A/N: And the plot thickens. It's getting more intricate as I go, and it's really taken on a mind of its own at this point. Your reviews are always appreciated!
Regina comes well after midnight. The fire is roaring in the hearth, stoked by an exhausted Emma for herself and the two overnight wayfarers who are conspiring in the very back of the tavern. Long shadows sling across the dirt floor, not quite reaching the inky corners and walls.
The door creaks open, and Emma knows it's Her. She smiles weakly at the woman, whose return smile is an empty echo of the former's. Emma locks eyes with Ruby, who is cleaning off tables and righting downed chairs. Understanding passes between them, and Emma tells Regina to follow her.
She leads Regina outside to the courtyard. Her eyes swallow the twinkling stars above them, as if using their light for strength. She moves into the darkened kitchen, where she builds up another fire in silence. Regina sits, prim as always, in the worn seat that Emma considers synonymous with Granny.
Emma moves around the kitchen, gathering up ingredients as she goes, knowing but not acknowledging the fact that Regina's eyes are tracking her every movement. Only when a small pot filled with strange ingredients is on the hearth does she take the chair next to Regina and speak.
"Why?" Emma asks, boiling down all of her questions into a single word. She knows Regina knows more than she can even imagine, but also knows she likely has her reasons for not wanting to tell her.
Regina's hands grip the table edge. Her eyes dart to the side before closing. "I was entrusted with a child once. I was told to keep her safe because she was in danger. I wasn't able to do that." Here, Regina pauses, her brown eyes flicking up to gauge Emma's reaction. Encouraged by what she saw, she continues, "It was the worst mistake I've ever made. Her life wasn't what I—what any of us—had hoped for. So when I saw Henry, and knew he was destined for the same fate, I jumped at the chance to redeem myself. To give him a good, safe life. I was at the penitentiary when he was born, so I knew who you were. I told myself that if you were released, and if you were in a place where you could properly care for him, that I would give him back. But I—once you were released, I couldn't."
Emma's heart constricted for the woman. Her hand reaches out to gently cup the woman's jaw, pulling her face toward Emma. Her fingers come alive, but she tries to ignore it.
"You love him," Emma says simply, understanding coloring her eyes.
Regina nods once, gently moving away from the hand. "More than anything." Her shoulders stiffen, though, and something akin to a growl rumbles in her throat. But he doesn't love me, she thinks. Instead, she accuses the blonde of what she knows is true. "You're going to take him away from me."
Emma shakes her head no, moving to the pot on the fire. She brings the pot to the table, setting it down on the wood before moving to get two mugs. Regina waits, scrutinizing the blonde expectantly. The blonde stirs the liquid in the pot and pours it into the two mugs. It's a dark brown color, flecked with what Regina presumes is some spice.
"Wait for it to cool down," Emma warns before sliding the mug carefully over the bumpy wood to Regina.
An expectant eyebrow raises in question. "A friend named Chel from a land far away taught me how to make this. It's called chocolatl."
Regina peers into the cup, her nostrils flaring with curiosity. "It smells smooth and spicy and sweet," she says, confusing lacing her tone. Those weren't normally things that went together. Emma just smiles in response, taking a cautious sip of her own beverage.
It was the perfect temperature, and she exclaims, "Gods this is good," before she knows what she is even doing. She smiles sheepishly. It isn't as if she hasn't had it before. But every damned time is as good as the first.
Regina smiles back, and this time it's almost real. She takes a tentative sip of the liquid and hums pleasantly. "This is quite…something."
"It's my favorite," Emma answers. "But I don't drink it often because cocoa is hard to come by here."
Regina lets out a quiet 'thank you' into her mug. She waits for Emma to speak.
"You're his mom," Emma says finally. She looks down into the dark beverage for courage. "I—I would really like to be a part of his life. But I would never take him from you."
Relief sweeps briefly over the brunette's features before being chased away by fear. She inhales a shuddering breath and holds it so long that Emma is sure she's going to pass out. After long seconds of holding her own breath in subconscious tandem with the woman across from her, she finally lets it out in a whoosh as the brunette looks back up at her.
"You weren't supposed to know any of this," she says softly. "Do you know what day it is today?"
Emma scrunches up her face in thought. Well it is the day she met her long-lost son for the first time. So there is that. She shakes her head 'no.'
"Today is your birthday. You're eight-and-twenty years today, Emma."
The words were so soft Emma almost had to ask Regina to repeat them. They rang hollow and loud in her ears all at once, and things went decidedly fuzzy around the edges.
She feels her eyes slide up from the table, drag their way up a torso she knows she can't linger on, and land with uncertainty on the brunette's marble face. The firelight flickers over her unmoving features, imbuing her with an even further aura of mystery—like she could disappear at any moment. It's the last thing she wants her companion to do.
"Who are you?" Emma whispers, afraid to break the spell. At this Regina laughs bitterly, all too aware of her heart beating a tattoo that was simply so wrong.
"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I'm technically your step-grandmother."
Emma can't help the warm liquid that goes spraying out of her mouth. She's coughing, choking and wheezing in a highly embarrassing and wholly unladylike fashion. Her eyes are watering and she's certain that Granny will give her a whole lot of grief for the brown stains seeping into the bust of her white linen shirt. It's all she can think about—the rapidly cooling liquid causing the damp fabric to stick to her chest; Granny's ire; Regina is her grandmother; her breathing is coming easier but unbelievably rapidly; she should do something about those stains; water, perhaps?
The thoughts rolled on. She didn't even notice the other woman leave the table. She only noticed when said woman was pressing a wet rag to her chest, hands and face far too close for Emma's comfort.
"Hey," Emma says, scrambling backwards in the chair. "Whoa." Her heart is hammering and she's not even sure if it's because Regina is so close or if it's because Regina is her relative and is so close or if it's because Regina exists, but she just knows she needs to leave.
Her eyes meet the brunette's, questions and apologies shining within them, before she scrambles out of the kitchen in a mad tangle of limbs and shock. She tears across the courtyard and into the barn, finding Quixote's leather bridle and gently coaxing it into the horse's mouth. She leaps onto the horse there in the barn, not bothering to close the stable doors as she urges the steed into a quick trot that takes her right past Regina, who is smiling in bitter victory.
She doesn't hear the woman mutter, "Good. Maybe she'll stay away." She wants to follow the blonde and tell her everything, but she also wants to run away and never look back. Because the known status quo sometimes seems brighter than an uncertain future. Especially when you technically have none.
Once on the outer road, Emma urges Quixote into a rolling canter and finally into a thundering gallop. She regrets not taking a lantern with her, but trusts that her horse has better night vision than she does. The cool night air bites at her cheeks, nipping its way into her bones. It's sterile and it opens her lungs up to breathe properly again.
When she feels far enough away from everything, Emma slows Quixote to a walk, letting her amble for a while to cool her down. Eventually she feels tired, pulls her horse off the road and into the cover of trees, and settles into a thick pile of leaves for a fitful night's rest.
Emma wakes with a shock. She shakes her head, dispelling it of dreams filled with clock towers, a scaly golden man, red peaches, deep snowdrifts, a rope, a deck of cards…
The images string together and blend in an incongruous soup that sticks to the inside of her ribs. Sunlight is streaming through the thick canopy of trees in patches and dots. With loud crinkling noise that makes her cringe in the suffocating quietude, Emma pulls a few rogue leaves out of her hair. She sees Quixote some distance off, light bouncing off of the red dapples that are sprinkled generously across her rump.
She makes a clicking sound with her mouth, smiling as her horse immediately pricks up her cinnamon ears at the noise. She softly walks over to Emma, nudging her with her nose. She leans her head down to rest on the horse's long snout. She stays there for a few seconds, breathing in the soft, familiar scent of her horse that momentarily erases everything else.
"Okay Quix," Emma starts. She pronounces it like 'kicks,' mostly because it's one of the horse's favorite activities around creatures of her own species. "We gotta talk this out. You ready?" Emma knows she's really asking herself, but then she nods, answering her own question.
She runs her hands over the horse's shoulder, scratching the place she knew the strawberry roan loved. "I've been obsessed with this woman for weeks, right?" Emma inwardly curses at not having brought the horse's grooming tools. She could really use a cathartic brush session right now.
"And it just so happens that she's the mother of my son. And it also just so happens that she's my step-grandmother who looks way, way too hot to be my grandmother. She has to be like, my age, right? And all of this JUST SO HAPPENS to be revealed to me on my birthday. Why? Why now? Why didn't she want me to know? What does she still know? Do I even want to see her again?" Emma huffs, already knowing the answer. "I mean—of course I do, Quix. But fuck. She's my grandmother. Well, step-grandmother. Maybe that's why she feels so weird about me being attracted to her. But also… that means she knows who my parents are. And if she knows that…why haven't my parents ever contacted me? None of this makes any sense."
Emma picks up the bridle from the branch she had hung it from the night before. "C'mon. Let's go home," she says resignedly. She eases the bit into Quixote's mouth, grabs a handful of mane and easily hoists herself up.
The ride back home is much longer than the ride the previous night.
Weary and unclean, Emma is definitely not in the mood to listen to Ruby's interrogation or to accept the barrage of disapproving looks from Granny.
"We thought you left us again," Ruby says worriedly, leaning against the broom she had been using. Her usually bright smile is muted with concern. Guilt tugs at Emma, hanging heavily off of her. She offers a weak smile in return, but sighs contentedly as she's wrapped up in a forgiving embrace.
Ruby's sienna eyes asked many questions when she released the blonde, but she stayed silent, knowing to give Emma her distance. It was noon already, but Emma creaks down the hallway, up the stairs and into her bedroom. She bathes, dresses in one of her usual tavern work frocks and finally comes downstairs about an hour later.
"Mom?" a little voice tied to expectant eyes asks.
Emma's heart melts at the term, but it breaks for Regina. "Hey, kid. You can call me Emma."
The brown-haired boy slides his little hand into hers as she leads him to a corner table. "Okay, Emma."
"You aren't supposed to be here, are you?" Emma knows.
"Noooo," the boy draws out. "But I told Mr. Heller mom told me to meet her here. So mom will know where to look for me. Even if she's gonna be mad." His face twists a bit at his last sentence, but then he was all smiles, and Emma couldn't really make herself stern enough to chastise his deceit.
He settles into the chair, spreading out like he belongs there. Just like Emma would have done. The resemblance catches in her throat and she needs to turn away so he doesn't see the tears clouding her vision and threatening to make themselves known.
"Emma?" he asks tentatively. Emma steels herself and turns around.
"You hungry, kid?" He nods his head vigorously, so she tells him to stay put while she goes to find him some lunch. As nerve-racking as it was to have the kid here, she was even more nervous knowing that his mom would undoubtedly be coming to pick him up as well. She takes a deep breath before entering the kitchen.
The mugs are still lying on the table, pushed to the side. Emma's heart leaps at the reminder of the mysterious woman. Why the fuck did Emma have to leave? Would Regina be angry with her? Would she be disappointed, or sad?
She gathered up enough cheese, salted venison, rye bread and milk for two. The boy ate with a gusto Emma could be completely proud of. Emma started to ask him about his day, but he interrupts her.
"I came here for a reason, Emma," he says seriously. The sparkle in his brown eyes mutes to a deep seriousness that mirrors Regina perfectly.
Emma waits for him to continue. "You're special," he begins. His hands are folded neatly on the table and his back is perfectly straight. Just like Regina. "We need you to break the curse the Evil Queen cast over the Enchanted Forest."
Emma looks at him like he grew two heads. He sighs and beings to rummage around in his knapsack. He pulls out a deep brown leather book. The words 'Once Upon A Time' in gold leaf were settled firmly within a gold border. "This was a birthday present for you, Emma. It was given to you by the Blue Fairy when you were born."
He slides the book across the table, and she lets her fingers run across the smooth leather. "How do you—" she starts, but Henry cuts her off.
"The letter," he says exasperatedly, like she should have known. "Just read it."
Emma does. Her trembling fingers grip the edge of the book's cover and throw it open to the first page, which again reiterate the words of the book's title. She takes the heavy paper into her fingers again and flips the page again. The story begins…
There was a girl named Regina Mills who had a cruel mother. She used magic to get where she was in life, and used dark magic to carve out an even better station for her daughter…
The drawn picture to the right of the words depicted a young Regina being manipulated magically by what Emma assumes is her mother. She is holding Regina up in the air, a young, terrified man standing on the ground below her. A saddled horse stands somewhere behind them; a shrinking, older man stands idly next to the evil woman. Emma feels her blood run cold.
She secured a marriage to the King for her daughter, and ruthlessly killed Regina's lover when she realized that the young couple would want to thwart her plans. Driven by grief and helplessness, the young Regina grudgingly marries King Leopold of the White Kingdom.
The picture to the right of the words depicts a stonyfaced Regina in a white wedding gown, and a triumphant mother standing by.
But King Leopold was cruel to Regina. He neglected her for the memory of his long-dead wife, but was ruthlessly possessive of her all the same. He thwarted all chance of her happiness while sparing nothing for his daughter, Snow White. His daughter from his first marriage, Snow, saw this unhappiness and unfairness and vowed to help the Queen escape.
This drawing showed a young Snow White sneaking Regina out of the castle in a tailor's cart. The young Snow couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen years, and Regina's face was heavily lined and drawn with years of haunting sorrow.
When he heard of the Queen's escape, the King was furious. He went to the girl's mother, Cora, and demanded she be found and punished for her treasonous acts. Cora was beside herself with rage at both the King and her daughter. She killed the King using poisonous snakes and pinned it on a visiting Genie.
The picture showed Cora in a dark purple cape releasing two snakes into the King's bedchamber. They were both poised over him, fangs bared and ready to strike.
She then installed herself as Queen, cursing the White Kingdom so that they believed that she had always been such. She searched for Regina far and wide, but could never find her. The years passed and Snow slowly built up an army against her, trying to take back her Kingdom. She succeeded, and for two years she and her husband Prince Charming ruled over the White Kingdom.
The picture showed Snow, Charming and Regina all leading a strange mix of Enchanted Forest creatures in a raid on the Evil Queen's castle. There were faeries, dwarves, a wolf and a ragtag band of humans. Regina was hidden underneath a black cloak, hiding behind a tree. Magic was curled around her hand, but it looked like nobody actually knew she was there.
But on the eve of the birth of the Charming's daughter Emma, the Evil Queen broke free of her prison. With the help of an evil sorcerer named Rumplestiltskin, she was able to cast a much more powerful curse, cleaving everyone in the Enchanted Forest from their happy endings.
The image shows Cora waving her hands triumphantly, magic roiling out of her. An impish, scaly man—gold in color—stands behind her, the tips of his fingers pressed together in a disturbing amount of glee.
But not before the Blue Fairy was able to give Emma a gift—a story book that would reveal to her on her 28th birthday the part she would play in this tale. It was with a heavy heart that Emma's parents secretly gave her to the daughter of Cora, to be hidden away from the rising Queen's wrath.
The tavern door, usually very slow and unwilling, opens with an uncharacteristic bang. "HENRY MILLS," a deep voice Emma equates with sex and poison yells into the tavern. Sweeping through the door is none other than Regina, whose eyes scan the tavern before zeroing in on barmaid and boy.
Relief is the immediate emotion on her face, but it is almost immediately hastened away by anger. The blonde and her biological son look up as one. Each wears a look of nervous guilt that Regina can't help but find astonishingly endearing. Henry's eyes are suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden table, and Emma curses the kid for forcing her to be the one to meet the angry Bandit Queen first.
"Regina," she starts slowly. She wants the woman to know how sorry she is for running away the previous night. She wants her to know that she's sorry that her life has been so shitty, and that she's so grateful that Regina had always been looking out for her. As the woman in front of her softens, she knows she's conveyed at least some of that.
"He told you," Regina states.
Emma's mouth tightens, and she nods once.
"Henry. Mills," Regina says sternly again, but her heart this time isn't in it. Emma offers her a seat, pulling out the chair next to her and across from Henry. Hesitantly, the brunette hangs her ever-present bow and quiver on the back of the chair and takes a seat.
Underneath the table, Emma's hand finds Regina's thigh, which it squeezes in what she hopes is a friendly, reassuring gesture. Regina stiffens, but doesn't move away. The hand stays.
Regina's eyes wander to the book, and she sees the page it's open to. Her eyes stick to the drawing in front of her. It's of Regina, dressed again in a black cape. She is clutching a bundle close to her chest, lavender magic surrounding her and the bundle. Above her, a castle looms, and out of a window high above are two figures bowed by grief: Snow and Charming. In the distance, a black cloud looms, rolling towards the castle portending the severing of happy endings.
Emma's hand is quick to still Regina's hand as it moves to turn the page. She turns her head, meeting pained brown eyes.
"Will you tell me?" Emma asks. With this simple question, Henry knows that his birthmother believes everything. He knows he was right to give this to her, that he had played his part. She would be the Savior.
"Mom?" Henry asks. It's hopeful and urging, and Regina wants to give in.
"Henry," It's a warning. One he's heard many times before.
"Mo-om. She has to do this. She's the Savior. She's the one who's gonna break the curse and expose Cora for who she really is. Then Snow White and Prince Charming can rule again and Emma can be a Princess and we can be a family."
Henry doesn't know what he's saying, so Regina rips her eyes away from his pleading gaze to try to get some hold on her emotions. That curse took away—it took away the everything she had yet to come to terms with. She, more than anyone, knew not to try to fight this fate, but as she had been doing it her whole life, it was only natural that she did it now as well.
"Hey, Henry. I think Ruby over there might need some help serving some customers. Tell her I sent you, and that there are definitely some apple tarts for you with Granny."
At this, the young boy narrowed his eyes, but the pull of apple tarts proved too much. He bounds over to the leggy brunette, whose eyes briefly meet Emma's in question before she has him trailing her like a besotted puppy.
The kid gone, the two women turn uncomfortably from one another. The tension is thick in the air, making things hazy around the edges. It stifles Emma first, and she blurts out, "I'm sorry for running away."
Emma isn't sure why, but she's sure that Regina means more than she lets on when she responds with, "I know." The tension is still thick, however, and Emma feels like she's falling into the other woman.
"The curse hit," Regina begins softly. Her rich voice is even more gravelly than usual at this low tone, and it vibrates pleasantly through Emma. "When I was not far from Granny's house in the woods. It blasted through my magic," she pauses with a bitter laugh. "Like it was nothing. I felt myself moving and not being able to stop it. I dropped you on the doorstep in your blanket and didn't stop moving until I was blacked out in the middle of a field. When I woke up, I tried finding you again, but somehow I never could." The pain in her voice was evident, and Emma longed to reach out to touch her. Her heart ached for the woman who had tried so hard to protect her. Even when she wasn't able to find her.
"But you still protected me with magic," Emma states. It was that warm feeling that was keeping her tethered to Red and Granny all those years. It was the one that disappeared one day and left her free to wander, to leave. It was that same, strange feeling that brought her back to them almost ten years ago.
"What happened to you twenty years ago?" Emma asks suddenly.
She visibly tenses, but silently, Regina flips over two pages of the storybook. Emma's eyes widen. She sees Regina locked in a dungeon, once again being tortured by her mother. Regina is in a beautiful gown; her hair is perfectly curled. It contrasts unpleasantly with the contorted pain of the woman's face and limbs, and even more so with the bleak prison surroundings. Cora's face is soft—loving, almost—and even smoother and more young than it had been in previous images. In her hand was a heart, red with a slight speck of black in the center.
"Why?" Emma asks bluntly. Why would Cora do all of this to her daughter, who she obviously went to such great lengths for? It was all sorts of fucked.
"You do get straight to the point, don't you, dear?" Regina asks wryly. She sighs, becoming serious once more. "I think, in her own twisted way, she was doing it because she genuinely thought it was best for me." A dark laugh slips past her lips. "For awhile, I thought so, too."
Emma smiles sadly. "You are an amazing woman, you know that, right?"
Regina's laugh is not much more than a hollow bark. "You think you know me, dear, but you don't." The little storybook failed miserably in mentioning her demons. While she certainly was no Cora, she had done some unspeakable things that still made her heart clench and chill with guilt.
"I do know that you sacrificed everything to keep me safe." Earnest green eyes try to catch elusive brown ones.
"I failed even at that, Miss Swan. Or do you not remember your lovely time at the orphanage?" A cold smile seeps through the cracks in Regina's visage. She meets Emma's eyes, and it's all marble.
"Will you just—" Emma starts to snap, but it whooshes out of her suddenly, leaving her deflated. She looks over to Henry, who is happily trailing behind Ruby with a handful of dishes. Regina narrows her eyes slightly, surprised to see her son so…helpful.
"It looks like our son has a little crush," Emma says to change the subject after a few tense beats. She notices Regina visibly tense at the word 'our.' She continues, smoothly catching the brunette's eyes again. "I meant what I said, you know. I won't take him away from you."
The brunette smiles gratefully, if not a bit warily. She murmurs her thanks, but narrows her eyes. "She's too old for him," she growls.
At this, Emma laughs loudly. "I can't wait till he hits puberty." At this, the look of disgust and mild horror comes to fruition on the brunette's face. Seeing her companion's amusement, Regina huffs through her nose. Her arms cross over her chest and her red lips purse indignantly. The blonde's heart warms comfortably in her chest. She wouldn't have wanted anyone else raise her child.
A thought that had been nagging her at the back of her mind finally breaks through the soup that was all of the information she had just been presented with. "Regina?" Emma asks. The brunette exhales lightly before humming her assent. "Why were you able to find me after you escaped from Cora's prison?"
At this, Regina's eyes cloud with something Emma can't quite place. "I've been wondering that for years. I think…I think it's Henry," Regina states softly. Emma's heart continues to feel warmer and lighter. She thinks it's happiness. There is a delightful softness in Regina that's pulling her in, making everything cloudy and warm around the edges. She's leaning closer to the brunette, falling carelessly into the deep brown eyes that told her so much and were currently hiding so little.
Below her, the ground rumbles. The sturdy tavern tables shake, and the clatter of dishes adds to the cacophony of shouts and scraping. Panic seizes the woman beside her, fear replacing the momentary gentleness. Emma can feel the terror rolling off of the woman beside her in waves. It shakes her far deeper than the pitching room.
Inhaling a gasping breath Regina whispers, eyes wide, "She knows."
