AU: Emma doesn't break the curse.
One knock meant Gold, eager to collect his due. The man was never without enough money; the curse made sure of that.
"Tax day, dearie. You know the drill." Cue outstretched hand, the other leaned into his cane. Mayor Mills would give accordingly—town payments, deeds, the last of her soul, etc. He would finger the documents briefly, his tongue moving side to side in a closed mouth as he counted. "Good woman," he would say when satisfied.
Two signaled Archie, a tan driver's cap low and crooked on his balding head. He would smile and offer a warm greeting before proceeding to make sure Regina hadn't tried killing herself lately. He'd seen the signs a time or two before: despondency, depression, a loss of light in her swirling brown eyes, and taken them as a sign of his own to integrate the white manor into his daily routine. Sometimes he dared to bring Pongo, and it was the only deviation from norm she'd see that week. The queen of nothing had grown to love the mutt if anything.
"How are you feeling, Regina?"
"Empty."
The next day.
"How are you feeling, Regina?"
"Alone."
And the next.
"How are you feeling, Regina?"
"Like I want to choke you."
But of course, the therapist couldn't compute such hatred and would regroup and ask,
"How are you feeling, Regina?"
So it was a pleasant—no—unnerving surprise when three knocks came zero past 8:15. They were light, almost soundless, and Regina wondered if she was imagining things; knocking three times was a sin in little Storybrooke.
Then again, who was she to judge evil?
Another tap, and she moved from where she had frozen towards the whitewashed door. A quick peek through the glass encasing either side of the frame revealed an old man long bent by time (and probably arthritis). Like Gold, he was perched on a cane, his hand carved into its head, and wisps of hair stuck out from behind yellowed ears. Otherwise, he was completely bald, and it reminded the woman of Leopold, her former husband, Snow's father.
No. It can't be...
It only took seconds to figure out why.
Clumsily, trembling, Regina knobbed the door open and silence filled the place where it had once been and he on the other side kept solid in his position; something remained in the threshold, kept them lonely and apart. It was sixty-two years.
He was eighty-three now. He had left at twenty-one. It's been sixty-two years and a few minutes now. No no no no no.
"I'm home, Mama."
A/N: Whoa. I actually finished this.