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Emma didn't notice it at first, too miserable in her own misery of sneezing, coughing and blowing her nose. She was on day three of the snottiest, messiest monster of a head cold ever. Currently, she was lying on the couch, half paying attention to the background TV noise, surrounded by drenched tissues as she watched with glazed eyes her beautiful girlfriend took care of her. She felt like the luckiest girlfriend in the world to have Regina dote over her in a caring, loving way.
Little did she know, Regina woke up with a stabbing pain in her throat early this morning and she knew she had caught Emma's cold. Inevitably, the regal Queen predicted her downfall sooner or later. The blonde wasn't exactly the most hygienic patient; she coughed openly, sneezed uncovered and demanded cuddles, citing that she was too feverish to care. (To her credit, she did have a low fever.) And the brunette endured all of it because she was too smitten with love to say 'no' to her girlfriend.
Regina, as always, was too good at hiding what she saw as weakness. Years of training herself to please her mother with perfect posture, perfect lipstick with perfect control. She was never allowed to be vulnerable. She cooked soup like she didn't wince with every movement. She stifled sneezes into her sleeve when Emma wasn't looking, turned away to cough, and disappeared into the bathroom for longer than usual just to blow her continuously dripping nose in private.
Emma started piecing it together when she caught the brunette wincing while trying to carry the germ-infested laundry the blonde had snotted all over, only in the past 24 hours. "You okay?" The blonde asked casually. Regina didn't miss a beat. "Of course." But her voice cracked halfway through. And that's when the saviour knew. She saw herself in that. The way the queen pushed through it, refused to look weak, to need help.
"Regina?" The blonde raised eyebrow from her position on the couch sluggishly. "Yes, dear?" The brunette continued to feign like nothing was wrong, she faked a smile that didn't reach her glassy eyes. "Really?" The blonde asked incredulously as she sniffed wetly. "What?" The queen tried her hardest to brush off Emma's concern, she couldn't let anyone see her weak, that was just unacceptable.
She had pushed through dinner, when really all she could feel was heat behind her eyes and a pressure in her chest that had nothing to do with her cold. Thankfully, Emma didn't push further. But the blonde waited until that night, turning her back and letting Regina think she was asleep, waiting for her proof, or else the queen would just deny her, suffering alone in secret.
She didn't have to wait long, sharp, wet sniffles, muffled sneezes, and quiet, productive coughs were buried in the sleeve of one of Emma's sweatshirts. The blonde rolled over slowly and saw Regina hunched forward, tissue-less, trying to stifle her breathing and the crackling in her lungs as she tried to clear the congestion.
The saviour couldn't bear to see the brunette suffer any longer, she had to say something. "You're sick," Emma phrased it as a gentle comment rather than a judgment, making sure she didn't take it the wrong way. Regina froze. "No, I'm n—"
"Don't lie to me." Emma sat up, voice soft but solid. "You've caught my cold. The sneezes, the chills, the sore throat, you've got it all. And you've been hiding it from me all day." She said it like she hurt her feelings. In response, Regina's jaw tightened. "I didn't want to bother you. You're already—"
"Don't," Emma said firmly. "Don't do that. You don't have to hide from me. Not this. Not ever." She won't let her girlfriend finish the excuse her defense mechanism had come up with. And to prove her point, she coughed wetly into the back of her hand.
Regina blinked, confused, looking smaller than the saviour had ever seen her. In the past, no one had come and no one had comforted her. So what's the point of admitting it this time? What's different this time? "I'm sorry. I don't know how to..." she admitted hesitantly, her voice breaking. "...be taken care of."
Emma's heart ached because she understood completely, just as in her foster homes, no one was there for her either. She reached forward, gently wiping the wetness under the queen's nose with the sleeve of her own shirt. "Yeah," she whispered, showing her own vulnerability. "Me neither... I'm sorry I gave you my cold." Regina was so tired, she leaned into the blonde's arms, someone who understood. Emma spooned her from behind, wrapping them in snotty sleeves and shared trauma.
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Still, Regina couldn't sleep. Not really. She'd pretended, of course. She lay in Emma's arms, breathing congestedly, still as stone, scared to wake her girlfriend. But beneath the covers, her body ached, her chest hurt, her throat burned and her mind wouldn't stop screaming.
If you fall apart, you'll lose everything. Again. Regina remembered the last time too vividly. Breaking meant everything's going to crash and burn. Breaking meant the world saw you as weak and feeble. So she didn't break, she couldn't break.
She sat up silently, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand to calm her angry throat. Her hand trembled, but she held it steady through sheer force of will. Emma stirred awake. "Regina?" Her voice was rough, groggy. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep, baby." The brunette said instantly.
Instead, Emma sat up beside her, nose red, voice wrecked from the cold they were sharing. She knew Regina wasn't 'fine' but she also knew the former queen could never admit it to herself and finally let herself rest. "You're not fine." She scooted closer. "Say it,"
"Say what?" The stubborn brunette still refused to acknowledge it.
"Say it, you have a cold." Emma cooed gently. Regina stiffened. "I'm allowed to be tired. That doesn't mean I'm falling apart." She retorted, snapping at her girlfriend.
"I never said you were." The blonde smiled tenderly. "You're just sick." Emma looked at her with lingering warmth and care. "It's okay, baby." She reached out to swipe a piece of sweaty dark hair out of her eyes, her hand glided over her feverish cheek gently.
Regina hated it, she hated how Emma could see through her... unlike the way Cora had weaponized everything—her appearance, her posture, the way she talked, walked, ate. Everything.
"I don't want to fall," The queen said reluctantly, voice quiet and rough. There was an internal battle raging through her, to wall up or let the woman she loved in. "Last time it happened, it cost me everything." She mumbled. Emma swallowed hard, a lump in her throat, the pain of knowing her girlfriend still feared her mother more than anything else. "I know."
"I can't go back there."
"I know."
There was silence. Emma didn't know how to comfort her girlfriend. Regina was finally opening up and she didn't want to mess that up. "You're not going back," The blonde told her. "Falling apart isn't the same when someone's here to catch you. And this time- this time I'm here to catch you."
Emma didn't push. She didn't coax. She just held out her arms patiently, like it was the most natural thing in the world and stayed. It took another full minute before the queen leaned in. Just a little. Just enough. The blonde gathered her up like she was something so precious and irreplacable. "You don't have to be perfect for me," she whispered into Regina's hair. "You just have to be real."
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Again, Emma had drifted into a light sleep, her wet nose pressed into the pillow, while Regina sat on the edge of the bed. Her sleeves were soaked from wiping her nose. Her shoulders were shaking—not from fever, but from the pain of everything she'd kept locked inside. She pressed a hand to her mouth to hold a sob in, trying to stifle her tears as they rolled down her feverish cheeks.
But the queen failed miserably. The blonde sat up, concern arose even through the fog of illness. "You're crying."
Regina wiped her eyes quickly. "I'm fine." Emma reached for her hand. "No, you're not. And you don't have to pretend."
Regina shook her head, lips trembling. "I—I can't be like this. If I let go, if I fall apart... I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to be helpless. I don't know how to need someone." She sobbed hard, trying to catch her breath through the tears and snot.
Emma's heart cracked wide open for the second time that night. She gently pulled her girlfriend into her chest, wrapping her arms around her and tucking the brunette's head under her chin. "Then let me be the one who catches you. Just once. Just once, Regina. You don't have to fix anything."
The brunette's eyes welled with tears, her breath hitching. She let it all fall out—her body shaking as she allowed herself to feel, truly feel, for the first time in years. Regina clung to her like a child—one who had never been held, never been told she could cry without consequence. One who finally believed—just for a moment—that someone would stay. And for the first time that night, she fell asleep.
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Regina was ten. The room was cold—colder than it should've been. The little girl was sure she had a fever. She felt the ache in her throat, the heat in her skin, the way her stomach twisted and churned. She was sick.
She crawled out of bed, the blanket wrapped around her like a cloak, and knocked on her mother's door. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. "Mother?" she called. "I—I don't feel well." Silence. Regina padded back to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her mother to come. But no one came.
When she grew tired of waiting, she cried to herself and whispered into the dark, "It's okay. I'll take care of it." She brought her hand to run through her own hair, pretending it belonged to someone else—someone comforting her, instead of the imagined scene she had created just to soothe herself.
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But the next morning, Regina tried to go back to normal. The brunette had woken up before Emma, roused by a painfully congested nose. Quietly, she peeled herself out of bed with careful precision, not wanting to wake her equally sick girlfriend. She pretended like the night before hadn't happened. She pretended the night before hadn't happened. Like she hadn't sobbed in the savior's arms. Like she hadn't admitted she was scared. Like she hadn't admitted she was scared.
She started to spiral again. She didn't understand and she couldn't stop crying. It hurt too much—too many years of trauma building up and crashing down. She cried and wailed and snotted all over Emma in raw, emotional pain.
She brushed the hair from her sweaty forehead, fixed her posture, and changed into something clean. She even managed to clean up the kitchen, clearing away mugs and tissues. By the time the blonde stumbled out in a hoodie that looked like it had lost a war with a tissue box, Regina was back in full Mayor Mode. Hair tied. Sleeves rolled. Nose dripping, but carefully composed.
"You didn't have to do all this," The blonde rasped. The brunette was too ashamed and unwilling to meet her eyes. "I needed something to do. I'm feeling better anyway," The queen said quickly. Emma pointed out bluntly. "You're sniffling. You're flushed. You're sick." Regina turned away. "It's warm in here." The brunette said, even though she knew it was a lame excuse.
"You've been crying again." Regina froze. Emma knew she had hit the mark and took a step forward cautiously beside the queen. "You can cry, you know. You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not pretending."
"Regina—"
"I SAID I'M FINE!" The words ripped out of her, violent and trembling. And the moment they were out— she broke. Not elegantly. Not in slow tears or poetic sighs. She wailed uncontrollably. And once the tears broke the dam, she couldn't stop. Years of grief for abandonment, neglect, of love being held conditionally and so much more, all came out in one breathless, choked-up, snot-soaked spiral.
Emma moved on instinct. She didn't even care that Regina sneezed directly into her shoulder mid-cry, her sleeve soaking from the mess. The brunette's whole body shook with fear, so much fear. "I don't know how to be okay," She choked out between gasping breaths. "I don't know how to be sick and anguished and still loved. I might disappear."
The blonde only held her tighter. "You're here," Emma whispered, her own voice raw. "You're here, and I see you, and I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm sick and disgusting too. And I'm not leaving you."
Regina sobbed harder, pressing her head to the blonde's chest, snotting straight down the front of her shirt as she trembled in her arms. Emma stroked her hair softly despite it, letting her release all her pent-up and repressed emotions.
"You're allowed to fall apart," Emma said softly. The brunette hiccupped through tears and mucus, then choked on a cough so hard she doubled over.
The blonde rubbed her back, guiding her gently to sit on the couch, wrapping them both in a blanket. They collapsed together—gross, exhausted, clinging. For the first time ever, Regina just felt the pain in her chest, accepted it, and let Emma stay.
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Regina was still crying, though quieter now. Her face was buried in Emma's neck, her shoulders trembling. The blonde stayed up, comforting her girlfriend, resting her own head atop the brunette's. Her head lolled, eyes drooping, too congested to breathe through her nose but too in love to care.
"I'm sorry," Regina mumbled, voice raw from crying for hours. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Emma tilted her head back just enough to meet her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you."
"But I'm disgusting and weak," Regina sniffled. "You're sick," Emma said gently. "And you're real—and that's... that's everything to me."
They leaned forward simultaneously, their foreheads gently touching like an intimate scene in a romance movie. Both were still damp with tears, their bodies echoing with so much unspoken ache.
Regina broke down again and cried into Emma's mouth, sobbing into the pressed lips because the pain was still there, sharp and unbearable. Because maybe she was unsavable after all, she wailed again. Her cries weren't quiet or graceful, not the way the former queen would've composed herself under her mother's death stare. Her cries were the result of a child who had held in every feeling for too long—grief, repression, fear, shame—tearing their way out of her all at once.
She curled into the blonde's lap, fists gripping the fabric of Emma's hoodie like a lifeline, mucus smearing across the front as she cried harder than she ever had in her life as she finally let herself fall apart properly.
And she couldn't stop. "I don't—" she gasped, choking on her sobs. "I don't know why I'm crying—what's wrong with me—why does it hurt so much—why can't —"
Emma just held her tighter to her chest, her own nose was running, her head pounding, but all she cared about was the way Regina was breaking apart in her arms. "There's nothing wrong with you," The blonde whispered, feeling her hurt like her own, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Absolutely nothing. You're safe with me to feel it. That's all this is."
Regina shook her head violently. "No. No, I've handled worse. I've lost everything and survived it. I'm better than this. I—I shouldn't be this—this—"
"Human?" Emma suggested softly. Regina broke into another sob, burying her face into the soaked cotton of her shirt. "I don't understand what's happening to me—"
The blonde cupped her face and gently tilted it up until hazel met green, she made sure she got the message. "You're falling apart but I'm here to hold you through it. That's all you have to understand right now." The brunette clung to her tighter, her cheeks streaked with tears, snot, and shame—but Emma didn't mind and just kept whispering, "I've got you. I've got you. I've got you." And for once, Regina believed someone meant it.
Time passed. She didn't know how much. She only knew that when the crying finally slowed, she felt like something deep inside her had torn open. She was still trembling. Still snotty. Still swollen-eyed and sore-throated and a wreck.
But Emma was there. Still holding her. Still wiping at her face with a sleeve that was already long past salvation. "I don't think I've ever let myself cry like that," The queen whispered, voice small. The blonde pressed her forehead against Regina's. "Good. You deserved to. I wish someone had let you sooner."
The brunette closed her eyes and let herself be held, treasuring the warmth in the middle of the ugliest moment of her life. And for once, it didn't feel like she'd broken something. It felt like she'd found something she didn't know she was missing. Regina thought she'd hidden it well.
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She was once a 12-year-old girl, and on her birthday, Cora promised to take her out for a milkshake. She was ecstatic—it was the most her mother had ever offered her.
But when the time came, Cora denied ever saying anything like that. She contradicted herself in the same breath, saying instead that Regina had too many pimples and shouldn't be seen in public.
The little girl had clung to the hope that maybe—just maybe—her mother would change for her. But no. She was just a stupid, naive little bitch.
And in that moment, she vowed never to believe she deserved anything again.
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The next morning, Regina couldn't get out of bed. Not from laziness, nor from the weight of the cold pressing down on her chest like a stone. But because her heart, from her body to her soul, simply wouldn't let her move. She felt... hollow. Why did it still hurt? Why couldn't she breathe right unless Emma was touching her? Why couldn't she just be normal?
All the crying from the night before had carved her out from the inside. Her nose was stuffed, her head pounded, her throat ached—but worse than all of that was the crushing, suffocating pain. The grief that crashed down on her, haunted by a love she never had.
Emma came in with tea, tissues, and a hoodie slung half-on from her own fever-fogged morning. Her hair stuck up as if she'd slept in a toaster. "You're awake," she smiled gently.
Regina stared at the ceiling, unmoved.
Emma sat beside her on the bed, gently taking her hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Worse." Regina mumbled under her breath.
"Okay. I've got you. I'll get you anything you need." Regina yanked her hand away—not harshly, but with guilt—as if the comfort burned because she didn't deserve it. She turned away, as if shielding herself from the care Emma was offering.
Emma's brows furrowed. "What's wrong?" There was silence until Regina's voice cracked. "Why are you doing this?" She hid the tears welling in her eyes from her girlfriend. The blonde blinked. "What?"
"This," Regina whispered, her throat tight. "All of it. I'm broken and messed up. I wailed into your arms, I cried into your mouth, and I haven't even brushed my teeth. I'm not—I don't—" She couldn't finish. Emma leaned in gently. "You don't think you deserve this?"
Regina didn't look at her, just let a tear fall sideways onto the pillow. "I've never deserved it." Emma placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch warm and steady. "You're not disgusting," she said softly. "You're hurting. You're human. You're mine, and I love you even when you're at your worst."
Regina huffed, the sound sharp with disbelief. "I don't know how you could believe that." Her voice faltered, raw. "And I don't know how to let you in."
"You don't have to do anything," Emma said. "Just let me stay. That's all." Regina sobbed, one small, tight sound. She turned back around and reached for Emma's hand like it was all she had left. And the blonde climbed into bed beside her, tucked the brunette into her arms like a precious, messy, beautiful disaster. "I'll love you until you believe it." The queen didn't speak.
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Regina woke with a gasp, her body trembling in a haze of heat. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls as moonlight filtered through the curtains. She was soaked in sweat, her throat felt raw—like it had been sandpapered from the inside—and her head was heavy, clouded with grief. Her lip trembled.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Her heart thundered in her chest as her ears rang with the words over and over again. The room felt suffocatingly empty, the silence pressing in around her. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts and her throat ached like it had been stabbed by a knife, her chest felt empty, hollow, and she was trembling but not from the cold.
She had been alone again, small, cold—her cries echoing in the emptiness of a house that wasn't home. No one had been there to comfort her, no one had been there to hold her. "Don't leave me," Regina had cried, but in the nightmare, no one had heard her. No one ever heard her.
It was a recurring nightmare but this it was different, this time Emma was there in the dream too—her face blurry and unreachable as she turned her back on Regina, callous and distant, leaving her to deal with the pain alone and it tore at her soul.
She clutched the blankets to her chest, fighting back the sob that pressed against her ribs which ached with deep, agonizing loneliness, the one she had buried for so long. She blinked slowly. Then she realized the soft, steady rhythm of Emma's breath came from the other side of the bed. Without thinking, Regina threw the blankets aside, her body shaking as she scrambled into the warmth of her girlfriend's arms.
Emma startled, blinking in the dim light, her brow furrowing with concern. "Regina?" she whispered, her voice muffled and distant, like it was underwater."I'm sorry," The brunette whispered, burying her face in the crook of the blonde's neck, clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
Emma wrapped her arms around Regina immediately, pulling her close, brushing her hair back gently. "Hey, hey," she murmured. "What happened? What's going on?" She could feel the tears soaking into her shirt.
"I... I had a nightmare," Regina gasped, her words tangled in her chest. She didn't know how to explain it—it felt more like a memory than a dream. The feeling of being unloved, unseen, having to fight for every scrap of affection as though it were a commodity she could never afford. It hurt, because it wasn't just the nightmare—it was the grief for the love she never had as a child.
Emma's hand moved soothingly over her back, drawing small circles. "I'm here. You're safe, Regina. You're safe with me."
But the emptiness didn't fade. The ache in Regina's chest grew sharper, and she couldn't stop the tears from falling. She sobbed, her body wracked with the pain of everything she had buried for so long. "I don't know how to let you love me," she choked out.
Emma's fingers stilled for a moment, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she pulled the brunette closer, if that was even possible. "I know you didn't have the chance to feel loved when you were younger," The blonde said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But I'm here. And I'm never leaving. You don't have to be scared anymore, Regina."
"I'm broken," Regina whispered. "I'm so broken, and I don't know how to stop hurting." Emma kissed her forehead gently, the promise in her touch unwavering. "You're not broken. You're healing. And you don't have to do it alone. I'm right here."
Regina let out a strangled sob, trembling as she buried her face deeper into Emma's chest. This was everything she had wanted as a child. To be loved like this. To be held and allowed to cry without shame. To be cared for without fear of abandonment the moment she showed weakness.
"I'm sorry," The brunette sobbed again. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to—how to let you in. I don't know how to stop hurting." The blonde pressed a kiss to Regina's hair, her voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to have it all figured out. Just... let me stay. Let me be here. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."
Regina clung to her as though Emma was her only anchor in the storm, and in this moment she finally let herself need Emma. She allowed herself to be held. For the first time in her life, it felt like she could breathe. The weight of years of silence was somehow miraculously lifted because Emma seen her, heard her.
The blonde stayed up comforting her though she didn't have all the answers. She was just there, holding space for Regina, letting her feel safe enough to speak the things she's buried for so long.
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Regina recalled Cora manipulating her emotions for her own gain and told her to shut the fuck up—or she would shut it for her. Once, she asked for a basic need—sleep—and had the unfortunate experience of tasting her mother's wrath when Cora used magic to make her mute for a whole week. After that, she learned her lesson and never asked for anything again.
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The room felt like a fever dream. Dim light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the space where Emma had been awake for hours, holding Regina close and running her fingers through the brunette's hair. Regina had already woken twice—once crying out in pain, and the second time with wide, unseeing eyes, tears streaking her cheeks as she gasped for breath.
Each time, Emma held her. Each time, Regina let herself cry—let herself sob—her body trembling with the weight of all the pain she had never been able to release. And Emma? She never left her side. Not even when her own fever flared up, when her body ached, or when her throat burned from coughing. It didn't matter. Regina needed her. The blonde stayed up all night, and the lack of sleep only made their flu worse.
Later, the brunette woke in a fever haze—confused, vulnerable—and Emma was still right there. The blonde could barely keep her eyes open. Her body was exhausted, and the flu worsened by the second. But Regina... Regina was worse.
She was quieter now, curled against Emma in bed, but the way she trembled, shaking, her body so fragile and small despite her strength—it was as if everything she'd bottled up for years was threatening to spill out, and Emma was the only one holding her together.
"Regina..." Emma whispered hoarsely, coughing into her sleeve. "Hey... you're still with me?" The brunette's eyes flickered, and she nodded weakly. "I'm here," she murmured, though her voice cracked with exhaustion. "I'm just... so tired."
"I know, baby." The blonde brushed a damp lock of hair away from Regina's forehead. "You need sleep. We both do."
"I... I don't think I can."
Emma furrowed her brow in concern. "Why not?"
Regina inhaled deeply, as if trying to steady herself. "I keep seeing... things. I can't sleep when I know the nightmares will come. They've never stopped. They never have."
Emma's heart ached. Regina was emotionally wrecked and physically worse, so she gently encouraged her to open up about the trauma she'd been carrying. "What did you see?"
Regina hesitated, turning her face away as if trying to shield herself from the blonde's gaze. She hated this. She hated being vulnerable like this, letting Emma see her like this. She was supposed to be strong. She was strong. She'd had to be.
But Emma—Emma was so patient. So soft. Regina swallowed, her voice small. "I see a little girl. She's... crying, and no one comes to help her. She's alone. She keeps reaching out, but no one answers."
Emma's chest tightened. She knew. She could feel the weight of the words even before Regina spoke them. "I was that little girl," The queen continued, her voice breaking. "I used to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, crying. My mother—" She stopped herself, but the bitterness still crept through. "My mother never came. Not even once. She was always too busy, too... cold. She told me to stop crying, to stop being weak. That I had to fend for myself."
She cupped Regina's cheek, forcing her to look at her. "You weren't weak," she whispered, her voice raw. "You were just a child. You were hurting, and you needed love. You needed someone to hold you."
Regina stirred against Emma's chest, her voice hoarse. "I used to whisper to myself when I was little. Pretend someone was coming." She gasped.
Emma kissed her damp hair. "You don't have to hurt anymore, I'm here now." Regina blinked rapidly with tears threatening to fall. Her jaw tightened. Her breath hitched— But This time, there were no tears, not exactly. But her body shuddered in a way that said she wanted to. A hollow cry of pure, unadulterated pain ripped through her.
The saviour didn't know that a mother, someone who was supposed to love her, could cause so much pain. Maybe having a mother isn't as glorious as she had dreamt of and that was coming from a kid who didn't have a mother growing up.
Regina didn't speak for a long time. Then, finally, she whispered— "I know... I never got that, Emma. I never got that love. I never had anyone tell me that it was okay to need. That it was okay to be soft. I had to grow up too fast, and I... I was never allowed to cry."
Emma's hand trembled as she ran it over the brunette's back, soothing the tense muscles there as she felt the pain her girlfriend was drowning in. "I'm sorry, Regina. I wish I could've been there. I wish I could've been the one to show you that love."
Regina closed her eyes, letting herself lean into the warmth of Emma's touch, and for the first time, she let herself say what she'd always been too scared to. "I'm scared, Emma. I'm so scared of needing someone. Because when I needed people, they were never there. And now, when I need you, I don't know how to let you in."
The blonde wiped a tear from Regina's cheek. "You don't have to be afraid. You don't have to carry this alone anymore, okay? I'm here. I'll always be here, even when you're falling apart, even when you feel like you're too much. I want to love you like you've never been loved before."
Regina let out a shaky breath, her body still trembling from the aftermath of her confession. "You really want to?"
"More than anything," Emma said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're my everything, Regina. You're not too much. You're not too broken. I love you, and I'm not leaving."
Regina let herself feel the truth of the blonde's words. It was like something inside her cracked open—something she'd held shut for so long, afraid it would destroy her if she let it out. But Emma... Emma was the one who showed her that it wasn't destruction. It was healing.
Regina buried her face in the blonde's chest, her sobs quiet but steady. "I'm so tired, Emma. I just want to be loved. I want to feel safe." The blonde kissed the top of her head, her voice soft but steady. "You are. You're safe with me. I'll hold you, and I'll stay, and I'll love you until you know it in your bones."
Regina clung to the blonde, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breath, and for the first time in so long. But the queen developed the overwhelming fear rising behind her ribcage like a tidal wave that she needed Emma- she needed to be so impossibly close to her deep in her bones because she still hurt. She had abandonment issues, though her mother never actually abandoned her. How pathetic was she? She was never there for her and it was close enough.
"Don't leave."
Emma blinked. "I'm not."
Regina reached for her blindly, arms trembling with fever and need. "No—I mean—don't leave. Not now. Not ever. I—I need you." She leaned into the touch like drug addicts need their drugs and alcoholics need their alcohol.
"I'm here."
Regina whispered, half-delirious. "No, I need you closer," At that she meant inside her heart, under her skin, pressed into the marrow of her bones. "I hurt everywhere and I don't know how to make it stop and you're the only thing that makes it quiet."
And before Regina knew what she was doing, the brunette grabbed the back of Emma's head and kissed her. It was wet, sloppy. Her nose bumped against the blonde's with a wet squelch. She coughed once into the kiss and was immediately embarrassed, trying to pull away.
But the blonde pulled her back in. "I want you like this," she whispered against her lips. "Even now." Regina's breath caught in her throat and kissed her again ravishly, now desperate as there was an insatiable need churning in her stomach.
They make out, they're both too sick to enjoy properly but emotionally need anyway, while Regina cries into her mouth again. Emma could feel the queen's lips tremble against her own and cradled her face even as snot streaked down her upper lip as she assured her. "You're not too much. You're never too much."
In the end, Regina let herself truly believe it: that she was worthy of being loved, that she didn't have to be alone in this. They stayed like that, holding on like they were the only thing keeping the other from falling apart again. They didn't speak much more, but sometimes, silence was enough.
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