Disclaimer: I take no ownership of this, just the story itself. Everything else belongs to its respective owners.
A/N: So...I decided I'd take a crack at a prompt and this is kinda what happened. Please keep in mind that this is my first time writing for SQ/Once.
It's just…On this island, I don't feel like a hero or a savior. I just feel like…what I've always been; an orphan.
Whoever said that the truth had a way of setting you free obviously had no idea what they were talking about. The truth just made everything that much more real. By admitting it, letting it form in your mouth, it was just a pill that became harder and harder to swallow. Emma Swan was a lot of things but the quietest voice, the one she made the biggest effort to keep far enough in the back of her mind was almost screaming at her now. Further proof that she was anything but normal.
Anybody else would eat those stories up, believe every truth they supposedly told and carry them around like a sacred Bible. By the time she could read full sentences, she knew that it was all made up, that authors were always the best liars. It's a wonder she ever let herself "believe" at all. Something so simple, so naïve took more effort than it should have. She'd already tried that once. In fact, she made the mistake of believing every single day, until eventually she came to understand that it was nothing more than some grand fantasy. She was ten years old before she came to accept that there would be no saving her, no happy ending.
She was and would always be a lost girl. She still wasn't sure if she loved or hated her trek through Neverland. It was both a slap in the face and the most welcoming place she'd ever been. There was a time when she almost dared call it home, wherever the hell that was. Maybe here she could finally stop running. Maybe this was her forever. She certainly wasn't made to save anyone. Just another set of lies laid out to make her feel better.
Nothing could make any of this better. Her ears were hot and ringing loud enough to make the cries that spilled from her mouth vital to her survival. And yet, nothing. The knot sat comfortably in her throat unmoving. While the rest of her caught fire, her words and tears remained frozen. Wherever they were, she knew they wouldn't be coming out anytime soon. Hours flowed by so quietly she had no concept of time. All that made sense was the ice cold tile she sat on, the water above her losing the warmth she needed to make her lose her sense of self. Life could never grant her such small mercy.
No, this was what she deserved. This was her punishment. Heaven knows she had a long list of regrets that it seemed she would never really pay off. One step in the right direction, two stumbles right back to wrong. Her life had been and still was a never ending cycle. There was no pausing to take a breath, no fast forwarding to better times. She was stuck, trapped in this very moment and there was no escaping any of it.
Tears were out of the question. They were always noted as a relief to pain and suffering. No such luck would fall into her lap any time soon. Foster life had taught her that such displays were weak and petty. No family in the right mind would consider the helpless, let alone be proud of her for it. At least she'd learned that one well. Cover to cover. The chill raining down on her didn't have to remind her how numb she always seemed to feel. Numb was almost branded to her once innocent skin. So old and aged it hardly seemed to burn anymore as it once had.
Emma knew enough that she was practically gasping for breath. The tangle in her throat wasn't going anywhere. Oxygen was human necessity. Without it, she knew she was done. She was suddenly struck with the notion that somebody might just find her here, pale and still curled up into herself so tightly that her legs felt as though they weighed at least ten pounds each. It was better than considering the alternative. The horror that no one would find her at all was too much. She had to believe that at least in death she would get one thing right. Life wasn't that cruel, was it? Whatever her fate, she couldn't help but find it welcoming. At least all of this would be a thing of the past. It wasn't like she would be missed or anything. She was in her late twenties before anyone showed any concern.
Emma Swan was and would always be an orphan. There was no dancing around that one. The voices never let her forget it. Now they were practically mocking her, daring her to think anything else. She had been fed so much reassurance over the last few years. Henry, her parents, all of them in their own twisted way had given her something to believe in. Henry. The momentary flash across her memory brought her hands to her throat as she tried desperately to claw her way to freedom. It took her only a second to realize that she had done him the most wrong. She had become what she hated more than anything.
It seems that what they say is true. The apple really didn't fall that far from the tree. No wonder she avoided those with everything she had. A constant reminder of the only good she'd ever done for humanity, handed off like a regifted Christmas present. Selfish. No matter which way she looked at it, what she had done to him was more selfish than anything she had ever done. And here she was, reclaiming her place as a mother. She had to laugh at how childish it all was. You don't want it until you see someone else with it. Worse is realizing that the one you gave it to is making better use of it than you ever could.
Regina Mills had made better use of her forgotten treasure than Emma ever would. The worst of it was that she didn't even have the guts to try. And now that she was, it was too late. Too much had been done to make her efforts count for anything. At least she could take mixed comfort in that. Her son would still have his mother. It was better this way. He would no longer be caught in the crossfire of their battles for ownership. And suddenly, she hated her for that.
The woman had the nerve to poke at her wounds with reminders of just how much a mess she made. The woman had one thing right. Emma didn't belong anywhere, least of all here. She would have to thank Regina for it at some point. Molding and making something of her son. And she would. She really honestly would. As soon as she stopped letting the anger swim through her, whenever that would be.
Liars. They're all liars. Storytellers, philosophers (or whoever it was that came up with that thing about truth and freedom). Those are for the hopeful, the ones still willing to dream. All of Emma's dreams wasted no time in becoming nightmares, singlehandedly draining every bit of hope she might still have. Reality. The only thing anyone had ever been honest with her about. Reality hurts. Reality pulls and tears at every bit of human flesh until there's nothing there but bone. A shadow of a smile comes across her face then. Yes, bones are real. Bones are real and constant. Bones are honest.
Maybe that was the secret. Lies and fantasies wasted no time in shoving themselves down her throat. If only she knew how to swallow. No time for that. Brief glimpse at her fingers told her she was turning purple already. It lasted only seconds but a split second memory dusted bits of hope across such a hopeless situation. She could smell the pages of a book she read in the game room, crowded with far too many bodies. Pulling away for just a second, her ears caught something about a dinosaur and a myth of love (not that she had a clue what either of those were). She was done listening then. She learned that day that people on TV were just as bad as the people who wrote these stupid books. If none of it was true, why the hell did she keep reading them?
She liked pain. Emma found a twisted comfort in pain. It didn't matter so much that it stung. She'd read so many of them she'd become immune to all of it. They were just words now. Words she couldn't help but feel like somebody else was reading. None of these plots resembled her life. At one point they even stopped being parts of a life she wanted. It wasn't like she was going to see any of it happen. She was here, in a room surrounded by mere echoes of small children who were still dumb enough to believe him. They still had time. The hourglass for her had long since run out of sand.
They weren't stupid. When people set out to take in the forgotten, it's always the little ones. The ones who still haven't had time to realize where they are and why nobody comes for them. Some even still think their parents are on vacation. Emma always knew better though. Maybe they saw it in her eyes. Knowing the truth she couldn't help but think was the reason she had always been overlooked. No child should know so much. And because she did, she was never going to be as shiny as the little girls around her. Their smiles were bigger, their eyes brighter. Their hair even seemed to glow in a way that only made hers seem dull. Nobody came for her then. Why should this be any different?
But it was. It was different and the realization made her sick to her stomach once more. Her son had made her a believer. He had a way of putting her on a pedestal that finally might make her someone worthy of whatever this love stuff was. It was once such a story for her that realizing it was just pretend became a comfort. Now it had crawled its way to the forefront of her mind and took her under once more. The notion stung like hot fire against her cheeks. Emma had to wonder how she had survived any of it, any of this. How was she still breathing, still human when all she ever did was starve? She craved the one thing that life would never give her, no matter how much she begged for it. Perhaps she wasn't wrong. Her last two years really had been a figment of someone's imagination. She was never really here to begin with. Accepting at least that lessened the weight bearing down on her chest. It was barely anything but at least it was less somehow.
If this really was the making of someone else, anyone else, they could just change the story. She might finally know what she was supposed to do with this knot she couldn't figure out for the life of her how to untie. They might just give her the strength to get up off this floor and turn the water off. If this really was all just a bunch of words on paper, the razor across her wrist wouldn't feel like anything. At least then she might be able to breathe a little. Clawing had done nothing to change the situation. She had to imagine that this would make a difference, even in the smallest way.
If she needed any confirmation that she was right, the spin of the world around her was enough. The grout on the walls had merged to become one long beam of white. A sense of weightlessness finally washed over her. She wasn't cold anymore. She wasn't warm. She wasn't anything. Life had a funny way of circling back like that. Is this what it felt like? Is this what it felt like to be done with…everything? She'd thought as much when they buried Neal. Not that she had a clue what he might be feeling but at least this was a glimpse into possibility. Any minute now she would be there. Or wherever it was they went when things like this happened to people. It felt…good, almost freeing. Some old guy might not be so stupid after all.
For a brief second she wondered how she managed to turn off the water. She wasn't dry yet but at least it had stopped. There it was. Cold. Cold to the point where her teeth chattered. She had to consciously stop her mouth from moving. If she went on long enough her teeth would come out in pieces in her hands. She knew they were probably still purple. Likely blue by now. Not that she had the strength to do anything about it.
"Cold…" she barely managed. The first word to crawl out in what felt like days. "So…cold…." That small window of opportunity seemed to bring with it just about everything else. Her cheeks were flaming once more and…wet. Like she hadn't gotten enough of that already. And why the hell couldn't she put a lid on all this shaking? Whoever or whatever had taken her from in there probably thought she was having some kind of seizure. Pull it together, Swan. You're not doing anybody any favours. You just look stupid. As often as she lectured herself, there was no stopping it. She'd reached a point of trembling so hard she had to wonder how her skin stayed hugged to her bones. The storm across her face collected on something. Fabric. She suddenly felt sorry for the piece of cloth pressed to her face and equally as stupid for placing on it all of her burdens. They were nothing but her own to bear. And yet, as much as she knew she should, she couldn't collect enough strength to pull away. It was nice…warm. Dare she say it was the first sense of calm to wash over her? Even more terrifying was the idea that it was safe here. She had to wonder just how long it would all last
Because see, Emma came to terms years ago that good things aren't meant to last, no matter how tightly you hung onto them. And yet here she was, hanging on for dear life, making fists against this cloth anyway. It would be gone in a matter of seconds no matter what she did with it. Her son had told her time and time again that dreaming was acceptable for anyone. So here she was, dreaming, hoping anyway, because what more could she really do? She was already done. Why not indulge?
"Make…make it stop…" It wouldn't exactly make any difference but the words had come. She hoped whoever this was wouldn't ask for specifics that she couldn't give. Because what could you say when everything hurt? Fairytale or not, there were no magic wands. And even if there were, it wouldn't work on her. Saviors aren't meant to be saved. She was the one meant to make the world a better place, make a difference. Well, at least she could take some comfort in knowing she'd taken care of the "difference". No one had specified that it had to be a good one. Emma Swan knew herself to be nothing but trouble. If they were looking for positive impact, they'd have to look elsewhere. "Please just make it stop….I….I can't…I can't…." she gasped.
"Shhh…Slow down." The voice came through in barely a whisper, almost like whoever said it made sure they weren't heard. It sure wasn't meant as a comfort. Those tones never had been. Whoever this was wasn't supposed to be here. Whoever this was, was just supposed to leave her there. She had to wonder why they didn't. It wasn't like she was worth anything. This had to be about brownie points, someone's good deed for the day. You're welcome she thought. What came out though was just another wave of everything. She wondered how many of those she still had in her. She hoped it wasn't many. Whatever she was doing to this person was exhausting and no doubt irritating to hear. She begged to shout at herself for being such a baby about it. She wasn't supposed to be like this, she wasn't supposed to…
"I….I can't…" The voice offered nothing in reply and this somehow became invitation to grab hold that much harder.
"You can. Pull it together, you're fine." How could she get this woman to see that nothing about this was fine? Yes, a woman. No man would be able to handle more than a minute of whatever she was currently unleashing to her savior.
"I….I'm not fine," she sputtered. "Nothing's fine….It's never been fine!" That moment of rage gave Emma enough to pull back and finally meet the stranger's gaze. All at once she wished the earth below would just swallow her whole. Regina Mills. Regina Mills had pulled her from hell. Or what she thought was hell. This was far worse. The mayor had seen her…She swallowed, hardly able to think the word. The woman who wanted nothing more than to see her obliterated had…Never a good word for Emma as long as she'd known the woman and she's suddenly supposed to thank her.
When she finally made enough sense of the situation, the sheer horror of it all takes over. "I'm….I'm sorry I…I shouldn't…" Her dash to the door is cut short as sharp nails dig into untouched skin. Emma has to bite her lip to keep from screaming and slowly pivots to meet Regina's frigged stare.
"Where do you think you're going?" The woman's tone throws every thought the blonde ever had out the window.
"Home." The grip she's kept on her arm is too solid to fight, especially given how little energy she has in her to do much of anything. The sick twisted smile that comes across her mouth reminds Emma who she's dealing with. Of all people in the world, Regina is the last person to give a damn about what happens to her.
"Not your best shot at comedy but I've heard worse."
"Let go, Regina," she mutters through gritted teeth.
"So you can finish whatever it was you were doing in there? Haven't you learned anything, Miss Swan? I don't do nice."
"Let me go!" She's not dumb enough to say that the grip hurts. That'll just make it worse; give her more to do to her to make her life more hell than it already is. Her sharp expression, married to ice cold eyes makes the blonde's stomach twist.
"After all these years of hunting you down, I finally have you right where I've always wanted you. And I'm supposed to give that up? What do you take me for?" Emma takes her for a lot of things. None of them remotely warm either. The one decent thing she had went up in a plume of smoke moments ago. "Not a chance."
"Congratulations," she mumbled. "I know you're all about making me pay but can I get a minute, maybe put some clothes on?" As soon as the words leave her mouth she wants to take them back. She really did make an art of digging herself deeper.
"What's there isn't enough?" Emma looked up hoping for clarification but was only made to follow Regina's pointed gaze. It really can get worse…
"They're not mine," she offered dumbly.
"Obviously not. You'd be stupider than I ever gave you credit for if you walk out that door. One step and I'll finish the job myself." Emma froze, the mere idea of fulfilling the woman's wish more terrifying than anything. But more than fear, it's pride that keeps her there, even though she wants nothing more than to stay as far away as humanly possible.
"As big a party you'd throw over it, I don't think so."
"I won't say it again. Sit down!" Something about the woman's tone reminds her all too well of the ones she heard as a kid. The one that makes anyone it's pointed at feel like rounded up cattle. The one that tells her that not listening might be her last mistake. Her feet shuffle forward without her consent, the shirt laid out across the bed finding a way over her head. She has to roll the sleeves to keep from staining whatever it is she's been given. Blood would just give her one more reason to make her wish she'd kept her there.
"Tha…"
"Don't." And just like that the words are gone. Just take whatever the hell this is. And she finds that she is. It almost doesn't matter that there's a definite motive. Regina Mills isn't going to win this one. Not today. "What the hell were you thinking?" she suddenly snapped. I wasn't. That's kind of the point. Instead she stays silent. "How was I supposed to explain this to Henry?"
"Don't know…"
"Of course you don't. Impulsive and brainless, just like your mother." Anyone in their right mind would jump to defending that. But two things had to happen for it to make any sense. They had to be in some sort of right mind; she certainly wasn't. And two, she had to have a mother; she didn't. "Was this all part of some master plan? Kill yourself, let me take the fall? That's all I've ever done for you. A decade of cleaning up all your messes and it seems you never learn." Retaliation sits on her tongue but doesn't move. None of it moves because for once, Regina is right. It never stops, she never seems to learn.
"You're right," she whispered.
"Of course I'm right. Time to grow up and take some responsibility." The blonde just nodded. "And that starts right here, right now."
"Not that you're giving me an alternative."
"I told you. Alternatives are wasted on nice people."
"…And you don't do nice."
"You're learning….."
"You mind getting to the point? I have somewhere to be." Taking a spot beside her, Regina quietly took her wrist running her thumb along the crimson ribbon that made its way halfway up her arm.
"What was this supposed to solve?"
"Don't know…"
"Real words, Emma. You're capable of them. Use them." Emma can't help but be taken aback by how odd her name sounds as it rolls of the woman's tongue. The use of it is as rare as the leap year.
"I don't know. I…I just….I needed a minute," she said quietly.
"You got more than your minute," Regina muttered. "Did you get what you wanted?" No. You kind of took that from me, like everything else.
"Almost…."
"Selfish."
"I know. It's the only thing that makes sense. The voices they…They're constant. It's the only thing that….that quiets them. I…I think I finally get it…You. I spent years hating you for treating everyone like crap when the truth is that I...I wish I could. But I can't…..this…This is what works."
"I'd advise you find something else." Emma couldn't help but glare as she ripped her hand away.
"You think I don't want to? You think I enjoy this? You think that sitting on all of this….crap is a game for me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Thirty years, Regina. Thirty years of knowing that nobody gives a damn. Nobody's gonna see that you're not there. No one's going to feel anything when it finally clicks. The worst part of all of this? The worst part, is knowing that from day one that nobody wanted you in the first place! Watching every kid but you get this so-called "happy ending." Because you're not bright and shiny enough for anybody. So forgive me for sparing people the chore!"
"I would…"
"That's the biggest lie I've heard yet. You're just upset over the fact that you'll have to find a new target. Shouldn't be too hard for you. You're like a kid in a candy store with everyone in this town."
"He would…"
"Right. Heartbroken over a woman he hardly knows when we all know who did all the work. His mother's fine. A grade A bitch but she's fine. He's in good hands. I should probably thank you for that though, I guess. Henry's great, no thanks to me."
"That boy would blame me until the day he died if I let something happen to you and you know it." Right, of course there was motive. With Regina there was always something.
"All you had to do was tell him the truth. But I guess that's even harder for you than a lie. You would have had absolutely nothing to do with this. Go to bed on a clear conscience or whatever it is you sleep on."
"You're sitting on it."
"What?" The other woman just shook her head.
"You really think I want to walk around this town with you hanging over my head? That just invites guilt. I don't do guilt."
"Of course you don't…"
"If you really thought I was going to let you off easy, think again. I don't waste my time with martyrs."
"You're the one wasting your own time, Regina, which I'm sure you've spent enough of here. You can go. You get your patch." Emma doesn't take the time to clarify the confusion in her eyes and slowly rises from the bed. A growl of frustration tumbled out as the woman takes a firmer hold.
"What the hell do you want from—" It's no longer a lodge that keeps her quiet but Regina's mouth pressed to hers. It takes a minute for Emma to collect herself and absorb those last few seconds.
"Shut up," she whispered harshly. Completely at a loss, all Emma can do is nod obediently. "Sit." Again, she complies. This time, there's no fight when she grasps her wrist again, soft warm lips that were once against her own now gently gliding along the incisions that pepper her skin. If she didn't feel ugly then, she certainly felt it now. Regina was the last person who…
"What are you—? You….No," she mumbles quietly pulling away. "Please don't…I'm not…"
"Look at your hand, what do you see on it?" Again she forced to swallow hard as the silver band glimmers quietly by the light of the sun outside their window. "Cursing you wasn't getting rid of you. New memories didn't do it either. Haven't you learned by now? I don't lose. This is the last time, Swan. I'm done picking up after you. Are we clear?"
"Yeah…We're clear."
A/N: Thoughts? Feel free to leave them.
