Chapter 9

This was what was commonly referred to as a slam dunk case. If he hadn't been so controlling, he could have even have relaxed and simply enjoyed the ride. Everybody knew- and hated- the Queen. Even the ones that had not dealt with her personally in their previous life. He made a mental note to start referring to her as "Evil Queen" because epithets had such power in the populace's mind. Punch lines were useful. They drove the point home and kept it there, fresh. The Evil Queen was feared and hated and there was absolutely no way she was coming out of this trial alive (which served her right for being an impertinent… woman). Sure, they would have to go through the motions to respect the tender sensibilities of the reigning monarchs (and even in his head that sounded derisive) and that… creature they had spawned. Trust Charming (because he was no James, not the like the first James anyway, that boy had been worthy of being his son) to be too weak to simply go ahead and do what everybody would thank him for. A pansy for all his sword yielding. Whipped as they called it in this land. By the wife and by the daughter. He was none of his blood, that was for sure. Killing the Queen was tantamount to slaying a dragon. No one mourns dragons. No one would mourn the Queen.

Still, because this was not home, they had to paint by numbers. It had been a strong beginning, calling Emma Swan to the stand. Maybe not as much as he'd expected it to be, but for the price of the admission, he had scored a point against the Queen and as a freebie, he had rubbed salt (and plenty of it) in Snow's wound. Snow White, the thorn on his side. He would need to finish on high a note. And if they wanted to do it by this world's laws, then so be it, because the Hunter was six feet under and if needs must, he would dig out the corpse and do a little show and tell to the court and that Emma-Bleeding-Heart-Swan and see how that left them.

It was important though to get all his ducks in a row. And this was a due he would have to pay. He wanted Gold and his influence sitting in that witness stand, hating on the Queen (oh, he knew there was bad blood aplenty there) and giving everybody the right impression: that it was a bad idea to displease the Dark One.

If he secured that- and why would he not- the insolent Queen would be as good as dead.

He would need to get the Sheriff under control though. This would not do. Not at all.

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The feverish kissing was interrupted by footsteps coming down the mine's labyrinthic corridors. They had made love through the night, drunk on each other's scent and feel, through clothes they had not quite removed, in a bed not big enough for them. It was not enough and still, it was more than any of them had ever had, this absolutely not giving a rat's naked ass about the world at that moment.

James called out to Emma from the mouth of the cave and, figuring he had given them sufficient time for… well, whatever (he really could not process the thought of his baby doing… things) he walked in. He didn't want to look. But as he walked in, what he did was not about those… things, unspeakable to a father, but a gesture of tenderness, Emma pulling Regina's sweater down, Regina pulling a lock of Emma's hair out of her flushed face.

Maybe he was too new at this fatherhood thing, but even through the excruciating embarrassment, he felt pride that his little girl had grown to be a kind, decent person that could love like this (even if a disgraced queen).

"I brought you a few things" Emma stood from the cot and took the bag of clothes. He handed it to her through the bars. He presented a second bag to Regina. "I was not sure how to go about choosing. I hope it's OK."

She would not lie if asked: she was a little concerned with opening that bag. Magic had been released into Storybrooke and being bereft of any herself, she could not know what was in there. Could be anything, really. God knew she deserve it. But when she opened the bag, inside were only clothes. Her clothes, her underwear. An assortment of jumbled items as if he had been too charming to actually consider what intimate items he was packing. A notebook, a pen.

She wanted to reward him. She tried a smile. Smiles- the honest ones- did not come easy to her. It was limp smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you."

How did this woman do it? How did she put that pretty smile in his daughter's face? "My pleasure." And it was not a lie. Because Emma was smiling at the exchange.

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Ah, this was indeed a good place. George, the prosecutor walking into Rumplestilskin's shop. And she could well guess what for, though she did not need it because she did not even need to snap her fingers and she was inside listening to the conversation.

Not that she needed to intervene. She had, in fact, no intention of it. Whatever came out of this, she had already won. But it was ever so interesting to hear how these maggots went about the business of screwing with one another. It made her deliriously happy to know how they were all eating out of her hand, all puppets just thinking that because they could not yet see the strings, they were acting of their own free will. It gave her a thrill to know how much better, how much smarter, how much more powerful she was than all of the players in Storybrooke put together.

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It was a strange heightened reality they were living. It all looked so domestic, so normal if you ignored the magic bars and the earth floor. But here they were putting on fresh clothes and having breakfast together as if they did not have Regina's life on the line. But Regina was, herself, remarkably calm. As if she had nothing else to lose and was only holding on to the last ember of the fire. Fine, good, she could live like that too. But for this moment only. For now, there were only two people discovering how to wake up together.

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The guards arrived. They moved like Storm Troopers, all of them as if they had ceased to be the individuals she met in the morning and greeted over bear claws and tipped garbage cans to be one entity commanded by a brain exterior to them. As the Blue Fairy opened the bars and again put the collar around Regina's neck, they moved to grab Regina and pull her towards the bus that would drive them to the Town Hall. There was brief moment of ill-disguised panic from Regina until Emma moved to hold her to her body.

The first day in "court" had reminded Emma of a precious lesson: mob mindset. So today she was prepared. She took a deep breath and tucked Regina under her arm and pulled her to the table under a barrage of insults, catcalls and hatred. When they sat, she rubbed Regina's back until she felt the woman relax her stance. Regina remained stoic and impassive through it all. Good. That was good. She worried less while Regina gritted her teeth and sat a little straighter. Pissing her off was still a good way to bring out her strength.

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The Prosecutor was still seething, stewing over his conversation with Rumplestilskin. The deviant imp had simply smiled that smarmy, disgusting smile of his. "I'm not currently in the market for deals, deary." Maybe it was because this was not the Enchanted Forest but the cursed being had yet to revert to his serpent like appearance of old, but he certainly reclaimed the mannerisms quickly enough, mostly, George knew for a fact, as blunt instrument of intimidation. "I have nothing to gain either way. Think of me as a…" Rumplestilskin giggled, "Student of human nature. I have no desire of interfering with the subjects of my study."

"Name your price."

"Well, well, well. It seems you are not quite so sure of yourself after all. But be that as it may, you have anything of interest to me, deary."

Pissed and mean, George revised his strategy. He only had to remember that this was in the bag. And that all things being equal, then he might as well piss Rumplestilskin while he was at it. He just needed to get his game on.

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"I assume," Snow hit the gavel on the table for silence. "that everybody managed to remember that there will be no speaking out of turn in this room. There was none of the flair from the previous day when she had whistled the crowd quiet. This Snow was a lot more like Mary Margaret than Emma was comfortable with. There was a little venom dripping out of her voice, of the gazes she shot Regina. She was hurt and angry and Emma would have to deal with it. Her mother. She would have to deal with her mother's feelings and expectations. They would have to sit and just talk it out.

"I would assume as well that the Prosecution is ready to call their second witness."

"The Prosecution is ready and calls Jefferson, the Hatter"

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Her Papa was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Grace sat by the Prosecutor simply because there were no seats in the room safe for the one he had offered her, a sit right at the front. She did not like it very much. It felt like she was a trinket in a shop or a painting behind exhibited. She regarded the Queen with a fear that was that of the girl her father had asked to hide when he saw her. And yet, Mayor Mills, the one she knew from living in Storybrooke, she was one slip of a woman, barely taller than she herself was. But Papa knew best. Papa was the smartest, most wonderful man in the word and if he told her to run, she ran, if he told her to be afraid, she was indeed afraid. She wanted this to be over soon. Papa said that the Queen had to die. That it was the only way. Her Papa walked to the stand and it seemed like all the time he had left her alone with the neighbours had melted. He was the best father in the whole wide world. He was going to avenge them, the time they had spent apart. She liked the way he said that word. Avenge seemed like a good word. It was noble and worthy. He was going to avenge them.

She had never seen Papa remove the scarf around his neck. When the prosecutor asked him to reveal what was underneath the silk, she knew that it was bad by the way his hands shook. She knew it was bad by the look of pure hatred he gave the Mayor. Queen. Whatever. It was horrid and ugly and Papa had to have suffered a lot. And then Papa began to speak and to tell how the Evil Queen had tricked him into taking her to Wonderland. How the Queen had left him behind to be decapitated, unable to return to his daughter. She felt herself blush when the prosecutor pointed at her and commented on how precious she was. She did not feel precious at all. She felt like a bad girl for wanting that white rabbit. Had she not wanted it, had she not looked at it in the market, Papa would never have gone with the Queen. Had she not wanted things, Papa would not have been taken from her.

But Papa hated the Queen so much. He had told her so. He had told her he would make sure she died if it was the last thing he did. She believed him. She was sorry that this was Henry's mom, though. She liked Henry and Mayor Mills had never seemed like a horrible person. And if her Papa was right and she was responsible for the curse, then she had never wanted for anything. She'd had a good father, a good mother, a good home. She'd had for those years all that her heart could desire. Simply because she had never remembered to desire her Papa. It was all very confusing.

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Emma turned to Regina and whispered. "This is it, Regina. This is what we're here for. Help me please. Help me now, because shit just got real."

Even if she wanted. Even if she could muster it, Regina had nothing to say in her defence. She had taken Jefferson from his daughter and then left him behind. In her mother's realm. And well she knew what happened to people in her mother's realm. When Emma asked her to say something, anything to help with her defence, she simply couldn't.

"I left him with my mother, Emma. Nothing I say will excuse that." And it was as if she had closed off.

When Snow called her to interrogate the witness, Emma was lost. What was there to defend? Regina had left Jefferson behind- and she too knew damned well what that meant, to be in Cora's care- leaving his daughter alone.

There was no defence whatsoever. She remained seated, defeat weighing over her, the crushing weight of being, perhaps, on the wrong side. Jefferson was mad as a bucket of snakes and she could understand why. She would be too. Regina remained with her eyes firmly on her lap, weighed down by guilt.

"I have only one question for the witness." Regina took her hand and tried to pull her down. Emma took a moment because for a second she had this hope that Regina would justify herself. To others. Hell, to Emma, herself. She needed Regina to offer her something, a token of justification. Anything that could alleviate the weight. But it was as if she was not interested in being defended, as if she wanted to spare Jefferson all she could. "How long did you watch Grace through your telescope, Jefferson?" She could still remember the way he sharpened those scissors. The way he drugged her, the way he used Mary Margaret.

"Twenty. Eight. Years." He spat the words carefully, aiming them.

"So you were here for the duration of the curse?"

"Yes. Every single one of those days pining for a daughter that did not know me for who I was to her. Knowing she was there and that she was missing in my arms. Not having the luxury of forgetting about her."

"Did the Queen of Hearts release you? Did you manage to make the hat she huh… commissioned?"

"No." Jefferson seemed confused in that disturbing sort of way he had and she felt sorry for him. But only a little. She could still smell the fear in her own skin and she could still see Mary Margaret's terrified eyes. It had not been an idle threat, the weapon he turned on her.

"The how did you get away from there?"

"I… huh… I…" Emma could feel his agitation. She could feel how he desperately sought the answer for himself because he too could see where she was going with this. Smart Man. Smart and unbalanced. And she would do well to remember that.

"Did you get out by your own means?" He was angry. He was angry at her and she could feel it rolling in waves off of him. "No? Because I can tell you that the only reason you left, the only reason you are here, today is because Regina got you out. And you know that too, don't you?" Jefferson was livid. Frozen solid inside his own skin, only a feverish look in his pretty (in an axe murder sort of way) eyes. "You know because when I, the saviour, forced you to go back with me, when the Queen of Hearts tried to kill us both, she said Tell her that she owes me a Hatter." There was a noise from the assembly. Emma could not quite be sure what it meant. She was focusing intensely on Jefferson, because it seemed that he was too close to jumping off his skin, volatile as ever. "Regina took you out of there with the curse, didn't she?"

"No. NO!"

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Her Papa always did things like this. He was always trying to give her things she had no need for. That rabbit, the clothes, Mayor Mills' life. On every occasion she had told him he was the only thing she needed. He never seemed to listen. For a moment she missed her parents from this world, because they were so good at not having to give her things, at giving her only what she truly needed.

She knew her Papa was lying when he said "No".

Her Papa was such a good man. Why did have to lie?

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Screw what other people would think. As soon as Snow hit that gavel on the table for a recess (and god knew that she had she needed this one more than she had needed recess during maths classes in junior high), she signalled James to sit with Regina. "I need to speak to Mary… Snow. I need to speak to Snow." Her feet were hitching to go, her fingers were nervous, her tongue thick and uncoordinated.

James touched her hand with his. They had similar shaped fingers. What an odd thing to notice.

She made her way to the restrooms. She didn't quite know how to approach Snow. Certainly she did not know how to approach a mother. She'd never had one to practise on. She'd never had much by the way of friends either, but it had to be easier to speak to Mary her friend that Snow her mother.

What would she say anyway? Sorry I hurt you but I lived with this shit all my life? When she found Snow, it was in a pensive moment, staring out of the distorting window pane at the shadows created by the trees outside.

Emma struggled for how to call her. Mom? Snow? Mary? God, she was doomed. She almost turned around, but Snow's shoulders were slumped in a sort of defeat she could not bear. She walked to her mother. Her mother- and touched her shoulder. It felt a lot like being jet legged, this non-age difference between them. It was so strange. Stranger than never having had a mother and now having a readymade one that lived up to every single one of her childhood dreams- only 20 odd years too late. It was such a bad joke.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"You had to live through it, Emma. To understand, I mean. Through everything falling apart around us. You had to live through it to understand."

"I guess."

"Your father wanted to keep us all together. There was just one place in that tree and… you came too soon. He wanted to keeps us all together. I should have listened. I should have… She was not going to kill you. I never thought… I loved her once. She was good to me. Like a mother. And then… I thought she was going to kill you and you… Ah Emma…" Snow turned then, faced Emma. "You were so little. So pink." Her fingers traced the basic architecture of Emma's face. "So perfect. And I thought that I could… not let her win. I sent your father to put you in that wardrobe. And you spent your life going through things that I don't even have the imagination to conceive of."
"Mom."

The sigh was a keening sound, something taken from the deep of Snow's soul.

"She did a good job with Henry. If she had taken you…"

"Snow. Mom. Listen… I love you. You're a good person. I love it that we became friends. Not many people can say that about their mothers, huh? You made a choice. You made a choice at that moment. I wished you had kept me. Who knows what would have happened then. But this is where we are. I love you."

Mary Margaret was such an easy person to be. She cried and laughed all in good time with life. Snow was a lot more cautious. A lot more of everything. More courage and more cowardice too. Stronger but also more breakable. She missed being Mary because being Snow, well, it sucked sometimes. Being a princess, being born and bread for power did not leave you much room to feel embarrassment and fragility. And right now she was all of those things.

"I wish I could hold you again. Like you were then. I miss that… It's the oddest thing. The diapers I should have changed, the fevers I should have soothed, the teething. The tantrums. Those should have been mine. All I have of you is the memory of those precious few minutes before the wardrobe. And I miss those things. I miss them and I never had them."

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When Snow came back, she looked younger. Brighter. Lighter. She looked more like his Snow before the curse. He missed that Snow. The happy go lucky Snow that stormed a castle and got it back from her stepmother. The Snow that fought and laughed. This was a good moment.

Emma returned to him and Regina and placed her hand on his. His fingers clutched at her and even if he had missed all those things he hadn't even known he wanted- the first step, the first word, the first tooth- he had his child back. The sense of accomplishment was probably misplaced, but it felt good to sit here and see her take a stand, to keep right on standing when everything that was being said in this room must have been a blow to her. He liked this daughter that had come from him and his true love. He liked her as a person. Respected her. Not many fathers can say that about their children.

She kissed him. On the cheek. A peck only. But he felt he could pick the world from its rotation and offer it to her if she needed it.

He did the next best thing: he took Regina's hand and tapped it softly, a gesture of encouragement. "In the end, it it's going to be OK." And even though he had no clue what that mean, that OK, he had absolute faith in his Emma, that she would make it happen.

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"The Prosecution calls the siblings Hansel and Gretel."

Yep, he was going to bring in all the kids. The sympathy card but in reverse. He was going to make it look like that Regina ate children for breakfast and spat their bones out before noon. Bring it on.

The twins sat straight as rulers in their chairs- once Gretel knocked some posture into Hansel. They did not need much encouragement from the Prosecutor. Gretel seemed to have watched every legal show on TV. Regina had straightened on her chair. Ramrod straight. Her face did not betray one single thought. Emma leaned into her. It did not look good. It did not look good at all. She needed something, anything at all. A justification. A reason. An excuse. Anything on why Regina would have taken these children from their father. Why she'd sent them into the witch's house. She needed anything, but Regina simply closed herself off like a clam. And at the front, George was painting the devil and decorating it with bells and whistles, showing a heartless Regina, snatching a hardworking father from his children, leaving them alone in a forest full of dangers, and then forcing them into the lair of a cannibalistic witch. And he was doing such a stellar job of it that Emma herself felt her heart break a little for the kids. None the least because of what had followed in Storybrooke when she had tried returning them to their father, with Regina opposing it at every single turn of the screw. Regina was a bitch, well and truly. And still, she loved her. Even when she could not justify or understand her. That did not sit quite well in her gut. Not well at all. But she didn't know what to do with those feelings, both the disgust and the love. She couldn't even separate them.

Regina's hand was closed into a fist, her knuckles white. Her throat was working convulsively as if she too was trying to swallow an unpalatable truth. Emma turned to her and, in truth, waited. Waited for something that might absolve or at least, make it look not so bad.

There was nothing but stoicism from Regina and Emma wanted to erase it from her face. The hard way. She would like to see regret and, for more than a moment, she could have beaten it into Regina. She would like to see an emotion, a strong one, a reaction to what she had done. Emma would kill for a single look of regret from Regina. But nothing came. Only that damned stoicism. Which was a lie in itself. It pissed her off on account of both the stoicism and the lie.

And that Regina still had secrets, still kept secrets from her, aggravated her too. She wanted the truth now. Only the truth, thank you very much. She deserved the truth from Regina. Even if she had to keep it from everybody else.

"Why?" She took Regina's hand in hers and though it looked like it to everybody else in that room, there was no tenderness in the gesture. Only anger and frustration. She squeezed her hand over Regina's clenched fist and the intent was clear. She wanted to cause pain. She wanted to squeeze regret out of the woman. As if that could ensure there was nothing left of the evil queen to extract. "Why did you do this?" She whispered.

It had to hurt. Devil knew her own hand was hurting from the pressure she was exercising over Regina's delicate bones. Regina did not give an inch. And then her reaction was a classic attack. "That witch had an apple I really wanted."

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The book, Emma, Henry thought out loud from his perch on the tree. The book. He knew it as well as the palm of his hand. Maybe better. And because this had been the very first story that had pointed out to him the truth that his mother was the Evil Queen, he knew it better than every other. He had seen himself so many times as Hansel, brought to her simply as a means to an end.

And maybe it was the truth. Maybe. He was confused as of late, unable to raise the banner against her as easily as he had before. And there was no vindication to be had today with her silence. Just a nagging feeling that there was more to even simplest of truths.

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Emma leafed through the book. It was a nervous gesture, more than anything. She remembered Regina sneering, the taunts, the malice. Her picture on the front page of the newspaper. She leafed through the book and it opened on the final page of the twins' story, Regina inviting them to stay with her. Promising them the world and a pony for them to stay with her. She remembered that Regina so overwhelmed before she brought her heart back. She remembered the anguish when she had let go of Henry. The hand she had closed over Regina's, the hand she had almost used to break Regina's, itched and burned. She wanted to cut it off.

When the Prosecution finished his tirade, Emma rose and looked at the kids. She remembered the affinity she had felt for them, the abandoned orphans, just like she had been.

"I have only one question. Not really important. It won't change anything, but… Did she ask you for anything?"

"Besides going into the witch's house?" Gretel quipped. The kid was bad ass. She had that same defensive energy Emma had in spades that came from too many years looking out for herself and anticipating threats.

"Besides that."

"No."

"She did." Hansel was definitely the meeker of the two. Gretel gave him a pointed look, loaded with a shut the hell up quality. Emma approached them and laid her hand in his arm. "She asked if we wanted to live with her. Said we'd be happy."

"But we didn't believe her." Gretel added. Her words were the ones that had effect on the crowd. The mumbles and grumbles that Snow had warned them about, intensifying.

The effect on Emma was different. And it was very unsettling.

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Snow closed the session. They seemed to be making very little progress. In two days they had heard from three people. Storybrooke was a town of victims. There wasn't a single person in there that would not point a finger at Regina. So in all likelihood, this would take forever. And she was tired. She hated this. She hated the feeling of having her daughter against her. She hated how unsettled her world seemed to be. As if it would only fall back into place once this problem was… sorted. In her heart she knew that sorting the problem would mean Regina dead. Regina alive simply did not sort the problem. And she was just tired enough not to sensor her thoughts. She'd heard just about enough to feel justified in the sentence her mind seemed to have already passed. Regina had to die.

She asked Emma if the defence was finished. It bothered her that discomfort in her child's gaze.

"I am. Unless the Prosecution is intending on calling any more children to the stand today."

"Not today, no, Miss Swan." The Prosecutor replied haughtily from his seat.

"They seem to be your greatest asset, Gramps." George bristled at the epithet.

It amused Snow how easily Emma needled the old bastard. And how rattled he was by one single word. He too had his own little secrets, his secret stash of shit that he did not want to see aired. How Emma was not really his granddaughter was something he could do well without her reminding him of it. It was fulfilling to see him squirm.

"I could call every single one of the peasant children to the stand too, Sheriff. You seem to forget that we have a school full of them. Every single one of those unfortunate souls ripped from their land and brought here, to this one."

"Sure, let's do it." Emma walked to her seat looking tired. "I would hate to miss on their views on how hunger and lack of vaccines and working with their parents from sun up to sun down beat their warm beds and the video games and schooling in Storybrooke. I'm sure none of the Storybrooke elementary and secondary school pupils can wait to return to the Enchanted Forest and that enchanting reality." She closed the book and pushed back on chair as if she truly was waiting for his next call to the stand. "Children do make for pretty decoration."

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Emma spied Henry perched on the tree when they left the Town Hall. She saw his serious little expression, the worry etched into it when they were loaded into the school bus that would take them to the cave. She wanted to show him to Regina but she was busy trying to make herself small at the back of the bus. She was looking out of the window, but really, Emma knew, she was simply staring inside. And the view must have been terrible.

She sat by herself, stamping down on the impulse to offer comfort. Regina had to look inside. She was bound to feel the weight of all she had done. In way, Emma thought, it was not a bad thing because we all have to deal with our failures, with our guilt. And survive it. She wanted Regina to survive this. And ultimately, that would mean survive herself. Awareness was a gradual, unsettling burden. She wanted that Regina. She wanted to love her because she already loved the one that was a victim. But that was the really hard part. And from the looks of today she was doing a less than stellar job of it. Her hand burned still.

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When they arrived at the cave, the Blue Fairy was already there. She removed the collar from Regina's neck and this time, she made no comment to Emma getting into the cell as well. She simply pushed the bars closed and walked away, a subdued walk, all meekness and understatement.

Regina moved into the darkest part of the cave and sat on the cot. Emma was again in there with her and there was nothing Regina would have wished for more at that moment than privacy to deal with the spoils of the day, with the bitter feeling in her mouth, with the weight on her heart, that heart that was finding it increasingly difficult to beat steadily under the weight of the guilt.

She could not blame Emma. She knew this was coming. Emma with her moral code that had preserved Henry's life when she had found herself pregnant and destitute. Emma that did not jump ship. And if Regina let her, she would go down with this one. And wasn't it ironic that she wanted nothing more than to preserve her from that, from the failure that would come with her death.

It was a small pity party, but she would rather die alone than to let Emma live through it and blame herself. If only she could find the strength of her beliefs.

Emma came to sit next to her. "I'm sorry"

"What on earth for?" She couldn't quite tack the Ms Sawn at the end of the sentence.

As her only response, Emma took the hand she had squeezed. She studied it and she could still the marks her fingers had left behind. She took it to her lips and kissed it softly, a pointless action if she wanted to erase the bruises. Each of them stayed, each of them a finger pointed at Emma. "It's difficult, at times."

"I imagine so."

"Is that why you had nothing to say? I can't do this alone, Regina. I need your help to save you."
"What if I am beyond saving?" Emma stopped then. Her heart, her kisses, her fingers.

"No." She went on her knees at Regina's feet. "No, you're not." Her hands went to Regina's legs and slipped up to her thighs and settled at her waist, pulling that body to her, her head pressed to Regina's mid section. "Absolutely not. I am the saviour, remember?" Regina's hand ran through the wild mass of curls. Emma was a princess all the way, from her heart to her hair. "You wanted children so much that you wanted to keep those two, didn't you?"

"There is hardly an excuse there, Emma. They said no and I threw them out into the forest."

"I know."

"And you're ok with that?"

"No." She pulled away then and looked straight at eyes that seemed to have gone beyond grief and shame and were staring right at an abyss. "And I don't understand it, so don't expect eloquent explanations, but I…" She hid her face in Regina's midsection again. "I think I love you and… it would make me happy if you would stick around for a little while, maybe a long while."

What was it with Emma that it was so easy for her to plough through her defences as if they were nothing but sand? What was it with Emma that made it crying such a simply thing when for her it was always easiest to simply not let the world know what was wrong? The only way she knew how to cry was to suppress those tears. Emma was the only person that had known what the absence of tears meant.

They stayed that way for a long time. Until Emma fell asleep on her knees at her feet. Until Regina picked up a blank notebook and called it Diary and wrote in it what was wrong. What hurt.

When a monster stops behaving like a monster did it stop being a monster? Does it become something else?