A/N: Thanks so very much for all the kind words thus far, they are very much appreciated.

As stated previously, this piece will run roughly parallel to the season. If aired episodes provide details for bits I haven't gotten to, and they serve the overall story, they will be incorporated. If not, well - considered this to be semi-canonical AU.

This chapter provided a little bit of Emma/Snow as well as some Regina/Charming. With an added dollop of Cora!

Once more, enjoy and thanks!

There's something uncomfortably familiar about this woman. This is the first thought that goes through Emma Swan's admittedly deeply confused and intensely overwhelmed mind as she stares into the charcoal black dark eyes of the oddly dignified (considering where they are) lady standing in front of her.

Cora, she'd called herself.

"Do I know you?" Emma finally asks.

"No, dear, I don't think you do." And with that one little word…"dear"...Emma is once again struck by a wave of familiarity.

"But I do," Snow says softly, stepping up behind her daughter. Her eyes are wide and pained, and she's clearly bent a bit more than she should be, but all the same, she's on her feet, which has to be a good thing. "I do know you."

Emma turns to look at her, head tilted in confusion. She's about to address her as Mary Margaret – not mom, not yet – but stops. She should be called Snow, right? She's Snow freaking White. That's who she is, who she actually is.

Oh, hell.

Yeah, overwhelmed is a pretty good word for how she feels right about now.

Just about a day and a half ago, the reality of all of this actually being reality had kicked in for her. That had been followed by fighting a dragon, stopping a murderous mob of fairytale characters, protecting the Evil Queen from a soul-sucking wraith and then getting yanked through a portal and into the old world.

Just so that she and Snow could then be tied up and dragged behind horses.

Perhaps overwhelmed is an underwhelming word for all of this, actually.

"Cora," Snow says, and Emma's quite certain that she hears an undercurrent of anger, maybe even rage there. It's a darker emotion than she's ever heard from Snow, even in regards to Regina, which is something. "I thought you were dead."

"Thought or hoped, dear?"

"Hoped."

"Well then, I'm sorry to disappoint," Cora answers, and her tone has shifted a bit, become less sugary for the moment.

"Somehow I very much doubt that," Snow snaps back. Her posture is rigid, as if ready for a physical fight. It's something Emma's never seen before in this woman. Then again, until a day ago, she'd never seen Snow take out a wraith with fire and a lighter, either.

Apparently her dear old mom is something of a badass.

Weird, just…weird.

"Who is she?" Emma finally pulls her together enough to ask.

"She is right here and she is…"

"Regina's mother," Snow finishes, ill-disguised disgust in her tone. "But I use the term as loosely as possible." She meets Cora's eyes when she says this, daring the taller woman to dispute her words.

Cora just laughs, the tone haughty and superior. And suddenly yes, Emma sees it – she sees Regina in this woman. "What would you know of motherhood, child? Last I'd heard, you'd sent your own daughter through a tree."

"She did," Emma says softly, lifting her eyes up.

Cora tilts her head. "And you're her?" She narrows her eyes, almost curiously. "My, my now, how very terribly interesting this has suddenly become."

That's all Snow needs to see. She steps in front of Emma, ignoring the fact that the blonde is taller than her, and throws an arm out as if to keep her daughter behind her. "You stay the hell away from her," Snow growls. "You've already destroyed one child. You're not touching mine."

Cora laughs again, the sound cruel and cold. "Destroyed her did I? Seems to me she accepted her destiny, embraced her power."

"You're proud of her?" Emma asks, over her mothers' shoulder.

"Proud? Oh, no. That pathetic daughter of mine could never do anything right. She's really quite incapable of it. You, my dear, are living proof of that. But I suppose I should give her at least some credit for trying."

Before Emma can respond – and honestly, she's not one bit sure what she would say in response to this unbelievably vile woman – the wooden door sealing them into the dark pit opens. A shaft of bright white light sprays the cavern.

"The blonde and the shorthaired brunette will step forward now," a voice says. "Slowly. Don't make any sudden moves or you will bleed."

Snow and Emma exchange a wary look, and then both turn towards the entrance. Emma casts a look back at Cora, who is smiling, oddly confident in a way that she simply shouldn't be considering her circumstances.

"We'll continue this conversation later then," Cora says smoothly. It's at that moment when Emma notices just how high Cora is holding her head, like she's better than everyone else around her. It's unsettling.

And again, familiar.

"Come on," Snow directs, taking Emma's hand and pulling her towards the entrance. They meet Mulan there, the stern looking warrior woman holding a crossbow tightly in her hands. She steps aside and lets them exit.

"You're all right then?" she asks Snow as soon as they're outside and the door has been closed behind them. Her eyes slide down and over Snow. Just ten minutes ago she'd knocked Snow unconscious with a propelled blow to the back, the force of it shocking the brunette into blackness for a few moments.

"No thanks to you," Emma shoots back.

"Emma," Snow says softly, and there's a odd lilt – an almost regal tone - to her voice. Then, to Mulan, "You know who I am now, I assume?"

"Your Majesty," Mulan says, then bows. "My apologies. I…I didn't know at the time. One of the others recognized you. I am…I am embarrassed." And to her credit, she looks genuinely horrified by what she'd done.

"Don't be," Snow reassures her, for a moment looking as though she might reach for Mulan, but then choosing not to. "I look far different than I used to, and times are not as they were. I understand your caution, and welcome it."

"Thank you for your grace, your Majesty," Mulan answers solemnly.

"Snow will do."

Mulan simply nods stiffly at that, making it clear that she's not one bit comfortable addressing Snow White by anything but her title.

"What can I address you as?"

"My name is Mulan."

"It's nice to meet you, Mulan. This is my daughter, Emma."

Mulan bows her head in reverence, which just makes Emma shift anxiously.

She's glad then, a moment later, when a question pops into her head. She almost blurts it out, so eager is she to get away from the strange show of fidelity. "Wait a minute. If you know who we are, why did you threaten us a few seconds ago?" Emma queries, confusion creasing her brow.

"Again, I apologize. I did that because I didn't want the… woman in there to know who you are," Mulan admits.

"It's too late for that. Unfortunately, she and I have very unpleasant business with each other," Snow tells her. "What do you know of her now?"

"Not much. When all of the…refugees as you called then…came here, she tried to take power. We don't know who she is – she refuses to say – but she still has magic available to her, and she used it to dire effect. We discovered that something in these caves stops her from using that magic."

"Her name is Cora Mills," Snow tells her. "She's Queen Regina's mother."

Mulan startles at that. "She's the mother of the woman who created the curse."

"Yes."

"Then we should execute her immediately," Mulan growls out as she leads the two women towards the middle of the camp. "Just as we would the queen if she were here with us."

Emma looks at Snow with a lifted eyebrow, "Not much for rule of law here, huh?"

"On the contrary," Mulan fires back. "We have a very strict rule of law now. If you are unable to contribute to the community or are considered a threat, then you are either exiled or…"

"Executed, got it," Emma finishes dryly. "What about trials?"

"There's no time for those anymore. We make sure then when an accusation is made, it's accurate in the first place."

"And you're never wrong? You never exile – or execute – the wrong person or maybe someone who could be redeemed?"

"We don't have time for redemption here."

"Right," Emma frowns.

"You disapprove?"

"No," Snow says quickly. "We're not in any position to disapprove of how you and the other people here have managed to survive. Nor have we any right to. We are…we are guests here. We're here to help however we can. That's all."

Mulan exhales a breath, and then nods her head sharply. "Good. Then come eat. And when you're done, you can explain to all of us how you returned to this land. And then maybe you can explain you brought the wraith back with you."

And with that, she turns and heads towards the circle by the campfire, towards where many members of the group of survivors are consuming dinner.

"I get the feeling that she doesn't much like us," Emma observes.

"She blames us for whatever the wraith did," Snow nods.

"You know this could get ugly."

"These people may be rough now, Emma, but they're no threat to us. My title still holds some sway amongst them," Snow reassures her. "And maybe, if we can win their trust, maybe they can even help us find a way home."

"And what of Cora? Do we just let them execute her?"

"I think that if it were that simple, they would have done it already," Snow replies grimly. "Chances are that no one dares go into the cave with her because they're not completely sure that her magic is controlled in there."

"Is she really that…"

"Evil? She makes the worst of what Regina has ever done look like a simple temper tantrum. That woman is the purest form of evil that I know of."

"You hate her." It's a statement, not a question.

Snow turns to face Emma, clasping a hand around each of her daughters' forearms. "Hate is a strong word, one I'm not comfortable ever using, but I will say this: were it not for that woman, my life would have turned out very very different. Some things – like meeting Charming and having you – worked out for the best, but what she did to Regina, what she helped turn her into…well that's…well some things are simply unforgivable."

"You'll tell me this story later?"

"I think we'll have the time," Snow drawls. "Shall we go eat?"

She wakes from another nightmare, mercifully silently this time. Sitting up in her bed, Regina places a hand over her heart, feeling the violent hammering of the organ that until quite recently, she had barely believed still existed.

"Calm," she orders herself. She turns slightly, glancing at the clock. It's only three in the morning. So much of this night remains.

So much of every night.

Charming hadn't returned to the house after he'd left to supposedly get her the book of magic. But then, honestly, she hadn't expected him to come back – at least not so quickly. Rumple is a smart and devious little imp; he's not likely to simply hand over that which could in any way shift power away from him. He has to know that magic back in her hands would do exactly that.

And by now, he's certainly told Charming the same thing.

Whether or not he returns, well that will certainly be interesting. She imagines that he'll be conflicted, unsure about working with his enemy. How easily it could backfire, Rumple will have warned him. How easily she will betray him.

Rumple is right to warn him; normally, betrayal would be the only thing on her mind. Getting power back and keeping it.

Things have changed, though.

Henry.

For the first time in her adult life – or at least since Daniel – there is something more important to her than power. Something she craves more than she does the intoxicating high of magic. Love. Simple common love.

She'd nearly forgotten how good, and how awful love can make you feel.

And still she recognizes her near obsessive drive towards it. It's not just about possession anymore, not just about keeping and controlling that which belongs to her – those things she understands. This new feeling, this odd desire to do right by Henry simply because it will make him happy (even if it will never make him love her), it's something she hasn't felt since that horrid day in the stables.

She needs to make Henry happy. She needs to see him smile.

And if that means doing whatever it takes to bring back the woman who has stolen his heart and staked her motherly claim on him, well then so be it.

She rises slowly from the bed, her body stiff and uncomfortable. These many nights of sleeplessness combined with the lack of food and too much alcohol aren't doing her any favors. She's sluggish and exhausted, and not all that interested in the things she needs to do to remedy these issues.

Sleep? No thanks. Simply because every single time she closes her eyes, the nightmares return. Some are about the murderous intents of the people of Storybrooke, others are about she and Snow, some deal with Emma, and still others concern she and Henry. The worst are the ones with her mother, though.

Because her mother always – always – exacts an absolutely heinous revenge in these dreams. And she always – always – ends up begging for mercy.

Mercy, which she never receives.

The other things are more biological – these days, she finds she has no appetite and really no desire to force food upon herself. The alcohol she's been consuming – mostly wine – is simply balm. Not terribly effective, but useful still.

Now, however, looking at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser, she sees how far she's fallen. And she knows there's still so much further to fall. A glance down at her hand – the one she knows is still marked for the wraith – and she remembers all that has brought her to this point.

All that has left once again completely alone.

She glances over at the phone, briefly considering picking it up and calling over to where Henry is. Really, there's no point, though. Even if Charming were to answer it at this ungodly time of night, he certainly wouldn't wake Henry to force him to talk to a woman he can barely tolerate.

She swallows hard at this, feeling the prickle of tears. No, she thinks, angrily. Even now, she won't cry. It won't help anything, and it's weak.

She's so many, many, many things, but weak is not one of them.

She laughs then, because that's a terrible lie. She's where she is now exactly because she is weak, because she gave in and allowed rage and hatred and power to consume her, to control her. She'd allowed dark magic into her soul.

She's allowed it to seduce her, and if she's honest with herself, she'd enjoyed it. It'd been like the greatest drug in the world for her, the most amazing high. It'd swept her up into a giddy hallucinogenic haze and made her feel invincible. It'd bandaged over all of the hurt and sadness and loneliness, and permitted her power intense enough to convince her that the hatred from everyone around her was actually love and respect. And when it wasn't, it'd been pitiful jealousy.

In short, magic had made her feel strong.

That's all over now.

The time for power and control are over. If she's to show Henry that she truly loves him, really and without agenda, she's going to have to prove it to him.

And that means doing whatever it takes to find a way home.

A place she'd hoped to never ever return to.

A place she'll have to return to if she ever wants Henry to look at her with anything but disgust.

Regina makes her way to the cemetery, descends into the secret room below her fathers' sarcophagus, and extracts a box of books. They're books of history, not magic (those are rare to begin with, and coming here, she'd seen almost no real need to bring them). These, she figures, will help her figure out her next move.

She seats herself on the cement floor, using just a flashlight (oh if mother could see her now) to read by. The words flow like poetry through her brain, the intoxicating paragraphs of knowledge making her feel strong.

It's not magic, but it's the past of the dark arts, and for a few minutes, as wicked as this past is, she embraces it because she knows it. Understands it.

And then she turns the page.

The hours pass quickly now, mornings comes upon her seemingly mere minutes after she'd arrived. It's with great reluctance, then, that she stands (her body achy and tired). She knows that if Charming – or anyone else – were to stop by her house and find her absent, all the space she's been provided thanks to Henry's wish to keep her alive will be stripped away.

And there are those – many, in fact – who would happily see her dead.

Such as Doctor Whale.

Why can't she remember who he is, she wonders.

It's a fleeting curiosity though, and one she allows to exit her brain with very little thought or concern. More important right now is getting back to her house (how infuriating to be practically caged within her own house, however well deserved it be) before her absence is noted.

She makes it back to her mansion in almost record time, permits herself a breath of relief (and indignation, how pathetic it is to be sneaking around) before climbing into her shower.

The entirely too hot water feels ridiculously good slapping against her skin. She drops her head against the wall, inhaling the steam.

For a moment, she feels human.

The moment doesn't last long.

"Regina!" she hears.

She sighs, and then hisses forth a curse. Not a magical one, but rather one of this world, one with four letters. He calls out for her again, and then she can hear him coming – pounding his way - up the stairs like the boorish shepherd he actually is. Apparently, she's to be afforded no privacy or respect at all.

She briefly considers stepping out of the shower naked as the day she was born. That would certainly surprise him, might even shut him up for a few seconds.

No, she decides, the point of all this isn't to increase the animosity.

Even if it would for a fleeting moment amuse her.

She reaches for a purple silk bathrobe and pulls it on.

Charming is up the stairs within about ten seconds, calling her name out as he moves. A gun hangs at his hip, and a gold star on his belt. In Emma's absence, he's the sheriff now, a responsibility that he's not completely comfortable with if he's honest with himself. Not that it matters; these people need him right now.

They need him to lead and protect, and so he will.

"Regina!" he yells again. He stops at her closed bedroom door, hesitating ever-so slightly. What if she's sleeping or in undressed state? No matter what or who she is, doesn't she have the right to some dignity?

Before he can answer the question for himself, the door opens and Regina presents herself to him. She's wrapped in a silk bathrobe, her dark hair slicked back with water. "David," she drawls. "Can I help you or did you want to join me?"

"What?" he stammers. Then, his mind unfogging enough to allow in a stream of outrage, he demands again, "What?"

She chuckles. "Never mind, dear. Were you able to get the book from Gold?"

"No. He says he doesn't have it anymore."

"He's lying."

"Why would he do that?"

"He's Rumplestilskin, dear. Are you really so naïve as to have forgotten what a manipulative bastard he is?"

"No, I remember, but what reason does he have to lie. He has no quarrel with me or my family?"

"I don't think he's terribly fond of Ms. Swan, but otherwise, I would agree; he has certainly seemed willing to help you along. Whatever his reasons be."

"So why not now?

"I don't know. Most likely he doesn't want me to have my magic fully back. It's certainly not in his best interest for me to have it."

"Or any of ours."

She doesn't deny his words. After a moment, she says sharply, "Is this why you stormed my house? To tell me that you failed to get the book of magic?"

"No. I came to ask you where were you this morning."

"Excuse me?"

"You were seen by the cemetery about an hour ago."

"Was I?" she stares at him for a moment, but then, lacking the desire to actually argue with him (how weird, she's always enjoyed verbal back and forth debates, especially those with his daughter). "Am I not allowed to visit my father?"

"You murdered your father."

She flinches at that. "Indeed," she responds, her voice dropping in volume, and taking on a degree of sadness that he wouldn't have believed her capable of. "That doesn't, however, change my desire to pay respects to him."

"That's all it was?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at her. She continues to confuse him, this woman before him. She's not as she was before in Fairytale Land, but she doesn't seem who she's been here in Storybrooke, either.

A look passes over her face, and he thinks for a moment that she's about to lie to him (another sign of something being amiss – her ability to tell easy fibs has suddenly declined dramatically), but then she sighs. "No, I went for books."

"Magic books?"

"No. Rumple has the only ones of those I'm aware of. I didn't bring any with me, I hadn't seen the need. How incredibly short-sighted of me."

"Or probably fortunate for all of us," he corrects.

"Indeed."

"So what were the books?"

"If you'll permit me to dress, I'll show you."

"Five minutes."

Her eyes spark at that, and he's oddly pleased to see it. Deep down, he knows that if they're to have any chance to save Emma and Snow, he's going to need this woman to be strong. What she is right now is anything but.

"I'm not your prisoner, dear, no matter this house arrest. And whether you hate me and wish me dead or not, I will not be treated as a common dog in my own home, do I make myself quite clear?"

"Crystal."

She nods, taking his silence as acceptance of her words. "Good, then settle yourself in the study. I will be there shortly."

"You know you have no bargaining room, right? You understand that, right?"

She smiles, and he sees the sadness again. "I know my situation very well. I understand that I am alive thanks to the desires of a child with a heart far better than either yours or mine. And I know what you would do to protect him. If you believed me a threat to him, I expect you would ignore his wishes."

"I would."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she tells him and for a moment, he sees a streak of enormous despair push through her dark eyes.

He tilts his head. "I don't understand."

"You will."

"You have a plan, then?"

"I do. And if you allow me a few moments to dress and pretend that I am permitted any remaining dignity, I will fill you in on all of it."

"Fine. I'll be in your study."

"Very well." She smiles then, and it's a somewhat charming and devilish one. One that a long time ago might have even been wonderfully endearing and attractive on this woman. "Five minutes, then."

TBC...