A/N - I know this chapter is a short one for Riptide but you're getting a double update today. I'm feeling generous...
10. Break on Through
"Come on, come on," Emma slammed her aching hands down on the desk in frustration. "Something!"
She sighed, collapsing back in her chair. This was all ridiculous. Some fools' errand she couldn't bring herself to stop, because of stubbornness and hatred and worst of all, that tiny glimmering sliver of hope that kept her from just grieving like a normal person and moving the hell on.
They'd returned from that damn island three days ago, and she was no closer to finding her son. Emma didn't trust Rumplestiltskin any more than she'd trust a shark, but what he'd said about Hook and the Bluebird, and Regina... It seemed like he'd been helping. Which, you know, thanks a lot, he caused the problem in the first pace, but still. He was a walking contradiction: he'd never made sense, why should he start now?
So maybe the Dark One had been right. Maybe the cave was bullshit. And if that was the case... Maybe there was something else on the map.
Or maybe Regina was right and she was just a bigger idiot than she thought.
Emma blew the hair back from her face, snatching the map off the desk and narrowing her eyes at the fading lines and curling script. Fancy. Ugh. She'd been staring at it for so long now that she barely saw any of it, just a blue-grey blur of squiggles and bullshit. Her eyes ached.
She winced, shooting a sideways glance at the desk drawer with the whiskey lying waiting inside. Can I...? Emma considered. To feel the burn in her throat, her stomach, the distraction of it. The anaesthesia. She could just open the drawer and pull it out and –
No.
No.
Emma sat up straighter in her chair, staring at the map as the lines swam into focus in front of her eyes. No. She'd just said no. Her whiskey bottle was lying in the drawer, still, untouched, collecting dust. And she was here, with her brain working and her pain switched on and maybe she'd make a breakthrough. Because she said no.
A faint smile ghosted over her lips. She never said no. Even when she was a kid, pickpocketing and lying and sleeping with a dagger in her hand, she never said no. But she had. Emma swallowed, running a finger over the map. She'd said no, because she needed to be okay for this, for Henry. For Alaric and Sal and the rest of her crew. For Regina.
The thought of the damned princess almost had her smiling again. The days since they'd returned she'd been around, with soft eyes and no anger behind her complaints. In fact, when Regina made her snarky comments now it almost seemed nice, an inside joke between the two of them. Regina, who met her eyes across the fire and let slip her fears. Regina, who had tore her shirt to bandage her wounds while she slept, who had the initiative and intelligence to gather rainwater for them to drink, who had the willpower to half-carry her down to the beach and back home. Emma never knew she had it in her.
Regina.
Then it clicked – Regina. The notes she'd made, when she studied the map. Emma still had them. Heart speeding up against her ribs, she lunged forward, scrabbling for the next desk drawer, yanking it open. Amidst the junk and memories, was a scrap of parchment covered with pretentious looping script.
"Yes," Emma heard herself breathe, scanning the paper as quick as she could.
Regina had scrawled Pre-'22 Dwarfish? Hidden coded numerology? first, which Emma didn't really get. She assumed that was one of the manor estate education things. But then came the actual, stunted deciphering. She swallowed, breathing in light, hopeful air as she read. Follow. To seek. Pure. CRYSTAL. 21 7 33?
Emma's heart leapt at the number. It so obviously related to the map's code and yet... She frowned, snatching up the map and staring again, frantically scanning the two lines of writing. The numbers... Now they were pointed out she could see them, in that order, hidden, written into the letters.
God, she'd had this the whole fucking time? The whole time, and she couldn't see? She dropped back against her chair for a second, stubby fingernails biting angrily into her palms. The whole time, she'd been that blind? Not the point. Not the point – that number – every digit brought her closer to her son. Thank God for Regina.
Emma snatched the paper again, holding it up beside the map. A spill of pale gold light from the window fell across the parchment, lighting up the dust motes swirling through the air. She narrowed her eyes, searching. That number was what, half a coordinate? Maybe. Emma frowned, heartbeat throbbing in her wrists. What she didn't know was how that translated to the map.
Knife-edge hope drummed through her racing pulse. She held her breath, scrambling for the weathered old compass the other side of her desk, setting it anxiously. Her eyes raced over the map. The air seemed to be crackling now. She was on the brink of something – perhaps the same old crushing disappointment, fear, anger, self-hatred.
Perhaps not.
It took a while, a long anxious while of the compass spinning and the map sitting casting shadows on her desk, looking at her with all the answers written across it, before Emma realised. In fact, it took long enough that her hands were beginning to itch for a bottle again. Long enough that her mind was wandering, replaying the events of the island over and over.
And she was thinking about that humid night with the cold wind and the smell of salt and jungle all around, and how Regina had looked when she smiled at her across the campfire, and how she'd moved into Emma's jacket when she'd put it around her – and then she looked back at Regina's handwriting.
She felt the small furrow appear between her brows.
Emma leaned forward over the desk, pulling the map toward her. Her breath caught in her throat. She stared. 21... 7... 33... They were map points. Heart racing, she glanced toward the graph line along the bottom of the map. The letters.
Barely daring to breathe, she put her finger over the C point and let it move up to 21. There was an island. And then, heart in her throat, point R 7. Y 33. All islands, or coves, or dunes. Somewhere they could go. Now, she didn't know the rest of the numbers; those, she was sure, she'd find along the way. But she knew the rest of the letters – those she knew. CRYSTAL. In that order.
Emma pushed back from the desk before her mind caught up, scrambling across the cabin with her breath ragged and her heartbeat frantic, sparkling and bubbling over. She tore through the door. I'm coming Henry. I'm coming.
-0-
Beyond the figurehead, the ocean was perfectly calm and flat, dully shimmering silver like a window or maybe a mirror.
Regina stared out across the water with her hands resting on the rail beside the figurehead and a calm feeling settling like dust in her lungs. It stretched all the way to the horizon in all directions, a sealed bubble of soft lapping sounds of water against wood and bright salty air.
She suddenly found herself thinking of all those nights growing up, laced into ridiculous gowns in stuffy ballrooms, struggling to breathe or think clearly in the stifling airless heat: how out here, surrounded by coarse shouting outlaws, dressed in peasant's cast-offs, with the fresh ocean air in her lungs and the feel of the gently shifting deck beneath her feet, she'd never breathed clearer.
Strange to think what's become of me.
She drummed her fingers against the wood absently. It had been days now since the Emma shut herself in her cabin, studying the map, probably drinking. Regina made a huffing noise in the back of her throat, not that anyone was around to hear. She sighed, gaze lowering to the distant horizon.
Emma had been understanding enough when she'd come to thank her, but she knew that would have passed too quickly. The bottom line was, the island was a dead end. Rumplestiltskin interfered, like he always did, and that little boy was still so far from his mother.
And Emma... Emma had to act like the perfect strong captain for everyone around her but she was crushed completely, it was written clearly in her eyes. That yearning for Henry, for the child that had been taken... She could only imagine. Regina sighed. She wondered if anyone was looking for her the way they were all looking for him – for anything more than duty or anger. Frankly, she doubted it.
"Regina!"
She whipped around, heart leaping in her chest at the familiar shout. "Emma," Regina called, voice breathless as the wind snatched it up and tossed it away.
The captain was running at her with her blonde hair flying in the grey breeze, face lit up with the most real smile she'd ever seen. The happiness in her eyes worked like the firelight, softening her. She looked beautiful when she was happy. Regina resisted the urge to run and meet her, letting the pirate skid to a stop in front of her, chest rising and falling heavily with her breath. She could feel the start of a smile dancing in her chest before she even said anything – just the look on her face told her enough.
"I did it," Emma told her softly, earnestly, grin curling at the corners of her open mouth. An incredulously happy light shone behind her green ocean eyes, softening and emphasising her whole face. She was close enough for Regina to shiver at the feel of her breath just slightly brushing over her skin. "I did it, Regina, I worked it out. The crystals – they're not stones, they're coordinates." There was almost disbelief in her gentle voice. "I did it."
Regina felt her own smile ignite in her chest before it reached her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Emma cut her off. Blonde hair streaming out in the wind, Emma leaned closer, grin widening, warm hands finding purchase on Regina's waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her heart leapt.
"We did it," Emma corrected, wide eyes trained on hers. "Your notes – Regina, you're a genius!"
"So we can do it?" Regina heard herself say, blood racing, cool air flowing over her skin. She was still staring up into the pirate's overjoyed face. "The clues are achievable. We're going to find Henry?"
"Yes!" Emma nodded, green eyes shining. "Yes, we are!"
It was the first time she'd seen the captain completely free of guards or walls or angry muttering, completely open. Regina stared at her, taking it in because she knew it had to last her til whenever the next time was and wondering if she owed her the same courtesy. Her whole life had been built on walls and defences but... if this pirate could be open for one moment in a sea of snappy comments then so could she.
After all, Regina never could let Emma beat her.
"Emma... that's wonderful." Regina told her, honestly. Emma's hands were warm against her waist, through the cloth of her shirt. And suddenly her heart was racing like crazy, like a it was a magnet and the pirate was solid gold. She scarcely dared to breathe. The air was crackling, full of raw dancing sparking energy, like magic, like hope. Her bones felt like kindling about to catch alight. "I –"
"Regina?" Emma was looking at her strangely, brow furrowed, lips parted, wide green eyes flashing and shining intensely. Her voice was already breathless. "Can I..."
Emma never finished her sentence.
She didn't know who moved first, but suddenly Emma was pulling her closer and her fingers were tangling into blonde hair and before either of them had time to think their lips were meeting, sealing into the kiss.
Regina's breath barely had time to hitch before she instinctively pushed herself into Emma, wrapping her arms tentatively around her neck, moving her head back against her lips. Her lips – warm and chapped and gentle against hers.
Where they touched radiated heat, sent shivers racing over her skin and sparking through her bones. Emma caught her with equal fervour, arms wrapping firmer around her waist, pulling her tight against her. All over her, nerve endings she never knew existed burst to life, like bubbles popping, glass shattering. And then her heart was soaring, her lips were moving and the sound of the ocean all around and the slow flowering warmth unfurling through her chest was all there was.
Emma tightened her arms around her waist. Her eyelashes brushed her cheek. Regina's arms wound around her neck, pressing herself closer. In the fierce tearing wind, her dark hair was whipping around her, tangling with Emma's frenzied blonde in the crisp grey air around them. Regina tilted her head sideways, noses bumping, exploratory mouths moving in tandem.
Her stomach flipped, blood surged, heavy and slow and racing and crashing lightening-fast all at once. Regina didn't have a clue what in hell's name they were doing, but she couldn't stop – lips pressing and taking, soft and frenetic and out of time, hearts beating like wild things in their rib cages. Emma moved her mouth harder against hers, more confidently, and her insides melted. She could feel her pulse jump in her cheek, their tangled hair brushing over her wind-chafed skin.
There was a stirring in her blood now, shifting and roiling like the ocean in her stomach and maybe this was what she'd felt all those times before: this fire catching in her bones, this riptide in her veins.
Eventually, when her lungs were burning they pulled back at the same time, lips parting with a soft sound like hope. Half a moment snagged on flowing time, half a moment before Emma let her go, and Regina were just staring, breathless, nose brushing hers as her hair whipped frantically around them, and those wide green eyes were all she saw.
Then Emma's arms loosened around her waist slowly, until she could feel deck beneath her feet again. Regina blinked, feeling a frown begin to furrow her brow, chest rising and falling heavily as her ragged breath fell back into a rhythm. The air was cold and smelled of salt, soothing over her burning skin.
What the hell did we just do?
Emma was gaping at her, breathless, eyes wide. Her blonde hair streamed through the air like a pale banner, long coat snapping in the wind. She nodded, awkwardly, mouth open. "I should – the coordinates – the crew –"
Regina nodded, searching for any two words to string together. They all hung just out of reach. So she swallowed, nodded again and watched the captain turn and run across the deck, blinking in the tearing sea air and wondering what in hells name just happened.