DREAMS ARE JUST LIKE WINE
... And I am drunk with mine.
Regina wonders if this is what it feels like to win. It certainly seems like it, sometimes.
When she wakes and sees the blonde sleeping next to her. Often with a pillow clamped around her head, as if she unconsciously remembered at some point morning would come, and wanted to ignore it for as long as possible. When she pulls the pillow away and the grumpy sheriff wonders if she really has to get up now, and the mayor reminds the younger woman yes, she does, that those doughnuts at the police department won't eat themselves. When the savior chuckles and apologizes for her morning breath and wonders why the queen never has it, or when her rebellious blonde kisses her good morning...
Well, it has to be some sort of victory.
Likewise, as she makes breakfast for her son, and he sits there cautiously watching her, it is a sort of bitter victory. Even though he watches her like a hawk, often asking her to name every ingredient like she might sneak in some poison if he isn't vigilant. He talks to her, mostly of pointed subjects like his grandparents or how he is glad she isn't using magic now, but if she was she could tell him and he wouldn't be mad, as long as she told him and then fixed what she'd done. She reminds herself she is winning as she sits beside him with a cup of coffee, and notices the fact his face lights up like a Christmas tree when his birth mother finally joins them, as if he hasn't seen a friendly face all day.
The savior sits down next to her, dipping a bakery fresh croissant in her coffee like she won't mind, and drags both of them into conversation. And her son does so, begrudgingly but eventually happily, because he is still a boy and there is a part of him that wants to believe. Yes, she thinks, this is victory.
Even when she asks her son if he'd like a ride to school and he says he'd rather go with Emma. Who often tries to throw out an excuse, oh, Henry, I can't. I have to be to the station early... She knows this evasion is an attempt to get him to agree to the alternative, but her son, the one she raised for ten years all by herself, always says he would rather walk.
This is triumph, she reminds herself, as she tells the blonde, you should take him.
The savior will give her a searching look, like she might be able to tell if taking him is somehow still the wrong thing to do. She sees nothing and turns to the boy and agrees, Okay, kid. Regina can pick you up.
She knows that her son will have gone to see her or his grandparents before she arrives.
This does not stop her from going, every day, in the hopes that he will be there.
This is my victory, she thinks, and it is sweet.
She watches her son go get his things. She feels the saviors lips at her throat and a soft tease that she will take that ride seeing as Henry doesn't want it. She kisses her blonde prize and ignores the way her heart quavers. She pretends to be embarrassed when her son clears his throat to get them to separate.
The savior reminds the boy that she is allowed to kiss her girlfriend, but her son does not answer. He just looks at her with those cold, sad eyes. Emma rolls her eyes, thinking he is just being a boy, disgusted by his parents showing how much they love each other. She gives her queen another peck to say goodbye, and looks at Henry expectantly until he too coughs up a goodbye, Regina. Regina. Not mom.
Yes, she thinks. I've won. She tells herself that, over and over, as the two walk to that atrocious yellow bug, and she can hear her son whispering, Mom, it isn't real. You have to know that. She did this to you.
Even as the blonde sharply tells their son that is impossible, Regina tries to convince herself of her victory.
She goes to work, usually she walks. It's only a few blocks. Before she drove her Mercedes, a statement. A queen in her modern chariot. Now she walks. She's found a different way to rule. The new residents, they wave and say hello. They smile and they compliment. They ask how her son is, how her partner is. She smiles back. These normal people were the idea of her savior. She remembers the night the blonde whispered into her hair, you know, we could make this place a real town now. She is glad they did, the place had been so dull after the mass bean exodus to the Enchanted Forest. These simple people, they don't question her motives. They don't think of her as the evil queen, just Mayor Mills. They respect her. Some even like her. It is not hard to convince herself of the victory when she is surrounded by a populace that finally respects her power.
She is stopped, as she often is, by Snow White. It is hard to recognize her as she is now. Grey darts through her once perfect raven locks. Pain and loss have taken her beauty, and only her grief remains. The darkness and her loss has drowned her.
She cries, she screams. You stole her, you witch, you took my baby from me. Snow always starts with anger. It comes easier to her now. But she folds as quickly as she snaps. Please, Regina. You can have me. Take my heart. Just give back my baby. Please. Don't do this, I'll forgive you if you just let her go. Please. Please. Please.
Regina will look around the crowd, who looks sympathetic and perturbed. Oh, Mary Margaret, she says, voice coated in pity and concern. Are you off your medication again? Her eyes burn like the fire she threw her father's heart into.
The truth in her eyes is clearer than any poignant fairytale with curling script and trite happy endings.
What makes you think I want your forgiveness, Snow? I want your agony.
Snow often tries to strike her when she says this. Sometimes Regina lets her. Today she does. The crowd jumps into action, saving the mayor from her partner's crazed, unstable mother. A woman asks if she is okay and she nods, letting tears prick her eyes.
She hears the steady beat of the boots as her savior comes. Snow begins to sob, reaching out for her daughter desperately, as if a mother's touch might heal her.
The savior does not even glance at her mother. Regina allows her savior to run her cool fingers across the stark red mark on the slant of her cheek. She sees the anger cloud in her lover's eyes as she turns on her mother.
The crowd pulls away from the broken Snow White as her own daughter moves to her, cuffs in hand.
There is Prince Charming, as always late to the rescue. He is in a strange stance, knowing his wife isn't completely wrong, but knowing just the same that this woman that remains is no longer Snow. Whatever she is, he is convinced he still loves her, and he tries to protect her.
Emma, please. He searches her face, desperate to find some sort of sympathy. There is none to find.
She fucking attacked her, David. Go get her bail money, you should know how much by now. The savior cinches the cuffs on her sobbing mother. Charming tries again.
Please, I'm here now. I'll take care of her. You know she's not herself. She's just worried about you. David touches the leather clad arm, and his eyes beg with eloquence that his words fail to muster.
See you at the precinct, David, is all that Emma says, pulling her arm out of his reach. She drags Snow away, ducking her into the bug. Regina meets her there, and reassures her that it is fine, she is fine, when her prize kisses her and whispers that she's sorry.
Oh, it feels like victory as she tells Snow that she hopes she feels better soon, with that slow and dark smirk pulling across her lips. Yes, this is winning, she thinks. I have won.
She knows it, as she holds her sobbing lover later that day. Emma Swan, strong and stubborn as an ox, brought to tears. She runs her fingers through her blonde curls and reassures her as the blonde sobs. If she would just accept us... If she would just try...
Regina kisses the saviors temple and tells her maybe one day. She knows how false the words are, but Emma wants to believe so she will not call her on the lie. As her blonde swan kisses her hungrily, like she's oxygen and the girl is drowning, Regina thinks, yes. This is what I wanted. This is what I worked for.
She wishes she could remember how strong she feels in that moment as she watches her son kiss Emma goodnight, every night, without fail. As always, he hopes true love will break the curse. She watches the heartbreak on his face that his birth mother doesn't understand. Emma will smile at him, thinking that she's finally earned his acceptance and his affection.
Regina gets no kiss. Her son walks past her without even a goodnight unless the blonde is around to make him.
As her enemies daughter tastes the most intimate part of her, as the evil queen screams the name of the nuisance who broke her curse, she feels her victory keenly.
As Emma kisses her goodnight, she feels it still.
It breaks when the savior whispers I love you, soft but certain, and the queen's chest aches. Because as much as she wants to believe, she knows the truth.
You cannot make someone love you. You can only make them think they do.
Regina whispers it back, I love you. When this charade started, she had avoided saying it. Emma Swan can sniff out a lie from a mile away. But Emma just smiles that sleepy smile the queen is so fond of, somewhere between sleeping and waking where those walls have finally tumbled down. Emma kisses her again, and snuggles against her to go to sleep.
This is my victory, the queen thinks, as her prize sleeps pressed to her side. She feels the tears down her regal face as she tries to convince herself. This is my validation, my success. This is what I wanted.
As she fails to sleep, her lies dissolve.
Her victory is as false as the love of her savior, but she knows now that she can't exist without either. Even though they are pale mockeries of reality, if she lost them, she would have nothing.
The shadow of the Savior's love is all she will get. The savior will never truly love her.
Regina thinks of her mentors words, and how true they are.
All magic comes at a price.
She remembers her words to her father, so simple and so naive. I just want to be happy. This was supposed to be what she wanted, her crushing victory over the stupid girl who ruined her chance at a Happy Ending. For the last seconds of her day, she allows herself to consider the reality that she will never be happy. She will never be loved.
This will have to be good enough.