She was alone.
A trickle of magic streamed through her skin, almost breaking through the paper-thin protection, but not yet quite strong enough to manage just that. It collected at Regina's gashed hands, roughly but still somehow gently pushing at the new breakthroughs.
She was coming apart so very quickly. The storm was tearing at her, inside and out, and she moved forward thoughtlessly and harshly, uncaring of her own needs. Wounds that had to be attended to. Tears that heated up her eyes, hot and furious and at the same time vulnerable and desperate. She was not only shoving her well-being aside but dropping it to the ground, walking right over it as she went on.
The darkness hid her pained stumbling, her struggle to find strength for each next step. (Wasn't that all it had ever done?)
Regina was fighting against the wind, and she didn't let herself pause for enough moments to admit that nothing of this was about Tremaine. All that mattered was that she was getting away from the tent with every elapsing minute, far enough for her to perform magic without hurting anyone should she fail.
Not that she would.
Not that she planned on it, anyway.
It was so dark she could as well have closed her eyes without it making a difference; yet somehow, Regina knew.
She took one last step, for a head-spinning moment feeling the brink beneath her shoes before stumbling backward, her knees almost buckling beneath her, sheer persistence keeping her upright. In the valley at the foot of the cliff, lights burned their path through the darkness. They were the torches outside of Tremaine's manor, and they defied the storm because it was their house it originated from.
Regina sank to the ground on her knees. Her left hand set lightly beside her, brushing through the cool earth to ground her. The wind wasn't pushing her forward anymore, but instead surrounding her, encircling her as if to ensure she stay in place. Her mind had gone adrift, almost peacefully melancholic if not for the painful strain of her thoughts struggling to free her emotions. Her hurting heart that had already caused so much damage in its swirling wake.
Regina reached out, her right hand catching a small whirl of air, enclosing it and sensing its energy.
That's when something broke free into her just barely quiet mind.
Emotion, it whispered.
Magic is emotion.
Magic is happiness. Magic is anger. But magic works just as well with hurt.
With pain.
As it all came crashing down on her, Regina's magic used the opportunity to etch away what little was left of her barriers, dancing on her skin like tiny needles. She pushed the energy out of her hands with considerable force (her power growing as she imagined pushing all the memories and hurt away). Her magic smoothed the way to the center of the storm in bright, magenta colors, where it twisted around the dark energy like a fist might enclose a rotten fruit. But the suppressed power thumped under her pressure, and soon Regina's magic began to hungrily search for more. More energy to keep smothering the wind.
But as no one else was near, the magic returned, drawing the needed fuel from its owner. Which—considering the amounts of emotion bottled up deep inside of Regina—made it uncontrolled and dangerous as it not only emerged from her hands, but then from her arms too, and from her feet up to her face. The magic had been fed with little care and much cruelty on from the day it had started its training, and it had never been taught to respect its possessor's needs.
Regina was a glowing ball of energy, and it was tearing at her with violent force. She'd battled monsters before, but never such elements.
If she continued, it would rip her apart at the seams.
If she continued, the exploding pain would be too much to handle (even for the most resilient Queen).
If she continued, her life force might get snuffed out like a tea light in the rain.
She would die without ever knowing if she'd taken the storm with her.
Nonetheless, it didn't feel like much of a choice. She had never known how to give up. She had never known how to stop fighting, even or maybe especially when it was her life on the line.
Regina crumbled, her magic still battling the storm with a sheer, raw force that might even have impressed Rumple, but without her control. She was curled on the ground in a tight ball, shivering in a desperate, violent way, glowing with pure, deadly energy. She had never heard of consuming magic that worked quite that rapidly. Then again, Rumple had probably never considered her to—
It was blood without bleeding.
It was a light, so glaring it bathed the world in darkness.
It was a complete and breathtaking loss of herself.
One tiny little push and the wind would—
Regina could almost hear the angels crying. Although hysteric sobbing would probably describe the sound more accurately… someone was begging her to stop.
But she was so close. So, so close. She'd had no victory to herself in such a long time.
Warmth dipped her shoulders, and for a moment, the pain dissipated. Warmth coursed through her bloodstream. It was too gentle. So provokingly caring. Someone cradled her in such a familiar way. Someone held her damaged hand lightly. Someone made the storm calm down around them.
Her raw hurt dissolved and made room for some kind of silence. The world untangled. Regina could feel her body again, the aching but also the absence of imminent death.
"Henry," she whispered, her fight used up to the core. The clouds and hazes in her sight dispersed slowly.
Henry opened his mouth and closed it again, his jaw working forcibly. His face was contorted into an ugly mask of emotions, tear streaks on his cheeks, dirt in his hair, but there was such sharp, apparent anger written all over his features. Regina flinched back visibly, curling up in a semi-circle again (clear proof that she wasn't yet back to the entirety of her senses).
Her son balled his hand into a fist, his knuckles standing out almost white. Regina noticed, with ugly, dark feelings twisting in her throat, that tears were still slipping down his cheeks, and though all her motherly instincts screamed for her to get up and soften his sadness, she remained in place, the hard mask that was his face refraining her from moving closer.
"Who were you thinking about?" Henry inquired, his tone a mix of anger and exasperation. "Because it was not me, Mom. Emma, either. Or Snow. Or anyone." He was almost sobbing the words now, half screaming, his—although much deeper—voice reminding her of his younger self in all the ways that hurt.
"I don't know how to stop you from doing this to yourself. I'm not prepared because I thought… I was so sure you were past this, I was so sure you were okay enough to… value your own life? Ever since you've got our family, you've been handling it so carelessly. And I know, I… remember how, when you were split, Emma used to tell you not to sacrifice yourself because I needed you. And that's completely true, but not right. Because, well, the second you come around and see me all grown up, you're trying to get yourself killed… again."
"I'm not… getting myself killed. Not trying to, anyway." Regina swallowed hard; that was a conversation no child should ever be forced to have with his mother.
She picked herself up, wincing as her mangled body protested tiredly. Still, she got on her knees and lifted her damaged hands to touch her son's face. "I once said true love was sacrifice… but Henry, don't you ever believe that. Love? Starts with oneself." Regina's smile was painfully forced, but genuine nonetheless. "Sacrifice is no real hero streak. Quite the opposite; it's one of the villains, former or not. Only people who've done too many terrible things in their lives ever to stop paying for them need that willingness to sacrifice themselves for the common good. Not ever you."
She cupped his face with her hands, merely holding his gaze in the same way she had when he'd been younger, then suddenly she was doubling over, gritting her teeth as nausea washed over her in crashing waves.
Henry's face, still lined with helpless anger, shifted into a horrified expression. He reached out to take his shivering mother in a supporting embrace.
"Mom."
"Henry."
"We need to get you help right this second."
"Are you still all crouching in that decrepit death trap?"
"I believe they call it 'tent.'"
"I can't head back yet," Regina explained softly, dropping their semi-serious banter. "My failed suppression of the storm may only have made it more aggressive. I… I'm not powerful enough to stop it, Henry, but I can find another way. I'll simply need to. Lives are on the line."
"Such as yours, Mom, have you even listened to me?" Henry saw Regina open her mouth, but he cut her off, gritting his teeth. "You're not taking this risk, and there's no arguing about it, okay? For once, try to think about what's best for you. And if that's not enough, well, then we'll have to work on that, but then do it for me. I need you. I want you in my life. Please, Mom."
"Only my son can make sacrifice sound selfish," Regina chuckled darkly, and it was a more than weak attempt to evade his pleas. "I'm so sorry, Henry—"
"You don't need to be." His voice became lighter and more determined with every word, and oh, she knew that tone so well. It was the sound of an idea forming. Usually for one of those operations of his that he'd grown too old to obsess about. "Then, well, let's not go back. But when you're going to try to leave me, I at least need to know what caused it. All of it. If you're still dead set against living then, I'll consider letting you try something not quite as deadly. For now, just sit with me. Mom."
Henry was her son, so of course, Regina knew he'd never let her go (on a trip he'd indicated was a 'suicide mission,' which really, earned her immediate attention) but the idea of spending time with him had always been her weakness.
Regina smiled affectionately, allowing herself a brief moment of wonder at that beautiful soul in front of her, that incredible young man her son had become.
Still, he was wrong, Regina mused deep in the chasms of her mind. She didn't desire to die.
Today, she just didn't remember how to live, either.
It was a short distance to the spot Henry had suggested to seek out. Regina kept up an urgent pace, her posture almost painfully rigid, silently cursing the dimness that settled down whenever a non-user of magic was close. The darkness was misty enough to discern faces, so if she were to glance at her son, he'd notice.
Therefore, she went even faster, to hide her slight limping and also to create enough distance between Henry and her so that the air around her would shadow at the edges, allowing her to take an unperceived look at him.
She was proud, and she was terrified. She'd always tried to keep pain from her son; anything that would hurt him, and anything that was hurting her. She had tried much more intensely due to the agony that had settled into her when she'd been so very young; and while trying, she had failed far more miserably than anyone else ever could have.
Now, he had grown up. And it hurt worse than Regina could have ever imagined. Her little prince had assured her that she was still needed; but even if he meant it, it was not the truth, not anymore. He could fend for himself and sought her protection no longer. Even worse, he could create his own life, his own story, without her.
And what had been their home for so very long was now hers, hers alone, fading and meaningless, as her palace had been all those years ago. And with her home, her fragile 'happy beginning,' too, dissipated into nothingness.
She took a determined step, pressing her injured foot in the ground, and the jolt of pain was welcomed.
It was dangerous, she knew, but what was a threat without anything to threaten. How to value her life when there was nothing inside of her that made any real sense. Nothing that mattered.
Regina's fingers closed around dead bark.
Still close to the edge of the cliff, there stood this tree. It was massive and leafless; long dead but refusing to fall. Regina slid down the stem until she met the ground, and there she remained, leaning against a dry root. Henry slumped on the dirt beside her, and they lifted their heads at the same time, gazing up at the tumultuous sky.
Moments passed in silence; not uncomfortable, but too aware to be unconstrained.
"About that girl—"
"Don't you dare, Mom."
"—what is going on between you two?"
"Mom—"
"Humor me? Just for today." She grazed over the bark, her eyes closing, her head dropping against the tree trunk.
"I can't. I wish I could, I do, but we need to talk about this."
Regina knew, if she'd admit to her son in how much pain she was in, he wouldn't push her further (a trait that was most certainly influenced by both of his mothers). However, she'd never allow that to happen. So much; he'd seen too much already.
Henry gave her a look, and it was so entirely devastatingly heartbroken. Regina moved closer out of an old undying instinct, took his hand in hers. Her smile crumbled at the edges, finally broke.
"I suppose we should begin, then."
"I figured out what's so special about today," Henry whispered. He looked his mother straight in the eyes as the words left his mouth, and she shrunk back a little more, her troubled gaze darting to the alarmingly close ledge. "It's Emma Day, isn't it? Every year, I'd spend it with her, no matter whose turn it was."
Regina's smile was almost unnoticeable. "Indeed, Emma Day it is."
Henry bit his lip, and now it was him to appear more interested in the air than the person in front of him. He did his best to make it seem natural to him; not scary, but honestly, it was terrifying. His mom was… she was anything but open today, yet something had shifted. She was unfocused, vulnerable almost, and that scared him to death.
She was hurt, and absent Emma or Snow, he needed to help her.
Wanted to help her with everything he had.
"Is that why you're sad?" he suggested. "Because I'm not that little boy moving between the two of you anymore? Or—do you miss Mom?" (Over the years, he'd tried several names for each of them, but after a while and lots of unsuccessful efforts, he'd begun to adore that moment when he called for 'Mom,' and both looked up.)
"I do miss my friend," his mother answered mysteriously, wistfully.
"But that isn't the point, is it."
"Do you recall the origin of Emma Day?"
A shiver traveled across Henry's skin at her voice; both chillingly detached and thick with emotions, and he clung tighter to her slightly shivering hand. They were ice-cold, and only when Henry concentrated on the ugly cuts he could feel there, he sensed the torrid heat of her magic burning away at her. "Do you?"
"You wouldn't, would you," her voice a soft breath of air. "It was all so wonderfully domestic. You. Me. The town. I couldn't let one damn day ruin that beautiful dream. So I begged Emma to make something up. Not to request an explanation. She didn't." Bitter, harsh disappointment hardened her tone. "Because that's what friends are for, right? Do things without questioning. Only that was never our thing. She'd always push and pull at the most hazardous of strings. I suppose it just wasn't her business. Once upon a time, it would have been."
"You're making it really tough to figure out when you're playing the distraction card on me, Mom," Henry teased after a beat of silence, "and when I'm just being Emma's son and not smart enough to get what you're saying." It was meant to sound light, but not dismissive, and Henry thought with a small bit of pride in his heart that his moms had taught him well. If not quite intentionally.
Soft drips of water landed on his boots, and he drew them to his chest, snuggling closer to the old tree stem. Right above them were a few thick branches shielding them from the impending rainfall. His eyes drifted to the sky for a moment, and in the rubicund light of midday sun darkened by a thunderstorm, the setting seemed oddly vibrant, otherworldly.
"I would never play on you, Henry."
"That's disturbingly off track," he mumbled, noticing the almost cautiously delicate way she was holding herself together. "Even for a distraction. Anyway," he frowned. "How was Emma Day invented, then?"
"By Emma, obviously."
"Yeah, not so obvious. You know people don't usually proclaim their own honor day."
"It's Emma. Some things don't change." Regina chuckled, extending the hand that Henry wasn't enclosing, catching a drop of rain and watching as it made its way across her palm, slid down her lower arm, and was eventually soaked up by the fabric of her sleeve.
"But you said earlier that, you told Emma to—cover up something? I think."
"Did I now?"
"I wouldn't know," Henry huffed in frustration. "Since Mom apparently concealed whatever it was."
"Do you remember Robin?"
"Don't go there again," he demanded helplessly, painfully aware that his mom was the Queen of eluding, and he didn't stand a chance.
Smiling, she was smiling, but that was no smile on her face. "Fine with me. We could just sit here talking about the life you made me miss for the last five years, and I'd be delighted. Instead of whatever cricket imitation you're trying out here. I knew having you befriend that wannabe therapist wasn't such a good idea after all."
"Yeah, yeah. I know you're awesome. You made me stray from our topic of conversation, again. So—Robin? You mean my—" Henry's face screwed up for a second, remembering his one and only disastrously failed attempt at a written family tree, "my cousin?"
"Indeed. She's grown so fast. Let's see if she'll even remember you after you abandoned us."
"First, I didn't abandon you, I did that mysterious thing all kids do, remember? Try to be independent before screwing up and calling for mom to fix my mess. At least I hope that's what normal people do, not that I'd ever met someone even remotely so. Second, no. You're talking about—"
"No one. Oh, did Hook tell you about Mal's new dragon spawn? She pretends she doesn't know the father. But wouldn't there need to be another dragon in town, then? Quite unsettling. As if two aren't enough already. Plus the newest addition, of course. Adorable baby twins, but not easy to babysit."
"Really? More dragons? Cool," Henry's eyes brightened before he shook his head with a heavy sigh. "How are you so good at this?"
Regina brushed another loose hair strand behind her ear, using her left hand and, when she thought he wasn't looking, teeth to tear off a strip of her dress and put up most of her loose hair."Born this way," she announced with feigned brightness, "does not involve any practice, sweetheart, so don't even try."
"Yeah, I'm beginning to believe that." Henry looked at her as she sagged against the tree, eyes closed, one knee hugged tight to her chest, the other leg still spread out where it was exposed to the pounding rain. Guilt stabbed him as he was reminded of her twisted ankle. She may have gone through so much worse but—even as he knew it was naive, it felt like nothing was supposed to hurt in a happy beginning. "You meant your soulmate, didn't you."
Regina dropped her head on her drawn knees, nodding slightly. "Today is his birthday, you see." She looked up at him, a drip of water glinting on her eyelash until it was gone instantly. For a moment, the wind lifted her hair, too short to be bound by the piece of fabric, and it waved around her head like a flock of crows.
"You miss him."
She smiled again, her lips dry and chapped, blood smeared at the edge of her teeth, and it looked beyond ferocious—her smile didn't only seem emotionally painful now. "There are some things you're still too young to understand, my little prince."
"I'm an adult now," and Henry had never felt less like one, "you can't say that anymore."
"You'll always be too young for certain knowledge," she whispered, and she was near perfection at hiding hurt, but the love she had for him was out in the open, almost tangible in the air. "And I'm glad, you hear me? I'm glad. There's understanding that comes from experience, and this one, I'll make sure you'll never have."
It was such a genuine moment right there, and they both smiled because they had missed this, he had missed it, and now that he had it again he never wanted to let it go. He'd keep it in his heart forever. This love. This unconditional love that never blurred, never weakened, never diminished.
Regina's voice steadied where it had broken with emotion before. She cleared her throat but squeezed his hand lightly one last time before tearing her eyes away from him. "Except for breaking up with Violet-let's-still-be-friends. Couldn't protect you from that, sweetie, but you handled it… charmingly either way."
"Bad pun. And not again," Henry groaned. "There's nothing wrong with remaining platonically close with your ex-girlfriend."
"I wouldn't know, my relationships didn't exactly end… alive," she responded before immediately changing tracks. "But it is quite unusual to befriend your ex-girlfriend's current girlfriend as well. Or, fiancée. I think Grace proposed."
"And I think she goes by Paige still—if only to annoy Jefferson—and also, congratulations. I still can't see why it's weird to mutually agree to end a relationship and go the cinema together two weeks after. There was a new Star Wars, and Paige's a nerd like me."
"Oh, I don't think it's odd. Just very lovely. Charming, so to say."
"Let me guess, with a capital 'C.'"
"Snow was enthusiastic about the 'mature' way you handled the break-up. Though I don't recall how a woman who married with twenty-eight and never looked at another man again would know anything about break-ups. Or maturity, for that matter."
"Fair point, fair point, okay? If I ever break up with Ella, I'll throw a vase and burn the house down. But don't you dare lecture me then."
"Break up?" Regina knitted a brow.
"If Ella and I ever get together, and then break up, of course. We're just friends."
"The same way Snow and David are 'just friends,' right?"
"The same way you and Emma were 'just friends,' back when you first started to argue like a married couple." Henry winced instantly, dropping the all too familiar mocking; Regina's words in his mind. Today is his birthday.
"She actually is married," his mom retorted flatly, but her eyes had regained their dullness. "To the very same man whose double is somewhere back in the safety of the tent. As you should be."
"Where I should be is right here with my mom." Henry moistened his lips, closing his eyes, trying to swallow the thickness in throat away, his stinging eyes, and he waited to go on until he was absolutely sure his voice would remain steady. "But you won't let me. I know it's hard. But if you'd just… talk to me—"
Regina opened her mouth, "Well, what would you call what we're—"
"No, you're not doing this again. I love talking to you, and I know it's been too long and that it's my fault. But you—I never knew it was his birthday, and apparently, you've been miserable on exactly this day for a very long time. I never knew you were, and I should have known, but I didn't because Storybrooke was so shiny and bright and everything nice. And maybe it wasn't always, but our most important motto was 'Don't you worry, it'll pass.' Sometimes it doesn't." She was looking away from him again, and only their cold hands offered any connection at all. "You still told me you were happy, and I think you were telling the truth. But if happy means for you that it's okay most of the time, and when it isn't, you just deal with it on your own… I don't want that. None of us ever did. Tell me what hurts so much about today, please?"
Regina clenched her left hand, her face hidden in the shadow, blood spluttering on the ground.
Something snapped.
Something she'd been afraid of happening this entire time, something she knew she had to contain in front of her son, something angry, something old, something terribly hurt, snapped.
It was the truth. It broke, and it escaped, and Regina caught it before it tainted the air, but the truth is never quite as solid as you believe it to be, and fragments slipped through her fingers, refused to be locked back in.
"I don't know." She shook her head violently. "That is the problem. If only there were a specific thing that hurt. I could… visit Archie—if he still knows how to do his job in the middle of all those fixable, happy people—and talk to him, and then I could claim I'd gotten help and can finally move on. But that's not me. A happy beginning is a new beginning, and I've got too much baggage to fully embrace it. It'd be enough for me. Just having people who care about me, it'd be enough. But nothing is ever supposed to be some kind of wrong when you're happy. And if it is, well, you better not live in Storybrooke."
She sighed. "No, I don't mean it like that. It's just that I'm beginning to think that not even the past should be buried as collectively as the people of that town did—or pretended to do. You don't grieve anymore in Storybrooke unless something were to happen right now. Or if you do grieve about people long gone, you do it behind the closed doors of your home. And if there's no one to hold you there, well… you don't." She laughed, an oddly crisp, dark sound. "What's kept me sane when you were gone is Zelena, oddly enough. But she's more than happy to bury the past. She doesn't need it anymore. Only I can't seem to get rid of it. But it's okay."
She retreated from Henry, her hand slipping out of his, curling inwards and out of reach for him. "I promise, tomorrow I'll be me again. The version of me you know. The version of me who's worth anything. I'll handle today." A sound escaped Henry's lips, throaty and absolutely disbelieving. Regina smiled. "Don't you worry, it'll pass."
"Mom—"
"Henry!" They both jerked, and Henry immediately felt guilty for the slight second of calm as he recognized Ella's voice. She was solely amazing and, an impossible relief, already fond of his mom, but this was nothing she could help him with. "Henry, where are you? I think I could really use some help here!"
"Well, that's convenient," Regina noticed before he'd even really processed what choice he'd have to make now. Her voice softened. "Go to her. She's your story right now, and the reason I've come here is to help you. Not burden you."
"I won't leave you here."
"I told you, I'll pick up my pieces and the next time you see me—tomorrow—I'll be fine again."
"Maybe that's what worries me."
"Oh, Henry. It's okay. Go. You know me, no storm's getting rid of me that easily. Ella, though? She needs you. I'm slow, and I'm tired. Go!"
Indeed he knew her, and he knew that he was not going to help her by blindly stabbing into her emotional mess as he'd been doing since he'd found her here. He could get Ella; together they'd managed to bring his mom to safety once before. They would again—even if Regina claimed she didn't need nor want it.
"I'll be right back."
"And I'll be here the entire time. For you." He frowned, not quite certain how reassured he was supposed to be of that statement. He knew she was there for him; he hadn't doubted it a single second for an eternity now. Which also meant that he'd known her for an eternity. She had a lot of pride, and stubbornness that he'd unquestionably inherited (character traits were about so much more than genes). So if he stopped clinging to her for a second, maybe she'd allow herself a moment of… truth? A moment where she didn't have to hold back. What if that was what she needed now and he'd been wrong this entire time?
He didn't know, anymore.
But he knew he would—most likely—be able to help Ella.
(Which… sounded good for a change.)
"You won't do anything, risky, will you?"
Regina rolled her eyes, and as much as it was an act, it worked. "Not more than you, my little prince."
"Runs in the family, huh. Be—"
"You be safe, Henry. Now—"
"Yeah, I'll go." He nodded, convincing himself of the impossible—that everything was okay. He stood, patting off his trousers, before he bent down again, pulling his mom into a bone-crushing hug. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you too." She smiled, and he thought that the rain must have reached them because her face was wet.
Henry turned around and ventured into the storm.
Why did it feel, then, like he was leaving the real thunder behind?
Ella's voice guided him through the wind. She was sheltering underneath another tree, not far from the camp.
"Thank God, you're here," she exclaimed when he was in sight. She was thoroughly soaked, lines of exhaustion on her face. They shared a short smile that was soon accompanied by a snort.
So familiar.
Too familiar?
Ella stepped aside, relief washing over her features as if only now, she truly realized that she wasn't alone anymore. Alone with—
A woman stepped out of the shadow. Brushing through her red, frizzy hair, she took another step closer to Henry.
"Hello there, Regina's munchkin." She smiled, all white teeth and blue eyes flashing. "Your Auntie's here."
Maybe this story is a little odd?
Hope you enjoyed anyway, more than happy if you tell me :)
