly anxious now, but approaches the bed anyway, complying Regina's request.

Sitting by her side on the bed, Emma immediately picks up her hands only to feel how cold they are. Then, by instinct, she reaches for Regina's forehead and realizes she's burning. The whole time, those dark brown eyes follow her smallest gestures.

"Oh my god, Regina you're burning up! I need to take you to the doctor or call an ambulance." Emma is about to get up, trying to remember where the fuck has she put her phone, when Regina squeezes her hand, ever so lightly.

It's enough to stop Emma on her tracks.

"You will do… no… such… thing." Regina instructs, completely at ease. Were there no tears being shed by the corner of her eyes, Emma wouldn't know how much she was suffering.

But there are. And she is.

That's how Emma knows it's time.

"Please don't." She swallows hard then, her vision completely blurred.

Regina doesn't respond right away, grasping whatever reminiscence of strength she has left.

"I'm sorry… my dear." Her frail voice wavers.

Emma tries to think of something to say then. There are so many things. So much and so little time. She wants to say thank you, and sorry, but every word seems so little to express the amount of what she truly feels. She wants to recollect every one of their precious moments and relive each one of their fights. She wants the discussions, the screams, the panting, the laughter and the whispers. Every word they have ever shared and everything they haven't had time to say yet.

Most of all, she wants to stop time and never have to say goodbye.

"I don't wanna do this." Her tears run freely now, soaking their intertwined hands and wobbling her voice.

"I love you." Regina's voice is fading, as is she.

Emma responds frantically, kissing her hands with heartfelt devotion. Words whispered against soft skin.

"I love you so much. So much..." She sobs deeply as her hands reach for Regina's face. Her lips, her cheeks, the wet trail left by salty tears of her own.

"…" Regina opens her pale lips and all that comes out it's a puff of hot air. Emma blinks hard, trying to calm her own breathing in order to hear what she's is trying to say.

"What? I don't understand, Regina…" Her tears are warm. Regina's chest rises one last time.

"Love… again."

Then there's no motion.

No sound.

No more.

Outside, her children still laugh.

.::.

The funeral takes place in Storybrooke. Regina wanted to be buried next to her father (and Daniel, although that's something they never really talked about). A lot of people show up, people Emma hasn't seen in years. She couldn't care less.

Henry looks quite dashing in his black suit. Imogen complains about the braid made by Snow. Michael holds her hand and never cries.

She doesn't either.

The Blue Fairy makes a speech. Followed by Snow. And Archie. Regina would have hated it.

Then Henry reads a poem. His mother's favorite, the young man claims. Emma doesn't really listen to the words, but she's sure Regina would have loved that.

When it's all over, her daughter takes her hand and leads the way.

A reception is held in the Charming's residence. After a while of ignoring people, Emma is left alone, sitting in a rocking chair at the porch. Michael is taking a nap in a room upstairs and Imogen is playing with Pongo in the garden, along with Snow's daughters. Then Emma thinks of Henry, and how she hasn't seen him since they left the cemetery.

A quick search for the house confirms his absence. Emma takes the keys of her father's pickup and leaves without much of a fuss. She finds her son exactly where she thought she would.

The old mansion, underneath the apple tree.

Sat on the grass, crossed legs and unruly hair, he looks a lot like the kid that first brought her here. A whole other life ago.

"You know, I'm no longer the sheriff here kid, but as far as I'm concerned, trespassing is still a crime."

"The house doesn't even have a fence."

"Whatever…" Emma comes near and sits by his side. "What if someone was living here now?"

"In the Evil Queen's manor?" He gives her a look of plain disbelief. "Fat chance of that."

Now that she's near, Emma realizes Henry has something tucked under his arm, safely protected. "What is it that you have there?"

He hesitates, for the slightest second, only to give in anyway pulling an old book out of his backpack and displaying it over his lap. The book is painfully familiar.

"Kid, you gotta be kidding me! Where did you get that?" Emma's fingers trace the inscription on the cover.

"I always had it. It was just… kept away." The information clearly surprises Emma.

"I didn't know about that."

Henry doesn't really have a reply for that. Instead he opens the book and starts to flip its pages. "It's so weird, I was reading it now and all seems so bizarre. How come you believed in me when I first showed up and told you all this stuff?"

Emma smiles fondly at the memory. "I didn't. I thought you were batshit crazy."

Henry smirks then, in the same way Regina used to. It's embarrassingly agonizing, the wound still too fresh.

"Well what I wouldn't give for a bit of that crazy right now?" Emma rambles, her eyes closed and her voice distant. "I would have kissed your mom and she wouldn't have left us. Not now, not ever."

Henry lowers his head and a silent whimper is all Emma can hear before she notices the tears falling over the book's pages.

She touches his shoulder than, offering whatever little comfort she can. "I'm sorry kid, I wish there was something such as 'happily ever after' in this world."

He wipes his tears then, red eyes and a resigned smile being offered as a consolation of his own.

"At least there is true love." He feels silly saying out loud, so he adds awkwardly. "I mean, that's what it was right? You and mom?"

"Damn straight, kid," Emma sighs longingly, years and years of memories dancing through her mind, Regina's laughter still sound in her ears, the taste of her kisses still lingering. Then there's a soft breeze and the smell of apples fills the air. When Emma opens her eyes, is with a broken smile of her own and nothing but true confidence in her words. "If that wasn't true magic, I don't know what is."

End