Story Summary: Relationships in Storybrooke have a temporary quality unique to the town. So does memory.
Story Notes: Regina/Jefferson, Dr. Whale/Mary Margaret, Ruby/Archie, Regina/Graham, Jefferson/Grace's Mother. Chapters 1-4 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep9 "Queen of Hearts." Chapters 5-6 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep 11 "The Outsider," and Chapter 7 is based on episodes up through S2 Ep16 "The Miller's Daughter." Part of my series "Some Kind of Madness." Some of it takes place during my fanfic "Only Sometimes." Plays fast and loose with canon. Nonlinear. Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own. Rated M for Chapter 7.
Later Note: Jossed. The nature of time during the 28 years in cursed Storybrooke no longer fits canon as of S2 Ep17 "Welcome to Storybrooke."
Chapter Summary: Granting herself knowledge of our world came with unexpected side effects.
One Father
A young Regina huddled by the roaring fire her father had made at the girl's insistence.
"That's quite large enough, my dear."
The girl leaned in, mesmerized by the dancing flames. Placing a warning hand on her shoulder, he tutted, "No, no, Regina. You'll singe your eyebrows that close!"
He nudged the girl away and set the fireplace screen in front of the blaze. Regina felt like her face was melting and shuffled back. She removed her shawl and rolled up her sleeves. Reaching a hand out, she tested how close she could get. The metal screen was a necessary precaution, even for a ten-year-old like her. The fire stirred buried feelings - strange feelings - within Regina. Faint memories of such heat bursting from her own fingertips. She longed to do it again.
Her father sat in his armchair watching his daughter's fascination. He chuckled.
"It's as if you'd never seen fire before!"
"Not like this," she murmured.
Regina woke up.
She'd been dozing in her father's (No, no. Not her real father's) old armchair. Fallen asleep where she sat gazing into its flames and missing home.
A "home" where every precious thing had been ripped from her. A "home" she had been so desperate to escape she killed the only person she loved.
She rubbed the armrests and tried imagining him sitting there next to her, but the dream had faded quickly. Regina remembered everything - she just needed a trigger - but her father's face was blurry, now. What year was it? Ten years later? Twenty? She was thankful that at least, resting here, head foggy with spiked eggnog, she had briefly forgotten killing him.
She rarely remembered her false life - the one she had given herself to provide sufficient knowledge of this world and this era. To understand the technology, the culture, the language, the stories. Earth's history. Inheriting this house.
He'd raised her alone, hadn't he? Theirs was a very old, very wealthy Maine family. Her mother died. Yes, her mother died when she was a baby. Before she could teach her magic. No, there wasn't any magic here. Magic didn't exist. It was just a fairytale.
Regina's eyes drooped and she felt herself giving in to the happy false memories of a normal childhood in Maine. Was it a blessing or a curse that she remembered everything? Cora, Leopold, Snow? Daniel? Would it still count as revenge, if she didn't? No. How could she enjoy their suffering if she couldn't remember? How could she forfeit her entire identity? Even during her false childhood that imaginary Regina's fingers itched to perform magic again - like it was an atrophied muscle. It was part of her, in any world. How long had she been without it, now? Too long.