From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow, I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Edgar Allen Poe – Alone
-x-x-x-
A/N: This is what happens when an annoying angst bunny keeps hopping around in your head when you're already suffering from a severe lack of sleep.
In any case, the approximate time frame for this story would be after Emma/Snow return from the well. It just assumes Cora didn't arrive until later. Way later.
-x-x-x-
You still think of him as David in your mind. Even if he is your dad now. It has been several months since that discovery. Several horribly confusing months. And though you've slowly come to terms with Snow White and Prince Charming being your parents, of all people, calling him dad still doesn't come easy to you. It never might.
But you'd like to think you're making progress.
"Dad, I really think we should try a different approach."
He's spooning some cereal into his mouth during the lulls in the brainstorming you two are doing. The sight makes you sick. Again. The sandwich you managed to stuff down your throat earlier is making a decent attempt at trying to escape your body by force, but you manage to suppress the urge by averting your eyes away from David's soggy breakfast.
You aren't too sure what you are supposed to be looking at instead. The door behind your father is out of the question. The hurt still too raw. And everything else around just reminds you of the things you'd rather not be reminded of. The losses you've suffered; the ache in your chest from a heart that might as well have been torn out; the way that it hurts you every time it beats.
It's the silence more than anything, that startles you out of your reverie and as you cast your eyes towards David again, he's looking at you expectantly. As if you have all the answers. You used to think you did. Even as being the savior, the proverbial white knight, feels more of a burden than a blessing, you could always fall back on thinking on your feet to get you out of a scrape. But this is hardly a scrape, you realize, as you watch the flickering of uncertainty in your father's eyes.
It's just the two of you now, and you've never felt more unsure of what to do.
You're saved from trying to stutter your way through more half-assed plans by the noise coming from behind your father. Though there has been some vague mumbling coming from the room before, both of you have been trying to put off visiting the room as much as you could. But it's different this time. Her voice is louder, frantic almost, and then you realize as you draw nearer to the door, that there is a second person in there.
But when you open the door a moment later, she's alone. Unharmed. The latter comes as a relief, the former makes your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Glancing over at your father, you find the same sort of baffled expression on his face that must be residing on your own too. There had been a second person, you are sure of it. As sure as you are about the identity of the person.
The thought makes your heart leap into your throat.
"Emma..."
"Mom?"
For some reason calling her mother comes easier to you than calling David, dad. You don't know why exactly, but you do know it hurts David. You sometimes spy the pained expression on his face when you call him David instead of dad, when he thinks you aren't looking. Both of them should've realized by now that you are always looking. It makes you see the things that no one else does.
"Charming!" You watch Snow practically sob as she spots your father, "It's back. My heart, I have it back!"
You watch, still horribly confused, as your mother frantically tugs at the bindings that tie her limbs to the bed. It had been a precaution, one that Snow herself had insisted on. One that you and your father were extremely reluctant to carry out, even after a lot of begging by your mother. You recognized at the time that it was the only way either of you could be sure that Snow's body wouldn't be controlled for nefarious purposes, but it still didn't make it any easier.
And all you could feel at the time was betrayal.
All you could think of was that your mother's life was now in the hands of a person you thought you trusted.
You sent Henry away when it happened. Out of town, safely away from it all. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing the look in his eyes when the final pieces of the crumbling world he had once known came tumbling down on his head. And you certainly didn't want to take the risk of him stumbling into his grandmother's room one day and find her lifeless eyes staring back at him.
But it has been two days now, and none of the worst case scenarios you conjured up in your head actually happened. In fact nothing had happened. Until now.
In between your father's and your own initial disbelief, Snow stumbles through her attempts to explain what just transpired in the tiny room. It's only when you, after a long moment of hesitation and much prompting by your mother, slowly slide your hand into her previously empty chest cavity, to feel a steadily beating heart inhabiting it again; that tears of relief spring into your eyes.
The unspoken; how? goes unanswered at first.
But it's when your mother speaks her name that you stop undoing the knots of the ropes that bind Snow's arms to the headboard, and stumble backwards against the wall. It's the surprise, you try to tell yourself, the surprise that she was the one that returned Snow's heart. It couldn't possibly be a semblance of agonizing regret that crashes squarely into your chest.
It takes you a lot of courage to ask the one question that matters to you. "What did she say?" And even when whispered, the words feel too loud in your ears. Feeling as if they might break what tenuous hold you have on your emotions with every letter that rolls across your lips.
"To trust her."
And the sick feeling you had before returns in full force. You no longer care that your parents might notice, when you grab the nearest trashcan to spill your stomach's contents into.
You heave until there's nothing left. Nothing except the tears. And even those run out eventually.
-x-x-x-
None of you notice the folded scrap of paper on the bedside table at first. Not until it's already too late. Almost immediately you feel the sucker punch to your gut. The knowledge that something is terribly wrong, but without knowing what it is.
The utter look of panic must be easily noticeable on your face, as both of your parents divert their attention from the return of Snow's heart and question you about what's going on. You don't know how to explain. How can you, when your drawing blank yourself. There's really only one thing you can do.
To go see her.
And when you arrive, it makes sense that the barrier that had been around her house for the last couple of weeks, is gone.
The signs of battle follow soon after. Patches of scorched earth. Every window of the house reduced to shards of broken glass. Flowers and shrubbery once so lovingly tended to, lay uprooted and strewn across the scene before you. The whole garden looks as if a child had picked up his set of toys and thrown them across the floor. A rosebush protected by a large rock on which it used to cling to, still has two intact flowers in full bloom attached to it. An odd sense of loss hits you as you realize it won't be long until they also wither away.
Your movements become slower, sluggish almost, as you become all at once, keenly aware of where she is, without actually seeing her. Without needing to. The sense of dread becomes stronger with every step you take, but you still press on.
It's your father that finds Cora. Lying in the grass, her glassy eyes staring forward unseeing, a horribly contorted expression on her face. One of her hands is stretched out in front of her body, reaching for something that isn't there. That might never have been there. Reaching for something that would be forever out of reach.
Deep inside you know what happened. You've known since you saw the folded scrap of paper and felt the power of the words it hid within.
The apple-tree still stands. There's some strange sense of irony in that. You remember so clearly the first time you laid your eyes upon it. And the day you took a chainsaw to one of the branches as you both took turns playing a game none of you were ever going to win.
At the end of the day, you think as a bone-deep sadness washes over you, neither of you had.
You'd been drawn to her even then. Like a moth to a flame. It was only a matter of time before you'd end up getting burned. Even then, you suspect, the feeling had been mutual.
You haven't really talked much about those days. It feels like it all happened a lifetime ago now. Before she changed. Before she became less of a mayor, less of the evil queen from storybooks, and more like the truly fragile woman that hid underneath all of the facades.
You had fallen in love with all of her though. Even admitted as such. It had taken her longer to come to terms with it.
And then her mother had arrived.
You don't want to think it's really true, when your eyes take in the form that's reclining against the tree. She almost looks as if she is just resting, gathering her bearings after the battle with her mother. Her head hangs forward limply, as if she might fall forward at any moment, but even that doesn't really convince you that she's truly gone.
Strangely it's the look of almost serene peace on her face when you kneel down next to her, that breaks through the muted haze that dampened everything since your mother got her heart back. An ocean of tears soon follows.
Your mind flits back towards the scrap of paper tucked into one of the pockets on your jacket. The words burned through everything earlier. And when one of your trembling hands reaches for it again, you find they still do.
I understand why you don't trust me, though I thought we had reached an understanding finally, after everything we've been through. I'm sorry about what I had to do. It was the only way to gain my mother's trust. Funny that it only hits me now how ironic that one small word is.
If nothing else, Emma, please at least trust in the strength of my love for you.
And as much as I trust that you will take care of Henry for me, trust that I will take care of everything else.
~Regina
You feel your mother's hand squeeze your shoulder softly, as you lean against the apple-tree and slowly, almost reverently move Regina's broken body onto your lap. You're too numb to feel anything after that.
A dozen kisses later you realize that not everything can be solved like that. Certainly not your own inability to put your differences aside, and return every bit of trust Regina put in you. That she did this for you, and only for you, doesn't make it hurt any less.
The tears start to fall anew, after you've kissed her a few more times. Her body is growing colder in your arms but you don't care. There's nothing else left but this moment and you cling to it with a desperation you've never felt before.
"I love you. I'm sorry."
You whisper the words over and over. You know better than to think that any sort of an apology, any number of kisses, any amount of tears you shed, would bring her back to you.
"I'm so sorry."
Swallowing around the thick lump that feels like it's permanently lodged in your throat you cry out the only words you've got left to her lifeless form.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough," you manage to whisper in between hitched breaths. "I should've told you."
You know it won't matter anymore in reality. But it does matter to you.
"I should've trusted you enough to tell you..."
It means something, when you grab a hold of one of her already stiffening arms. It means something when you raise your t-shirt up slightly, up from the pants that will soon become too tight to wear anymore. It means something when you move her cold hand across your belly that is already starting to swell slightly with the life that's growing within.
"...you were going to be a mother again."
-x-x-x-