Prison Visits

The curse was broken.

It still hadn't fully sunk in for Emma, yet, though the craving for a seemingly non-existent cheeseburger and diet coke was hurrying the process along. The second she had found herself surrounded by the townsfolk of Storybrooke (looking like they had just marched out of the dark ages), in what appeared to be a quant village with a surrounding forest that was more like an ocean in its depth, Emma expected to feel a sense of pleasant catharsis; something that would allow her to finally feel like she had a stable home to belong, and a family, and a good life ahead of her.

And as she looked back upon those smiling faces, their obvious joy unavoidable to the point of suffocation, she became all too aware that her happily ever after was still waiting for her to catch up to it.

The smile was easy to wear, because she was happy. She had Henry clinging to one arm, and Snow White and David, her parents, clinging to the other. This was her family, the people she knew she could depend on, and all those lost years were being made up with each second she spent in their presence. But Emma couldn't ignore the little voice that struggled against all those other, much louder, voices inside her mind; the one that told her something was missing.

The thought came to her like second nature, as if she had stepped into her bedroom only to suddenly find her bed had disappeared, and for all the effort she put into drowning it out with her inner monologue of praise and relief, the thought refused to be silenced.

It had been a month, now, or perhaps two, and despite looking like she had, herself, been a part of the Enchanted Forest her entire life, Emma felt like a bigger eyesore than she had while standing around the former people of Storybrooke in her leather jacket and jeans.

The dresses had lasted until the morning after the effects of the corset finally caught up with her aching ribs, and since then she had opted for wearing fitted trousers and shirts, though still the frills and the lace were a far cry from what she'd usually pick out for herself at the store.

The outfit, she saw, didn't sit well with Snow - she couldn't quite bring herself to call her 'mom', or David 'dad', as they did, after all, look relatively the same age as her - but she only tried to advise Emma over wearing something more ladylike when they were holding a ball. Apparently, a woman in trousers was enough to strike unease in the princes that practically lined up for her hand in marriage, even despite their stay in Storybrooke.

And the balls themselves? Emma had never felt more uncomfortable, and she knew it showed. Despite Snow's hand on hers, or David's reassuring smile, Emma couldn't comfortably fall into the role of the princess she was expected to be, and it was enough to quell up old questionings of her worth.

When she had voiced these worries to her parents, they had instantly dismissed them and, she had to admit, made her feel a lot better for their reassuring words. 'It is to be expected', they had told her, 'you'll grow into it with time', that one she doubted, 'this is who you're supposed to be'and that one she knew, without question, was a downright, dirty lie.

Despite their endless 'talks', both Snow and David saw that Emma wasn't quite satisfied with the life she had been given. It hurt them, to see her so unhappy with their world, both because it was as if she was trying to reject her heritage, and because they had only ever wanted their daughter to be happy.

They had asked her, one late night before she had retired to her bedchamber, what would make her happy, and Emma couldn't answer. Whether she didn't know, or she wished for them not to know, they were unsure, but Emma had left them that night troubled, and had awoken the next morning looking as though she had not slept the full night through.

Henry had fallen into place perfectly, better than Emma could ever have hoped for, and she was happy - if not slightly envious - for him. So happy was he that he missed her own melancholy, but she couldn't blame him. They hadn't been there long and already he had had two unicorns literally eating out of the palm of his hand, and spotted a flock - or a pack? - of wild Gryffins.

She supposed he had always believed in the curse, since receiving the book, and he had been given the luxury of time to get used to this fairytale land before he had even been transported there. Still, she could not help but wonder when her own mind would catch up with her body, and living in this wondrous, terrifying land would feel normal.

Currently, Emma sat alone in her bedchamber, glancing out of the window with a mild distaste to the singing nest of birds in the tree that stretched along just below. The thought came to her, as it often did, of whether or not their disappearance from Maine would have been noticed. Of course, there were never any real strangers in Storybrooke, even Henry, with the least tangible link, fit in there just as much as every other storybook character did.

But it did exist, and Emma often wondered if anyone might have seen the name on a map somewhere, or a sign - she had followed directions, after all - and smirked with incredulity, asking aloud if that was where Humpty Dumpty lived - which, in all honesty, it was.

Or had the curse acted to repel any outsiders' interest? She found wondering about it futile; she'd never know, and for all the times she had asked Snow and David, they were unable to give her a clear answer, at least not one that had actually answered her question. This had then left her wondering if Regina, the Evil Queen herself, would be able to satiate her curiosity.

Perhaps the curiosity was just an obstacle her subconscious had provided for her - something to question and wonder about that would take her mind off how little she belonged in this strange world - and in the end, the initial question itself had been slowly disregarded for thoughts of the woman who was responsible for unleashing the curse.

Regina had always fascinated her; Emma had wanted to understand her, fully understand her, as much as she had wanted to punch her in the face – though, she did get a pretty good right hook in once. She supposed it came with Regina being the woman who brought her son up, she was bound to want to understand her. It was probably perfectly normal, she supposed.

With her understanding of Regina's background - and she had to admit, it did come from a storybook and her overly-imaginative ten year old son - Emma was only more intrigued. She tried not to be, tried to bottle the anger she had towards the woman, for all that she had done - to her, Henry, her parents, everyone in the fairytale land - and unleash it on those feelings of wonder and curiosity whenever they arose, but they were coming so quickly after the last bout, she barely had enough time to pry out the cork on her bottled Evil-Queen-repellent before the questions had already piled into her own personal Himalayas.

The proverbial mountain peaks had finally stabbed her in that unreachable part of her back for long enough, Emma conceded one night, and went to find her parents. She was still unsure as to exactly what it was that they did, though she did not get to see them all that often during the day. She hoped the lecture of 'how to be Queen one day' would be put at bay until she at least understood the difference between a fairy and a pixie.

Once she had finally tracked Snow down - and that in itself took longer than she would have hoped - Emma was reluctant to go ahead with her request, but, as Snow had told her before, she had seen there was something that Emma wanted to speak with her about before she had even opened her mouth. Mother's intuition, or something, she guessed.

"Emma?" Snow asked with a small, almost concerned smile. The room had emptied itself, though Emma was sure there'd be at least a cluster of guards waiting outside the doors.

Wiping her slightly sweaty hands down her trousers, a habit Snow had tried in vain to break her out of, Emma finally swallowed her nerves - what had she to be nervous about? - and told her, "I want to see Regina."

Her mother's startled face was exactly what she had expected, and feared, but also even hoped for. She had been thinking about Regina for so long, now, that it had become a part of her, something she did because she just did – a kind of habit. But her mother's reaction was the exact slap in the face that she needed to let her know that it wasn't normal, it wasn't okay, and she needed to stop. She only hoped confronting Regina one last time would put a stop to her dreaded curiosity.

"What?" Snow finally stumbled out, her voice high a tinny.

Breaking their gaze for a moment, Emma thought out her logical reasons. There was only one illogical reason for seeing Regina, and she refused to accept that herself. She told Snow, "I think it'll help… like a sense of closure."

She could see that she was swiftly losing this battle, wondered for a second if this is what it would have been like living as a teenager with Snow and David after having asked to go gallivanting around with a group of elves. But Emma stuck to her argument, convincing herself that Snow should be thankful that they were close friends in Storybrooke, otherwise she wouldn't have come to ask her permission at all.

"This is what I need, just to say goodbye to that old life. I need to confront this, otherwise I'll never be able to let it go." She could see Snow's resolve breaking.

"If you think that's what you need, Emma," she said slowly, obviously not happy with the request, but knowing, if Emma was to visit Regina, the enchantments and guards there would keep her from harm.

Emma nodded. "It is."

It wasn't a lie, not all of it, but Emma knew she was keeping something back, some form of reasoning, and hoped Snow hadn't also detected it.

"Then, okay," Snow sighed, frowning, "but you keep the guards around." Emma nodded, and before she was able to stand, Snow's hand settled atop one of her own. "She's powerless down there, there's no harm she can do to you, but I want you to be safe… and I think it's best that you don't tell your father about this."

Emma nodded again, the beginnings of a smirk at her lips, though she knew not to test her mother. "I don't think pop would be too pleased, either," she said, but her humour was lost on Snow.

Seeing her unease ridden expression, she quickly told her, "I'll be safe."

Snow nodded, would probably have offered her a smile if she could muster one, and watched her daughter leave. Despite the knowledge that Emma was going to be safe down there with that wicked woman, she wasn't at all happy about their meeting, nor was she happy about Emma's wanting of it.

# # # #

The dungeons - if you could really call them that - held the distinct smell of damp and stone, like Emma had stumbled upon the centre of an underground cave, but the earthy taste in the air was neither comforting nor pleasant.

There were two guards at one end of the corridor Emma had been led to. She had ordered them to stay where they were, at their end of the corridor, and they had begrudgingly conformed. Her boots left unmistakable echoes in the air, an intrusion unwelcome to her ears as she neared a barred wall. There was no door cut into the bars - she doubted there'd ever be a need for one - and instead the barred cavern acted as a looking glass into the dungeon before her.

It was a large room, dimly lit and windowless, but the furniture looked to be that of what any middle class family could afford. Perhaps not as expensive as that in her own bedchamber, but definitely more than she had ever hoped of affording before having the status of 'princess' thrust upon her.

A bed, four-poster, with dark drapes and sheets, stood against one wall, with a tall wardrobe and a partitioning fold-out wall (painfully more expensive than the make-shift clothes-wrack-and-a-towel Emma had made for herself once) filled that area, yet left more room than Emma had been given in her first flat away from a foster family.

Beside that was a seating area, even a place for a small fire, though it was not lit, and Emma wondered if Regina was allowed to light it herself whenever she wished, or if she was given specific hours in which the fire would be roaring. There was no kitchen, but an open bath that sunk into the floor, and Emma doubted Regina would be so prudish as to complain. A small basin and mirror stood against the opposite wall of the bed, completing the room's furnishings, as far as Emma could tell.

Looking closer at the seemingly empty cell - she almost laughed when she caught sight of the perfectly stacked bookshelf: she was an Evil Queen, but a prisoner of Snow White,after all - Emma saw movement on one of the chairs that had been angled with its tall back towards the bars.

Looking in, Emma watched, quite trance-like, as Regina rose, dressed in an elegant gown she wouldn't be surprised if Snow had allowed her to keep from her own personal wardrobe. Emma was surprised that she didn't appear more feral, like a caged animal.

The smile on Regina's crimson-painted lips was unmistakable. "I thought I detected a new pair of feet," she spoke, her voice low and amused, making Emma feel uncomfortable.

It was as if their positions had reversed, and with only the bars between them, a five star hotel suite before her and two prison guards behind her, Emma felt that that was exactly what had happened.

Regina came close to the wall of bars, bowed ridiculously low - which only served to make Emma even more uncomfortable; she had to remind herself who was in charge here - and purred, yes, purred out a sarcastic, "Hello, Princess." The title sounded more like a pet-name on her lips, and Emma was only glad the blush on her chest did not rise to her cheeks.

"You seem to be settling in well," she told her with a momentary glance over Regina's shoulder. "I always had you down as some kind of animal."

Regina's lips tilted in a way Emma hadn't meant to provoke. "Well," she flicked her hair, waist-length and loose, over her shoulder in a way Emma had never been able to accomplish, at least not as fiercely, and continued with a smile, "I guess there has always been some kind of animalistic desirein me."

Her eyes dropped to Emma's boots - who suddenly felt that they were the ugliest piece of footwear she had ever worn - and rose slowly up to the startled face before her.

Not liking where Regina was curbing their conversation, Emma stated, "Yeah, if by 'animalistic desire' you mean the ripping out of peoples' hearts."

Regina merely shrugged, looking all too much like some form of feline, as if Emma was before her for entertainment, and doing a very bad job of it, at that. Though the smile on her lips remained.

"Why are you here, Princess?"

And still, the pet-name remained, though Emma was too surprised to comment on it. Her tone sounded almost inviting, and Emma suspected that the loneliness of living beneath her enemy's kingdom was really catching up with her, especially seeing as she hadn't already demanded she leave.

"What, you want me to go?" Emma asked, her own tone and expression an obvious façade of surprise.

Regina smiled and rested her hands upon her hips, slacking in her posture, as if she was already tired of their conversation. Emma knew otherwise.

"Oh, dear, you wouldn't be my first choice in jester, but I could certainly do worse."

Emma smirked despite herself and hoped it looked cruel.

She neared the bars, a few mere feet away from the wall between them, and said, "See, with all the tricks up your sleeve, I'd have to say the same about you."

Regina mirrored her steps, until she was almost pressed up against the bars, her arms clutched around them, and let out a throaty half-laugh-half-moan. "You should see me in my Cap 'n Bells." And did she just wink?

Swallowing with difficulty, closing the distance between herself and the bars, Emma came to eye-level with Regina and stated, "Something tells me there's no motley suit in there," with a nod towards the wardrobe.

"No," Regina sounded almost regretful, "but I don't doubt the image is beyond your imagination's capability."

And, indeed, it was not - Emma was already trying to blink away the burning image of Regina in a Harley Quinn costume, sporting an oversized mallet and a toothy grin.

"There was a lot beyond my imagination's capability before I came here," Emma admitted, unsure as to why exactly she had given that little tid-bit up.

Regina smiled, pressing herself against the bars. Emma was close enough for her to reach a hand out, and her smile only widened when Emma had to force herself to repress a flinch. She took the collar of her frilly shirt between two fingers.

"You look the part, to me," she told her, and Emma wasn't sure if she was supposed to take it as a compliment, or not. Her stomach coiled - or was it a little lower than her stomach? - and her heartbeat quickened. Outside the cage, torch lights flickered on either side of the corridor.

"And you still manage to hide your devil horns," Emma quipped. "Appearance is often deceiving."

Regina's smile widened to show her perfect teeth. "Still… I think it's an improvement."

Her dark eyes raked over the shirt, and despite it not being something she would personally sport herself, even the thrills appeared to compliment the woman wearing them. Though she supposed anything was better than that god awful leather.

Unable to stop herself, almost forgetting the guards at the end of the corridor, Emma told her without missing a beat, "You should see what's beneath it."

Regina paused, almost expected the charred contents of that cavern inside her chest to seep out of her into a gooey puddle by her feet, but Emma did not miss the flash in her eyes.

"Those are dangerous words, Princess…"

Her eyes flicked to the guards, facing each other but still somehow watching their interaction, and Emma merely shrugged. Perhaps it was the rebellious teenager within her making up for asking permission to come and see Regina earlier that night.

Pleased with where their interaction was headed - she would be a damned liar if she said the emptiness of her life wasn't getting to her - but still unable to hold back the one question that always seemed to be on the tip of her tongue, Regina risked ruining their moment to ask, hesitant and peculiarly quiet, "How's Henry?"

Emma tensed a little, though allowed the other woman's hand to remain by her collar, perhaps dangerously close to her neck. "I would have thought he'd take to this world well," Regina continued, "he was always so fascinated by fairytales, I can only image his joy at living inside of one."

And perhaps it was the reference to her missing time with Henry that did it, but Emma could not hold back the asshole within, and stated, with only a tiny bit of pleasure and a nonchalant shrug, "I doubt he still thinks about you."

Regina understood Emma's intentions; she could hardly blame her, had expected them, in fact, but found her words almost comforting. He was getting on with his life - that was… good. It was good. She smiled despite herself, a twisted smirk that Emma saw right through, though perhaps she wanted her to. She would come back to that later, Henry, herHenry, and something told her she would have the opportunity to; Emma looked all too comfortable down here in the dark with her.

Opting for a change in topic, Regina said, "You never did tell me why you came all the way down here just to see me." She made it sound like a friendly trip to the next village. "Missing me already?"

"I don't know about missing you," Emma stepped closer to the bars despite the warning bells going off inside her head. "But those little, black pencil-skirts definitely grew on me."

Regina's smile was almost feline, and just as Emma registered it, and hadn't the time to prepare for the other woman's next move, dainty and yet forceful hands were behind her head and neck, and her face was being slammed roughly into the bars. But the yelp of pain that tried to escape her caught against Regina's lips as the other woman held her in for a kiss.

Just as quickly as the kiss had started, Regina was sauntering away from the bars, Emma's pained wince of "Bitch!" lost on her as the two guards rushed forward. Whatever they intended to do, however, Emma merely shrugged them away. They moved a few steps, Regina had walked away, after all, but refused to go any further.

"Goodbye, Ms. Swan," Regina called from deep within her cell.

She smiled to herself, unable to see the mixture of emotions that struck Emma's face, and fell back down into the seat she had earlier occupied. She lifted the small book from the arm of the seat, but refused to find the page she had put it down at until the distinct shuffling of armour and heavy-booted feet left the barred wall behind her.

Despite herself, despite all that she had learned, down here in the dark with nought but her dated books and her own subconscious to distract her thoughts from her current malady, Regina could not help but hope that that wasn't the last of Emma's prison visits.