Author's note: This piece has not been betaed. All the mistakes are mine.
I'm sure there are thousands of tags for "Queen of hearts". But, you know, needs must... For all it's worth, here's my two cents worth of opinion. Only because I was so angry I wanted to bite pieces out of the lot of them, characters and writers…
Warning: here there be no fluffy goodness.
Much Love
Jane.
The devil you know
Regina feels she is truly going to die, drowning in the magic she summons out of the wishing well. She wants to pass out but there is no kindness in the gods. Not for her, never for her.
She is awake enough to feel the excruciating pain of the magic rushing through her body, moving bones and muscles out of the way, burning, freezing, destroying. She is awake enough to have to apologise to Henry for failing. And she is awake enough to see Emma come out of the well come portal and in less than a second, take her child away from her. She wishes the concentrated magic had been enough. She's had enough.
It is soul crushing to see two people fall into each other's arms, professing their love without so much as a word, especially when you stand outside the circle of their affection, cast out, adrift. It paints a picture clearly to you- of how small you really are, of how much smaller you are becoming with each passing second, like a stone worn out by the water and the wind and time. You're alone, even standing at arm's length of such love.
.
.
Gold is not quite sure whether to feel impressed or lament the stupidity of the woman. Or to rip her head off for it. He understands the lengths a parent will go to for their child. Theoretically. (A little more than that, because he spent centuries manipulating history so that he can mend bridges with his own child, which is a matter for another story.) But Regina is a lost cause. So many years spent grooming her, delicately adjusting the world around her to get to this outcome and all it takes is a boy asking. The irony is not lost in him, really. Regina marches into the wishing well and he knows defeat when he sees it.
It is impressive, the way she walks to the well and stretches out her arms. Devil knows that he did not do the same for his own child. Rather impressive really, because she gives her body to that destructive magic, knowing that the same power that can kill her mother or her nemesis can- and probably will- kill her. Knowing that whether she fails or succeeds, there is no victory for her: she either dies or she loses her son to another woman. Either way, she has just lost.
Stupid. Lamentable. And young Henry stands there asking her to use magic when he spent the last couple of months berating for using it. He stands there like he is entitled to this sacrifice. Not knowing how much of a sacrifice it really is. When she falls dead, maybe he will realise. Or not. People have a nasty habit of seeing only what they want to see, of being blind to the rest. He is, once again, the only one to fully appreciate Regina in this: the bravery, the stupidity, the strength, the sacrifice.
What a shame really that she is of no further use to him.
He leaves her there, of course, because, really, why bother anymore.
He shrugs as he walks home. And then thinks of something else.
.
.
Her hands are burnt, her body is buzzing and shaking still as if she had held on to a live power cable. Her muscles feel disconnected from her bones, all her senses dulled and simultaneously heightened by the surcharge of magic in her body. And all she can think is that doing the right things hurts too much.
Emma Swan and Snow White blurt out sound bites about doing the right thing. Everything with them is about doing the right thing and they say it with the abandon of an easy thing. Why is it that for her it was never easy to do that elusive right thing?
Her body can barely contain the surcharge of magic. It is wringing and rippling inside of her and it wants to come out. It wants to come out and play. All that magic wants out of her, fragile vessel that she is.
It takes everything in her do the right thing. Literally. To stand there, having just lost everything she holds dear while Snow kisses her ever after sloppily as if this was the happy ending of a film.
Not for her.
"Congratulations." Gold punctuates with his cane. "You just reunited mother and son. Maybe one day, they'll even invite you to dinner." For her it's just the beginning of hell.
.
.
What about me? She nearly whimpers as she is left behind.
.
.
"Congratulations." Gold fondles the handle of his cane. "You just reunited mother and son." The thing with Regina was the value for money entertainment. He can't help himself that one final jibe. Like a movie that makes you laugh and cry at the same time. He feels sorry for her because you do not spend decades closely manipulating someone without feeling at least something. He is human after all. But he can't help himself. It's his nature, that of the scorpion that kills the frog it sits on. He cannot help his parting jab. "Maybe one day, they'll even invite you to dinner." Even as he understands the nature of the irredeemable fracture he's causing. He's like the water that sets in the cracks of a rock and freezes during the winter, breaking it apart.
.
.
Regina stands at the back of the shop seeing them walk out. There is happiness enough to go around. Except it does not touch her. Gold ensures that the truth hits home, not that she wouldn't have seen it for herself, experienced as she is in being walked out on. It's quite beyond her, to hold her tears inside. Not this time. A few sneaky ones manage to escape her control. But when everything inside her is broken and there is no one to see it, why bother?
She walks out of the shop, leaving Henry's blanket behind. There is a finality to that, a symbolism in her mind. She will not hold on to crumbs of anything else. She will learn to be alone without the crutches of old baby blankets.
The town is hers alone. The streets are deserted, all the residents cramming themselves into Granny's to celebrate the saviour's return. The empty streets are hers. She does not notice the incongruent ship docking. She does not feel the change in the air. Which is strange. There was a time she would have known just from the change in the wind. But today she does not see the signs, she does not hear the wind murmur to her the change that has come. The rumble in her ears, the burn in her fingers, the pain in her body is too strong, too intense, a fog that shields the world from her.
They are even then, because the world does not see her.
.
.
Cora sees her daughter. She knows it's her even though she is sporting that ridiculous apparel of this world. A mother always knows her daughter. She wants to run to her, but she bids her time as she has done for the last twenty-eight years. Her daughter needs her, that's all she can think about.
She lands carefully in this Storybrooke of Regina's and can't help but feel a little proud that her creation did this: a world that is fully functional, has rules of its own, a thing of beauty really. Even if she could have done it in a more magnificent fashion, with more aplomb, more flair. No matter. They can still correct all the tiny little mistakes. That's what a mother is for.
She walks down the pier. It is really quite remarkable. All the crudeness of the Enchanted Forest is here a carefully manicured reality. She is really quite proud. Who would have guessed that the little squalling, writhing infant she'd had no idea how to calm down would turn into this nearly perfect, powerful creature?
But her daughter is in pain. She can see it, smell it from where she stands. She always did recognise her daughter's pain, known her threshold, a tool she taught her with. And Regina is near the limit. Cora is glad she is here to make it all better. To make Regina better. She walks to her daughter, hands outstretched, ready to hold her. Ready to console her. A mother always knows best.
.
.
Regina is stumbling blindly along, traipsing the line between alive and dead. If anyone ever told you they're lonely by choice, they'd be lying. Regina would be lying. Having only ever wished for someone to hold with her hands as with her heart, she would not tell you that loneliness is just what's left after trying to join the world. After being betrayed by the people in it. There is still pride in her. She will tell you it's her own design.
There was a fleeting moment of panic, familiar and hard learned that has her head snapping in defensive mode. She knows that smell of baby roses, that snapcracklepop of magic in the air. It is not possible. But her senses are dulled and heightened, sharp and blunt. She thinks of the world she built where she could love unheeded by her mother. And then she is out of time.
She falls into her mother's grasp, cold iron hands gripping her shoulders, stopping her from falling. There is a moment of panic. A moment only until all the decades and worlds between them melt away. A moment only until she stops resisting the pull her mother had on her, on her heart. A moment until that weakness that is her love for her mother overcomes all the years of making herself into what she had wanted to be without Cora.
A moment is all it takes.
Then, she simply slides into her mother's embrace, like the good daughter that she was. Is still. Faithfull, obedient, good daughter. And her mother closes her arms around her and whispers "Mother is here now, Regina. Mother will make it all better."
.
.
Cora's arms close around Regina. She missed her daughter. She missed how she can see her life's work in this one creature, the near perfection of her work. Cora remembers all she endured, all she overcame to have Regina in her arms, not just now, but all the days or her life. And, of course, there will come a time – not so far now- when Regina will have to be disciplined for leaving, for trying to kill her, for trying to get distance between them. But this is not the time. Now, her daughter, her creation, needs her.
She can smell the magic, something wild and violent in her daughter. Something so very powerful though alien in that body. Cora is giddy with the power of that magic. She rubs circles on Regina's back. She knows her daughter's weaknesses well. Nothing has changed. A world apart and nothing has changed. Her work is not done, it's not complete.
"Come along, Regina, dear. I have been on a long journey."
A little distance between their bodies is all Regina needs. A little distance, an inch or two would be enough to remember why having her mother here is not a good thing. But the thought is fleeting because her mother still has her arm in an iron fist and soon, like a spell, she starts to forget why that is. And though she does not understand why, the loneliness the day left in her does not feel so sad, so bitter.
She straightens her back and walks a little straighter, a little less broken. It won't do to be weak in the vicinity of her mother. Her mother wants a strong daughter. Her mother always reminds her of her strength. She is never weak when standing in front of her mother. Not unless it is to bend to her mother's will. But even that thought will fade in a while and all that will be left of it is the need for strength. The years are just melting away.
Her mother takes her arm and the order is implicit and the old fear surfaces again. But it is something familiar and well known. Her heart knows this well. Her heart knows how to live with it, deal with it. Her body knows all the reactions like a familiar song and it is far less scary that it should be. It feels right, as if she was just returning home where everything is familiar, she knows the place of everything. She has a place here. It is not what she wanted for herself. But maybe mother does know best. Maybe mother does know what is best for her.
She will not need to make any decisions, she will not need to struggle to be better. Because mother will show her the way. Mother will take care of her.
Maybe she should have surrendered to this from the beginning. All the struggle for what? So that Emma could have her child cared for while she was away? So that Snow could win? Good always won after all. So why try? Why try to fit into a role that is not hers?
She opens the door with a thought. The magic coursing through her is pleased at having an outlet. It tortures her body a little less. As she moves down her drive way, she spruces up her garden and fixes the broken windows, mends the roof, clears the pathway, repairs her tree. The magic in her is alive and enjoys being used. The hurt and the pain subside. Her mother approves. Her mother enjoys power. She approves. How long has it been since someone has approved of her?
And it's not like anyone will notice and condemn her use of magic.
Her best behaviour is what she knows, something easy and clear. Not this stumbling around trying to do and be better. And always, always failing. Regina is tired of failing.
Cora looks up and down her walls, studying the modern comforts of Storybrooke. "So this is your Henry?" She questions looking at the framed pictures.
"He is not mine."
"That does not sound complicated at all. I was told it was."
Regina simply shakes her head.
"Well, dear, then get rid of it."
Love is weakness. "Yes, mother." And without a thought, the pictures are gone, as if they had never been. But something in her face must be telling a different story because her mother simply shrugs as if she had been sighing for a new horse. "If it bothers you, dear, just go and get it. If it's yours, get it back."
.
.
There is still enough of me to tell mother that I don't want Henry any longer. To sound like a child bored with a toy. It is what I need to do. Then, I surrender. I love you, mother. You are my weakness.
.
.
Henry dreams of a woman arriving on a boat and taking the Evil Queen from him. In the morning, he shakes Emma from her deep slumber. "Mom."
He knows Emma is not accustomed to the title. So he shakes her a bit more and repeats until, in her sleep, she connects the hand that shakes her with the meaning of the word and stumbles into awakeness. "Henry. What is it? Is everything okay?"
It should be, shouldn't it? He is where he has wanted to be all along.
But it is not okay and it's not because Emma does not touch him as a first instinct like his mom does but because he can feel it in the air, the change. And it's nothing good.
"I wanna see my mom."
He sees Emma struggling to become awake. "It's a little early, Henry…" She rubs at her face. "Let's grab some breakfast first and then we can…"
"Okay." He stops her at the short. "Go back to sleep, Emma." This will be faster if he takes matters in his own hands. It is a testament to how tired Emma is that she falls back into bed and simply closes her eyes. "Just give me five minutes, Kid. Five minutes."
Yeah, okay, five minutes is all he needs, anyway. He grabs his coat and sprints down the stairs. He will be back in less than that; he just needs to make sure.
.
.
It does not give him pause the spick and span state of the house (even if for last 2 months all the disrepair had gone unheeded because his mom was not using magic and no one had it in them to help her fix the damage done by the wraith and the weather and the mob.)
He walks to the door and it opens of its own accord and that yes, gives him a moment of consideration. It's magic, he can feel it. But he is willing to forgive his mom that little slip. She's saved Emma. She's saved his mom and his grandmother and he is willing to cut her some slack.
But when a woman walks down the corridor regarding him as a bug to be crushed, his dream comes alive and he knows the change for what it is: a terrible, terrible thing.
"Well… Henry, I believe." The woman in strange clothes approaches him, her steps slow but menacing, the smile pleasant but terrifying.
"I want to see my mom." Henry summons all his bravery. He is the son of the White Knight, after all. He is brave and he has nothing to fear. But when he looks around, he notices the absence of the pictures of him that his mother keeps. "I want my mom." It comes out as a little whimper.
"Look around you, you silly boy." He does. Nothing about the house has changed. And yet, everything is different, colder, somehow. "You have hurt my daughter. You will not do that again. I am here now."
"I. Want. My. Mom." Henry utters through gritted teeth.
But the Regina that walks down the steps is not his mom. The clothes are the same. The body. The smell. But the walk, the eyes, the hard set of the shoulders are not the same. That is all Evil Queen. "Mom?" He asks in pathetic tentativeness.
The smile on her face is truly terrifying. She circles him like the lions on the National Geographic Channel do, circling their prey. She touches a finger to his face. "Your mother is where you left her, Henry."
"You're my mom too."
That predatory smile never falters, but her finger on his cheek trembles slightly. It tells him a different story. One she will not of her own accord. "Not anymore. Dear."
"What do you mean? You're my mom. You. Are. My. Mom."
"No. You have made that abundantly clear, Henry. Go back home. Your mother will worry." And she walks away from the room, leaving him with Cora.
"Are you quite sure, dear? If you want it, you are welcome to keep it." Cora says. She is willing to take in a pet. She had learnt her daughter has a penchant for squalling brats she never quite understood, but if the time and distance have taught her anything is to be… flexible.
"No, Mother." Regina says on her way out, a slow languorous walk, as if she had all the time in the world.
"But mom! I…"
"You what, Henry?" Regina asks, a sliver of something in her eyes Henry is too young to identify but it looks a lot like hope.
"I…"
"I see." Henry is not too young to put a name to the fleeting expression. It's called hurt. He just doesn't know what to do to make it better. He sees her walking away and even if he comes to live a hundred years, he will never again feel such sadness as the one he feels as the distance between their two bodies grows, his mother walking away from him.
He gets out of the house that was his home and runs, unsure of where to go or what to do. He just runs.
.
.
"Love is weakness, Regina."
"I know, mother. I'm sorry."
"You can be great Regina. You have the makings of greatness in you. Don't let your heart ruin it all for you. You almost did, once."
"I know, mother. I am sorry. It will not happen again."
"I forgive you Regina. I forgive you for trying to have me killed. For pushing me through that mirror." The hand in Regina's arm squeezes cruelly and it is like being injected with liquid pain and fire and sorrow. "For being a disobedient child. I forgive you because I love you. And I am here forever. I will never leave you again. Because I love you."
"I know mother." Regina sighs and it is a disconsolate sound. "You are the only one that does."
Cora gathers her daughter to her. "Yes, I am." And there is glee in her face.
.
.
Will the celebrations and the gifts ever stop? It's lunch time and there are casserole dishes and bottles of wine, flowers and small gifts pilling in Mary Margaret's kitchen. Emma cannot understand why. All she did was save her son and bring herself back from hell. She has done nothing special for anyone specific. And yet, people shower her in affection she still does not how to reciprocate. And where the hell is Henry? She remembers him saying something about his mom. Wanting to see his mom. She was so out of it. He wanted to see his mom. Regina. And it's lunch time and he's not back yet. From a five minute away address. She calls Regina but there is nothing but a ringing tone that connects to nothing, no human voice, no answering machine.
God, Regina. She misses the snark and the snide. She misses the normalcy of that. And what is it with that smile of hers? Emma liked that smile. Such a beautiful smile. How can anyone coming from that mother have such a beautiful smile? Have raised such a beautiful child as Henry? He is probably with her. She should go too. She should go and say thank you properly. She should cook a casserole dish of something warming and inviting and go to her. That's what good people do. They cook too much food and they say thank you.
She puts on clean clothes and walks and then runs those five minutes to Regina's door. Forget about the casserole dish. They can do the cooking thing another day. Today she just wants to get there. She wants to see Regina and Henry too, of course. She wants to say thank you properly. Probably even hug it out or something affectionate like that.
But when she gets to the door, it's not Regina that comes greeting nor Henry that comes running. It's Cora. Cora in her Enchanted Forest regalia.
"What have you done to her?" Emma demands. She gets into Cora's personal space. "Where is Regina? What have you done to her?" And she's going to barge in. She's going to push her way past Cora and see for herself the damage that Cora has inflicted on her daughter and she's going to save Regina from that woman because that's what the saviour is supposed to do, to save the ones in need.
The blast comes out of nowhere.
"You are a very stupid girl, Emma Swan. Do you think that just because your heart is safe from me the rest of you is? Let me assure you, you are as killable as anyone." And to demonstrate, she blasts Emma again, tossing her to the floor like a bowling pin. Emma stands and walks only to be knocked down again. And again. "You have hurt my daughter, Emma Swan. Do you think I, her mother, will let you do that again?" And she blasts Emma again.
Emma wipes blood from her mouth and stands. "REGINA" she yells. And is blasted again to the floor. "REGINA"
Regina appears then. Only it's not the same Regina of the day before or Mayor Mills or anyone Emma has ever met before. That is the Evil Queen, even if she's missing the crazy hairdo and the sexy-goth clothes from the pictures in the book. That's someone with eyes that are not quite dead and a world removed from the woman that smiled warmly at her yesterday.
"What did she do to you, Regina?" Emma stands and walks to Regina, her steps never faltering. She climbs the steps and stands nose to nose with Regina, trying to assess the damage, trying to get a secret message from Regina, something like I am being held against my will or any variation of it. But all she sees is the loving gaze Regina directs at her mother.
"My mother loves me, Miss Swan. Now, what are you doing here? What more would you have from the Evil Queen?" And Regina closes the gap that separates them, a malefic smile in her transformed face, a smile that promises pain. Emma reaches her hand to touch that face. No, this is all wrong. She came to visit the Regina from yesterday, the Regina that had saved her from certain death at the wishing well.
But as she would have touched Regina, her hand is transformed into a burnt stump, something ugly and unrecognizable. "Where is Henry?" Emma manages to spit out. With Regina it's always this. You reach out only to have your hand bitten off. It angers Emma. It angers her so much she gives up on Regina and settles for taking her son home. They can have another go around when she is feeling less tired.
Regina's face changes. It's almost funny the abrupt change, something cartoonish. And then Emma is flying again, this time all the way to the garden gate. "You have lost Henry?" And her fury is that of knives and fire and ice, all of them becoming a physical thing hitting and cutting at Emma. "You have lost my_"
As if realising a mistake, Regina stops her sentence as if she's said nothing. She raises Emma from the floor, not even a wrist flicker needed. Henry is not hers. He's not hers to worry over, not hers to suffer for. Not in front of her mother. Not in front of Emma Swan.
Emma dusts herself from the floor, always studying the mercurial queen, never realising there is nothing cut, burnt or damaged on her, that she has both hands. "What happened to you?" She whispers to herself as Regina retreats into the house, her arm draping over her mother's.
Emma knows something about that love of Cora's. She can smell it in the air. It is toxic and suffocating. And she understands why Regina would leave her mother, of all people, behind. She doesn't understand why Regina would succumb to it now, when everything is going so well.
What happened to you?
.
.
Gold studies Emma Swan, saviour extraordinaire. Silly, silly girl. She walks out of the mayoral mansion, tail between her legs. Saviour indeed. Whatever she saved, it was by happy accident.
He continues his walk making sure to cross paths with Emma. He stops in front of her. "Are you quite alright, deary?"
"I… I don't understand. She… I mean… yesterday she was…"
"Different?" He enquires solicitous. He makes a show of repairing the torn cardigan Emma is wearing, something out of her mother's closet, perhaps.
"Yeah… What happened?"
"Oh, you know…" he shrugs. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that…"
"Gold, I am not in the mood for this crap. Stop with the riddles for once."
"Ah… not in the mood for interpretations, are we, Miss Swan… Well," He turns to the house Regina and her mother have just disappeared into. "I'd say then, carelessness, abandonment, neglect… take your pick, Miss Swan. Any will do just fine."
"But I… I mean, Henry came to see her and I… I wanted to say thank you. I wanted…."
"I'm not sure what you wanted Miss Swan," Though his tone says exactly the opposite. "But the words too little too late occur to me."
"Too late?"
"Indeed. Now, I would quite appreciate your help, if you wouldn't mind."
"Later." Emma tosses carelessly over her shoulder at him and turns to face the mansion, heart breaking though she does not really understand why.
Too late?