Put Her Hand in Mine

by MysticSong1978

SwanQueen short from Regina's perspective. Set at the end of S3 Ep 11, when Emma & Henry must flee from the curse, and Regina gifts Emma with memories. Regina's thoughts. One-shot. My new first fan fic in 9 years. Pondering a song mash-up from 'Once Upon a Time' (1962), 'Big Yellow Taxi' (1970), and 'These Are Days' (1992) inspired this. My title comes from 1 of those songs.

She put her hand in mine, and the light in her eyes was dimmed by the threat of tears. And I knew. I knew that she was, without a doubt, my real true love.

And she was leaving.

With my son.

But I had to let her. The curse was nearly upon us, and we'd all be swept away to the Enchanted Forest. But Henry was born of this world, and I couldn't leave him alone. His mother was actually born of my world . . . but she'd lived in this one since she was an infant, and I thought perhaps the curse would pass her by if she were out of range.

My gift to her was my silence. I would forever hold her in my heart, and she would only remember me in that place between sleep and awake; where you're never really sure if what you remember is a true memory or only the mere vestiges of a dream or nightmare.

I would suffer the aching loss. And if she felt it, she'd perhaps hurt even more, for she'd have no understanding of where that bone deep grief came from. If.

I don't even know if she loves me back . . . but I like to think that she does.

We went from enemies to grudging acquaintances, to an actual friendship. And now? Now I do believe love has come to me, and once again, I must lose love.

So I will keep my silence. And I give that to her, along with memories, so that she will truly believe that she'd raised him on her own. That she never gave him up.

He won't remember me at all.

And it hurts as much, if not more, than losing her because I can't give voice to what I feel.

The others cannot know, because they will remember, and they will either hate me or pity me, and I've had enough of both of those emotions to last me several lifetimes.

It is too much to hope that I will see her and my son again.

And hope has never been kind to me.

But I keep that grain of hope nestled close in my heart.

It keeps the chill away, just ever so slightly.

I force myself to keep my eyes open as they drive away from me in her beat-up yellow car, possibly forever, until the purple clouds encase us and I can see nothing.

If only I had known before it was too late.

If only . . .