A Mother of Some Sort
Summary: Rumple/Regina scenes from 3X9, "Save Henry" – with a twist.
Author's Note: New Year's Resolution – write more Golden Queen! Been working on this off and on for a while; I hope it turned out alright. It's inspired (in a sense) by wolfenqueenyuri.
"You shall see. You will come to me. There is more you need, oh!" – Rumple to Regina in the Enchanted Forest
He told her.
He told her years ago, that she would come to him. At the time, she swore she wouldn't. She'd mocked him, tried to scoff at his arrogance, but he held firm, in that infuriating way of his. She told herself not to worry, not to mind him. When the Curse was cast, she would be free of him, free of all them, at last.
He would not remember her. All the pain and the passion of their past would be washed away. She would win, at last.
And she was right … well, after a fashion. Rumple, like all the rest of them, did not remember her.
Though sometimes, she did wonder …
She finds herself restless, nervous, ill at ease in the days after Owen … leaves. There's a feeling in the pit of her stomach, something heavy and yet fluttering, something that she cannot shake. Sleep is elusive, and even when it comes, it is fitful, but still full of dreams, strange dreams, dreams of a child with eyes big enough for her to drown in. She can never quite make out the face. Sometimes she is certain it's Owen, with eyes that silently scream, Why why why why? Those dreams scare her, and she wakes in a cold sweat. Sometimes she thinks she cries out, and wakes herself. Her heart is pounding (the heart with the hole in it), and she has to remind herself to breathe, remind herself that she is safe, safe and in control.
Other times, she is certain the eyes belong to Snow. Then the dreams are better – not good, but better, for in these dreams she can allow her rage to warm her bones. She thinks then that she must have been mistaken before, it must be Snow's eyes she's been dreaming of all along. Her eyes were also so big, after all. They still are. Even when she was a grown woman, she kept her child's eyes, big and wide and believing and so damned earnest that it made Regina want to scream when she still had to keep up the façade of the loving stepmother.
Snow's eyes used to scream at her too, until the light went out of them completely, when she looked at her. The light would shine on others, but not her, the Evil Queen. Regina is not certain when that happened, but sometimes, in the secret part of herself she keeps buried – she thinks – she knows – it is when they came upon the slaughtered village, when Snow realized she wasn't "Willa" at all.
Regina is tired.
She has walked by Rumple's – no, Gold's – shop for several days now. She has not gone in, though once she came close, went so far to put her hand on the door and began to turn the knob, push it in, and the clink of the bell and the sound of his breath sent her scurrying away like some meek little mouse, like Mary Margaret and not the formidable Mayor Mills.
She can't let that twisted little imp be right.
"You shall see, you shall come to me …"
Bastard.
Well, he's cursed, isn't he? It's not like it matters. He won't have the satisfaction of knowing he's right.
"I need a child, Gold. And I need your help."
"Well, I'm flattered, but uninterested."
For just an instant, she reverts. For the blink of eye, they are not where they are. They are back in the Enchanted Forest. She is dressed all in white, looking quite the guileless little morsel, no doubt, and his hands are on her face, cool and soothing.
But it's not the particular memory that makes her tremble, makes her breath catch in her throat, before she can glare at him and snap "Not like that!"
Does he know? Did he know? Could he ever have known about …?
She pushes the thoughts down with all of her might and presses on, blathers about adoption agencies and cutting through red tape. And he eventually agrees to help her.
"When you become a parent, you must put your child first," he tells her, as she turns to leave. "No matter what."
Can I do that? She asks herself.
Do I even know how?
Owen …
Snow …
She stalks out of his shop, wishing she knew the answer.
Rumple … Gold, comes through in the end of course. He may be infuriating, but in this realm or the next, she knows she can always count on him to get things done.
And when the baby is in her arms, the only name she can think of is Henry.
Her father deserves that much, at least.
But Henry, little Henry, is not like his namesake. He is not timid. Far from it. He is loud and squalling and inscrutable and for the first time in a long time, she does not feel in control. She does not know what to do.
He cries all the time. All the time. She knows enough to know that babies cry, but … gods!
He only stops crying when Snow … no, Mary Margaret … holds him.
Regina can't even find the strength to hate her for it. Panic seizes her, grips her heart like a vise.
"It's me."
Oh gods, it's me. It's me. It's me. I'm … broken, still. I'm … empty, inside. I'm not good enough. I've never been good enough. Not for my mother, not for Rumple, and now I'm not good enough for my son.
When Regina finds out the truth about Henry, about who his mother is, she storms into his shop. She doesn't care how crazy she sounds. He knows. He knows! He did this on purposes, he remembers her!
He must remember something …
"Look what motherhood has done to you."
She wants to scream. She wants to cry. And for one brief moment of insanity, she wants to tell him … everything.
Instead, she snaps at him, "Play dumb all you want, you little imp. You should know who you're dealing with, by now. I sacrificed everything to build this life, and nothing will tear me away from my revenge. "Henry goes back to Boston. Tomorrow!"
He didn't, of course. She kept him. She loved him, as much as she was able. She couldn't let him go.
She drank a potion to forget who he was.
But the potion couldn't wash everything away.
They're on the ship. She's leaning over son, making sure he's all right after yet another attack by Pan.
"He's a strong boy, Regina. You raised him well."
Oh Rumple ….
Don't cry, she tells herself. Don't cry. Don't speak. Don't cry.
Don't remember…
"This can't be happening."
At first, Regina tries to ignore it. She's never been very regular, after all. And she's brewed the potion faithfully every month – hasn't she? Hasn't she?
Or … could it be she forgot to do it a few months ago, with all the guests and celebrations, with all the added pressures to pretend she was in a happy marriage?
This can't be happening! It'll come. Soon. She'll bleed soon.
Except that she doesn't.
"Is everything all right, dearie? You seem distracted today."
She smiles at him, but tight, her lips stretched painfully thin across her face. It is not the wicked grin she usually gives him, but the taught, polite, forced mockery of pleasantness that she usually reserves for Leopold or Snow. He recognizes it instantly for the false thing that it is.
"Regina, what's wrong?" He draws closure to her, puts his arm around her, and she trembles in his embrace.
She can tell him. She has to tell him.
"I …" She whispers. "I … it's just been exhausting, these last few weeks with Leopold," she finishes lamely. "It's bad enough pretending to be his dutiful wife when it's just the two of us, but to have to do it in front of all those visitors. It's worse, somehow. It's exhausting."
She rests her head on his shoulder, fighting back tears as he rubs her back. And when he whispers an offer to take her mind off such things, she gives a nervous little laugh that is a bit too close to his high-pitched giggle, and embraces him fiercely.
Later, she goes to see Malificent, and they have a very frank discussion.
"I can't tell you what to do," her friend says.
"I have to do something!"
"Well, we can agree on that point at least. You're almost starting to show! You can't be in denial about this anymore, Regina! You need to make a choice."
"A … a choice?" Regina whispers. "But I... I can't … there isn't …"
"There is always a choice." Maleficent takes both of Regina's hands in hers. "There is always a choice, and it is yours to make."
"I can't have a child, Maleficent! Especially not his!"
"You don't want to be a mother?"
The question hits Regina like a punch in the gut, and it takes a long time for her to answer.
"It's not a question of what I want or don't want. I … I can't be a mother."
"Are you certain?"
Regina closes her eyes. "No. Yes. I don't know. I … I have to go, Maleficent. Leopold will be back soon."
And when she turns to leave, with tears in her eyes, and tumbles down the stairs – well, maybe her friend whispered a magic word to make it happen, and maybe she didn't. And maybe, if she had whispered a word, Regina would love her for it, or hate her for it, for taking away her choice away, for taking away the responsibility and the burden and the possibilities.
When she awakens in one of Maleficent's rooms, her friend tells her what happened. And when she says, "Do you want to know?" Regina doesn't have to ask what she means. She just whispers, "Yes."
"Regina, it would have been a girl."