A/N: This was inspired by "Adventures in Solitude" by The New Pornographers. My friends and I love to play this on the touch tunes at bars and sing along at the tops of our lungs.

I know you need to breathe through
Come back, Come too
But it's coming at a bad time
Some lost heart, tangled day
For all we know

The crunchy bright ring of shattering glass wasn't nearly enough to ease the rage soaked self-loathing she had felt when looking into her mirror. Her plan had failed. All her plans had failed. She'd had to back track and cover. Her heart was just as empty; Mary Margaret just as smug, remaining unpunished. Regina's one joy, her child, whom she had nurtured in Storybrooke, had now grown distant and hateful. She succumbed to the tears fully, and let them shake her body as she ascended the stairs.

Regina busied herself with the mundane as an attempt to forget her disastrous day. Sliding down the zipper of her dress; rolling down her stockings. Unclasping the flesh colored bra with the damn right strap that just wouldn't stay in place. She scrubbed her face clean of make-up, and stepped into the heat of the shower.

The warmth did little to calm and soothe her like she had hoped. Every time she closed her eyes she could see their pity: David's rejection, Mary Margaret's forgiveness, Henry's determination. It was overwhelming. Her thoughts swirled like the steam under the spray. She cried for her pain, for her loneliness. She had been foolish to think that David would want her. No one would want her after what she'd done; who she was. It was inerasable. Every decision she'd made in her life had led her farther down a road to destruction. She choked on another sob, turning up the temperature of the water, scalding her skin red, and sinking down to the floor, hanging her head in shame and despair.

She finally stumbled out, wrapped herself in a towel, now numb, feeling weak, her head light from the heat and standing up too quickly. It was getting late, and Henry should be getting home soon. She'd all but forced Archie to take him for dinner, lying to say she had a meeting and couldn't pick him up. She wondered briefly if they'd seen her car parked downtown. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

After dressing in her pajamas and robe, she decided another drink was in order to keep her thoughts at bay. It wasn't until she was half-way down the stairs and saw the mess, that she even remembered breaking her mirror. With resignation, she swept up the bitter reminder, and cleaned carefully; using a wet towel to make sure no shards or slivers would be left for Henry's bare feet.

She crossed back to the kitchen replacing the broom and dustpan. Opening another bottle of wine and pouring herself a generous glass. The dishes that David had offered to do sat in the sink reminding her of broken promises. She shivered as she scraped the plates into the disposal. She was half-way through clearing the dining room and wrapping the left overs when she heard Henry come in. He started up the stairs, but she yelled his name, "Henry?"

"Yeah, I'm home," he said hesitantly, "Where's the mirror?"

"Henry, come in here and tell me about your day," She said it as a command, but he ignored her.

"I'm tired. Going to bed," he called back as she heard his quick foot falls on the steps.

She huffed angrily and raised her glass to her lips, pausing to realize it was already empty. She poured another. When the kitchen was in order, she went back upstairs, clutching another bottle of wine and her glass. Henry's door was cracked open and she pushed her way in. He was in bed reading. She sat her bottle and glass down on his bookshelf and crossed over to sit next to him.

He didn't even look up. Her tongue felt heavy and warm from the wine, the back of her throat dry, despite it. "Henry…" she trailed off, tears starting to fall down her cheeks, her body shaking his small bed as she willed herself to hold in the pain. She reached out to touch his cheek and smooth his hair. She needed to show him her affection; she wanted to see it returned. It never was.

"…I just want to hold you, rock you…like we used to. Will you let me, please? My sweet boy," Regina knew she sounded pathetic as she sniffled out her words, voice breaking in remembrance. She would plead if that's what it took, if only so he'd just give in to her and let her recapture a piece of those moments.

"Mom, you're drunk. Go to bed!" Henry sounded so annoyed with her. He rolled over in bed, facing away.

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself instead. She simply rose quietly and whispered 'goodnight' as she slipped her wine back into her hands and turned out his light.

In the dark and quiet of her bedroom, the thoughts came again. Her regrets and worries. She should have left Charming by the side of the road. The story she had told him was a carefully crafted lie, designed to appeal to his sentimental nature. Better yet, she should have let Snow white die on that horse. She finished the wine, and as she greedily swallowed the last drop she shut her eyes and thought: Emma should have let her die in that fire.

Emma. She remembered the evening of the fire, and the fear that pounced on her like a panther, as flames licked at her hurt ankle. She had been so sure that Emma had left her to die, and for a brief moment a voice inside her had whispered for her to give up. But Emma had come back, and helped her with a strong shoulder and a sturdy hand wrapped protectively around her waist. She had scolded Emma for dropping her roughly, but truth was that she hadn't wanted Emma to let go of her at all…

In the dark and quiet of her bedroom: the desire she had been feeling— the arousal she had been denying— bloomed fully, sending waves of heat through her body radiating from her core. David would have been such a nice distraction. Was she really so vile that he couldn't have even stayed to fuck her? She wanted to alleviate her need to be touched. She hated this, but it was necessary. She dug her fingernails into her stomach, inhaling sharply as the flutter of pain mingled with her excitement. Drinking always made her horny, and she knew from experience this would be quick, unsatisfying, and leave her wanting, but she did it anyway.

She plunged more fingers than necessary into herself without preamble, feeling around imprecisely due to her drunken state. She used more force than necessary, in her mind, she deserved the pain. She breathed out unevenly, thoughts of Emma coming unbidden into her mind; another good reason to hate her: for being sexy and unattainable. She swirled her fingers over her clit, pumped into herself a few more times and came with a light shudder. She let the inky blackness of unconsciousness rush in to claim her shortly after, even as tears still rose in her eyes and fell down her cheeks.


Around midnight she got the call, she was still drunk and bleary eyed in the dark of her room. She didn't understand at first, but when she heard the words 'Henry' and 'hospital' she popped up. Henry had been home in bed she was sure of it. Her knees almost buckled when she stood up, from panic or intoxication she couldn't spend the time to wonder.

She didn't bother getting dressed; she didn't bother with anything but her pair of moccasins. She peeked in Henry's room just to make sure it was real. He wasn't there. She raced down the stairs and grabbed her keys and phone. When she slammed the door shut behind her an expression of horror lit her face and her mouth gaped open. Her fucking car was in town with a dead battery. There was no need for a taxi service in Storybrooke. She couldn't call David. She couldn't call Kathryn or Sidney or….fuck! She called the Sheriff's station and there was no answer. She called Emma's cell and no answer. She would have to walk to the hospital in the middle of night with her son possibly lying there dying. She ran, it wasn't too far, but it was far enough to wind her and cause her head to pound with the worst headache from wine she had ever experienced.

She finally got there, rushing in to the Emergency entrance, quite a sight in her bathrobe, sweaty and gasping.

"Henry?" she asked red faced, and on the verge of hysteria.

The nurse ushered her back to the little room divided by a curtain. When she laid her eyes on him, he looked scared, scraped up, but calm. He looked caught in the headlights in fear. She crossed over to him, and immediately touched him, asking him over and over, "are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm okay, but Emma…I don't know," he muttered turning his gaze away. Afraid what would happen when she found out what Emma had done.

"Emma? I don't understand," Regina said, feeling a rush of dizziness and nausea.

The doctor interrupted as he walked in, "The Sheriff carried your boy down the road with a broken arm until the paramedics were able to intervene. Henry's a lucky boy, judging from what I heard of the crash, it could have been much worse. He'll probably be sore for a few days, but just give him Tylenol and keep him in bed."

Regina was finding the news all too confusing, "The Sheriff? What was Henry doing with Emma?"

The doctor looked at Henry who averted his gaze and instead was staring at the curtain dividing the small patient room. Regina got up and flung it back, revealing Emma, who was groggy on drugs and getting her arm casted.

Regina was in a fury, she screamed at Emma, in total disregard for her fragile physical state, "Where were you taking my son?"

Emma looked up, taking in Regina's appearance, she looked wild, and her eyes were a frightening mix of red and black, imploring her for an answer.

Emma's throat was dry and her heart was heavy. Her face twisted in pain, but venom was still evident in her voice, "Away…I was taking Henry away…from you."