A/N: As always, apologies for the long delays.
Warnings: Language, domestic violence, allusions to past drug use and marital rape. Also, extremely shoddy medical details. Go with it.
Please let me know your thoughts.
They enter his apartment through the window (which is probably a vulnerability he should correct, Henry thinks absently, wildly), and he stops abruptly, staring at his laptop screen. "Storybrooke," Henry says almost breathlessly. "It's gone again."
"Yeah, ot keeps coming and going," Emma tells him, which is more or less the truth. There's not a lot of time to go into anything else right now. All they have time for now is run like hell and hope for the best.
And pray they haven't made the wrong decision in leaving Elizabeth behind.
In leaving Regina behind.
"It wasn't doing that before," Henry insists, stepping close the laptop.
"Kid, not now, okay?"
"Right. I need my typewriter."
"Pack quickly," she tells him. "We need to get away before the cops set up a perimeter."
"I know. Lucy –"
"I'll get her. Get your shit. Only necessities." She smiles thinly at him. "Only endgame."
"Endgame?"
"You're a writer, Henry, you know what tonight means. It means there are no do-overs." She blinks rapidly as she says this, trying not to think about how her reemergence in her son's life has altered it so dramatically that this is where they all are. It's not just her, of course – Henry stumbling across Regina had set everything in motion, but now it's a family kind of mess.
The usual kind, then.
"Okay, okay. Wait, Mom, what about your back? Can you –"
"It's fine," she says abruptly, the tightened lines around her eyes betraying the lie of her words. "Get what you need; I'll get Lucy." She quickly leaves and goes to where her granddaughter is sleeping. Soundly, like her whole world hasn't just blown apart on her.
But it has, and nothing will be the same … for any of them.
That's not a new thing for her, but for a child –
She once again tries not to wonder if it would have been better for everyone if Henry hadn't found her and gotten her out of that cell. If perhaps he and Lucy be safer without her in their lives?
Yes, of course they would…
"Emma?" Lucy says sleepily, jolting Emma from her morose thoughts.
"Hey, Kiddo," Emma replies, wincing as she leans in and gently touches Lucy's face. "I know you're sleepy, and you were probably having a really wonderful dream, but I need you to get up, all right? I need you to get dressed. We have to go somewhere, and we need to hurry."
"Where?"
"Somewhere else," Emma answers, her voice quiet and terrible and full of so much that Lucy doesn't understand. Before she can ask Emma what's going on, she hears the sound of sirens.
Of an ambulance arriving.
"Don't look outside," Emma tells her.
"Why not?
"Mom?" Henry says, poking his head in. He's got two backpacks slung over his shoulder (one most certainly has the laptop he's been watching Storybrooke on), and the typewriter box in his hands.
"Dad, what's going on?" Lucy asks, rushing to her father. Then, "Where's Elizabeth?"
"Waiting for us to come get her," Henry answers cryptically. "But we need to get away first."
"You did something," she states. "You both did."
"We don't have time for this," Emma tells him, raw panic seeping around the edges of her voice.
"I know. Luce, take one of these bags, and let's go." He meets her eyes, solemn and strong.
Taking control in a way he seldom does.
Lucy nods, and quietly follows her father and grandmother out of the apartment and down the long corridor to the parking garage; in ten minutes, it'll be locked down, but right now, there's still too much confusion, and no one really knows what happened or who has been hurt. Leading them to his old Mustang, Henry ushers them inside, drops the typewriter and both bags into the trunk, and slides behind the wheel. "I know a place," he tells her as he fires up the engine and slowly steers the car out of the garage and onto the street.
"Good," Emma nods, and then stares out the window. As they approach the flashing lights, Henry eyes are drawn to Emma's hands; they are shaking terribly as she slowly flexes and releases her fists every few seconds, nails digging into her palms with each squeeze.
It reminds him of how she looked when he'd first brought Emma home from prison. How he would see the thousand-yard stare of someone lost in their memories … someone who knew that they couldn't survive going back there again. He's right. Looking back at her, he sees her wincing in pain, as her brow furrows and her eyes squeeze shut.
"It'll be okay," he tells her, painfully aware that he'd promised his other mother the same thing.
He'd failed her the first time – he won't fail either of them this time.
They finally pass the cops and the ambulance, and turn down another street.
Henry tries not to think about how they're leaving Regina behind.
Emma touches his arm and says in a soft shaky whisper, "We're going back for her. We are, Kid."
Like she knows what he'd been thinking.
Like she'd been thinking the same exact thing.
"Elizabeth, right?" Lucy asks. "We're going to help her?"
"Yeah, of course we are, Kiddo" Henry confirms, and then turns the radio on.
Listening grimly as a news bulletin about a shooting next to his apartment hits the airwaves.
Knowing in this moment that yes, Emma had been right about this being the endgame.
For all of them.
Elizabeth slides in and out of consciousness on her way to the hospital, the pain of multiple broken bones shoving her back towards the darkness every time she tries to fight back to lucidity. There's an IV running something into her bloodstream, and it feels good enough that she stops fighting.
Someone asks her, "Do you know what your name is?"
She murmurs, "No," and then fades back under.
Back to the world with the castles and galloping horses.
Suddenly, there's a woman leaning over her, asking, "Regina, how could you let this happen?"
The woman looks like a whole lot like her.
It has to be the drugs, Elizabeth decides - the really fucking good drugs.
Because she knows her name, and it isn't Regina.
Her name is Elizabeth Carson and…
"No, it's not. You're not...her. You need to fight," the other-her growls.
"I don't want to die," she replies. "If I fight, he'll kill me."
"That's exactly why you need to fight." The other-her softens. "At least long enough –"
"Long enough for what?" Elizabeth wonder aloud, her words slurring.
"For our family to bring you home."
"I have no family."
"Deep down," the other-her whispers as she kisses her forehead. Her hand clutches at Elizabeth's and squeezing in a way that feels fierce and inexplicably both loving and deeply adoring, she adds, "You know that you do."
And then the other-her roughly pushes away from Elizabeth.
Her glare somehow challenging Elizabeth to hold on before she disappears in a cloud of purple smoke.
The next dream is about a dancing hippo…Elizabeth thinks maybe that one makes more sense.
As it turns out, Henry's "place" is a friend's rather low-rent apartment on the bad side of town.
As he knocks on the door, he turns to Emma, "We shouldn't be here. Lucy shouldn't be here."
"Why?" Emma asks, taking Lucy's hand and pushing her behind them.
"Because I met Andy right after Alicia passed away," Henry admits grimly, his face coloring with shame before he collects himself and forces himself to look at her. "I wasn't in a good place."
"Meaning?"
"I tried some stuff to help me forgot. My fault, not his. He just offered it, and I said yes because it seemed like a better idea than hurting. Then I remembered Lucy needed me, and I stopped." His eyes glaze for a moment, thinking back to a period in his life that he'd prefer to forget. He did not want either of his mothers to learn just how far he'd fallen. That the one with the heart of the truest believer had lost complete faith in everything for a time, and let everyone down.
His daughter – Alicia's daughter – most of all.
At that moment, he swore that he'll never do that again; he'll never choose anyone or anything over Lucy.
"We all do what we have to do to survive," Emma tells him, her hand reaching out to take his hand and squeezes it, a fierce burning determination in her eyes, a need for him to really understand that these aren't just empty words to her. "You, me, Elizabeth. All of us, Henry."
"You think Mom will understand that any better than you or I do?" Henry counters.
"No," Emma agrees. "I think she won't understand it at all."
The door opens, and a young scraggly man appears. "Henry?"
"Hey, Andy," Henry replies. "Need a place to hang out for a few hours."
"You're in trouble?"
"Yeah."
Andy opens the door. "Come in." He smiles at Lucy. "This your little one?"
"Yeah, this is my Lucy."
"Hi, Lucy," Andy says. Then looks at Emma, "Girlfriend?"
"Family," Emma corrects. "And thank you. For the shelter."
"Henry took care of me even though he didn't have to. Got me into rehab."
"Did it take?"
"Some days," Andy admits with a weary shrug.
"Some days are better than no days, Andy," Henry smiles at him warmly, squeezing his arm.
"So, what happened? Can't be just another drunk and disorderly kind of mess."
"Someone we tried to help out of a bad marriage. Went…upside down." He glances over at Lucy, desperately wanting to hide the reality of this from her, even though he knows that they really can't.
Because eventually, saving Elizabeth means going back for her, and that means seeing her.
Lucy is going to see all the terrible damage that had been done to Elizabeth; and she's too smart of a child to believe any kind of bullshit cover-up tale.
"Cops involved?" Andy asks as he reaches over to a bowl and pulls out a couple of Hershey Kisses. He offers them to Lucy who thanks him and then presses one in to Henry's hand.
Saying with a small smile, "It ain't much, Henry, bro, but sugar is best, right?"
"Yep … Sugar is best," Henry repeats, like it's some kind of protective 12-step mantra, and Emma thinks that maybe it is (and finds herself understanding more than she wishes she did). After finishing off the little piece of chocolate, Henry lowers his voice and tells Andy, "The cops will be all over eventually. I promise, we'll be out of here before that happens. We just needed a place to regroup for a minute."
"Don't sweat it. Long as you need the roof, you've got it."
"Hey," Emma says. "You mind if I turn on the TV?"
"Nah." He hands her a remote and watches as Emma flips through the channels, looking for news.
What they find are several reports with scant details, confused witnesses who didn't really see much, yet described seeing everything from Santa Claus to the Easter Bunny in the alley, and everything in-between.
Eventually, the cops will figure it all out.
They'll figure out who Elizabeth and Trevor Carson are.
Trev has friends on the police force, and he'd been threatening to take out a restraining order.
It won't take long for them to put two and two together.
But fortunately, they haven't yet.
"We need to find out if she can be moved from the hospital," Emma tells Henry.
"You're thinking about a break-out?" he asks, and it's only because of the life they've lived – the adventures they've gone on together – that such a thought comes so easily to him.
"I think if we don't, our window to get to her is going to slam shut, and she's going to get swallowed up by the social services system, and there's a whole lot of well-meaning people who will just want to see her to go away, and by that, I mean back to her husband."
She starts pacing around, thinking out loud. "Problem is, I have no idea where we can go if we somehow manage to bust her out of there. Every cop in Maine is going to be on our ass – my ass – and no one is going to believe we kidnapped her because we're trying to get her away from that prick."
"Yeah," Henry agrees, frowning. Then, head tilting, he reaches behind him and pulls his backpack off. He hands it to Lucy, and extracts his laptop and pops it open. Two taps, and it's connected to the internet, and soon, he's staring at the image of the Storybrooke town line.
Right where it should be, the sign above it, bright and shimmering.
"Kid," Emma warns. "I watched it blink out. It might not be there when we get…home."
"I know, it's a hell of a risk," he agrees, looking up at her, a broad almost mad smile stretched across his lips. He looks over at his daughter, who faithfully nods along. "It's crazy. But –"
"Maybe," Emma finishes for him, tears in her eyes, because this is what they're down to.
"Do I even want to know?" Andy asks.
"Best you don't. After we leave, you never saw us," Henry tells him.
"That bad?"
"I shot someone," Emma answers. "He was a son of a bitch, but…I'm a felon."
"Which means it doesn't matter how big of a bastard he is, you're still fucked," Andy states.
"Yeah."
"I never saw you," Andy promises.
Henry nods in gratitude at him, and then turns to Emma. "We need a plan."
She offers him a somewhat sickly smile, looks over at Lucy and says, "I have one."
Elizabeth Carson is confused.
Terribly, horribly confused.
She's in a hospital bed with all sorts of tubes and wires attached to her (and she thinks a catheter as well, uncomfortably), with a fairly substantial (and quite welcomed) amount of very hard drugs pumping into her system. Only half lucid, she gingerly turns towards the tiny window in her room, and she can see her own reflection, her face swollen and bruised.
She can't quite figure out how she got here. One of the cops told her that it's the drugs and the trauma; and that she shouldn't worry too much about it because the mugger isn't here.
That's what they think.
They think that Elizabeth and her husband were mugged on their way back from a night out.
Only, she doesn't recall being anywhere with Trev.
Well, that's not entirely true – she recalls being in an alley with him, and feeling frightened, but the how and why of everything is muddled in her drug-fogged brain. However, the marks on her face … those she recognizes, and she knows what they mean even without the clear memories.
She's seen them a few times too many times not to understand exactly what they mean.
She's heard the ringing apologies that always followed, empty words meant for control not contrition.
Still, she's struggling to figure out what she's doing in this hospital; there's been other times when she's had to go in to get patched up, but she's never had to stay – she's never been hurt this badly.
Had he done this to her?
She remembers leaving him, standing outside and waiting for Emma.
And knows that the answer to the question is yes – yes, he had hurt her this badly.
The man she'd chosen to marry and spend her life with had –
"Mrs. Carson?" she hears coming from the doorway. "How are you feeling?"
"Alone," she says before she can think to stop herself.
"Your husband is just down the hallway," the nurse tells her. "He's going to be all right."
"He's hurt?"
"He was shot. The same person who hurt you," the nurse answers, but her head is cocked, and she quickly steps further into the room. Glancing over her shoulder, she lowers her voice and asks. "Was it the same person? If it wasn't, if it was someone else, you can tell me, honey."
Elizabeth looks right at her for a moment, considering whether or not she can trust this woman who actually seems to care. This woman who seems to understand that things aren't quite right. She shifts in the bed and tries to sit up, wondering if she should tell the nurse her story; but then her broken ribs are pulling, and every inch of her body is screaming, and suddenly the world is swaying out of focus once again.
It hurts.
It all hurts.
And the truth isn't something that is going to free her from the pain.
She'd already tried that with Emma, and where had it gotten her?
In a hospital bed, broken and alone – her supposed savior gone.
So much for heroes.
Which means there's only one place left for her to go, then – backwards.
Because if Trev had done this to her (and even with her head this fuzzy, she knows that he had), then it seems clear that he has no intention of ever letting her go. It seems clear that anything she does to get away will end up with her back in this room, until it inevitably ends with dirt covering her face.
Elizabeth closes her eyes, "Same person," she murmurs, and finds herself hoping that Emma and Henry have gotten far away from here, even as she finds herself hating both of them just a little bit for giving her the false hope of freedom and a new start.
Especially Emma.
No, Emma hadn't fully responded to the kiss – and to be fair, the kiss had been a test, and Elizabeth still isn't entirely sure what had possessed her to do it in the first place – but there'd been some kind of buzz of energy between them, a feeling and emotion that hadn't been all bad. She had felt something more than the grinding suffocation that almost every moment with Trev had become. Turns out, though, it had all been another lie.
Perhaps not an intentional one – she thinks Emma really had intended to help her find a way to escape the death-march she'd become entangled in (caused by her own weak choices, Elizabeth thinks grimly, wondering again why she'd ever though herself worthy of being set free from Trev) until things had gotten out of hand and Emma's sense of self-preservation had won out – but in the end, it was still a pointless lie.
"You're sure?" the nurse asks. "Because if it was someone else, I can help you."
"No, you can't," Elizabeth replied, the world going dark, her mind reaching out for the other version of her – and she wonders why this is the thought that lulls her into unconsciousness except that that other-her had felt strong and defiant and perhaps even bizarrely hopeful in a way that she knows that she's not – and not finding her. "No one can."
It's a terrible plan, Emma thinks, and almost backs out of it five times.
Henry almost backs out of it a dozen times because it involves Lucy, and he's afraid.
What if it goes wrong, and he ends up in jail; and Lucy ends up all alone?
But what if they don't rescue Elizabeth from this, and she ends up back with the man who had been shaking her like a ragdoll? What if Elizabeth – Regina – ends up dead because of his fears?
He's spent the better part of a decade missing both of his moms terribly, and right now perhaps more than he ever has, he simply wants his mom's arms around him, holding onto him like he's the moon and the stars, and just the feel of him in her arms can somehow make everything right again. As a young boy and even as a young adult, he hadn't recognized just how much a hug meant to her, but now he thinks that it might mean the same to him, and he craves just the simple contact.
Enough, though, to endanger Lucy?
"Kid," Emma says softly, a tremor to her voice, her fingers closing over his wrist. "I know."
"Mom –"
"I know this is a bad plan, but it's the only one I have." Desperation scratches at her words, and he thinks for a moment that she might start crying. His stomach heaves at even the idea of this because he's already seen it, and it's too much, and suddenly he is struck by the clear realization that no matter what it is that is yet to come, it's is going to get worse for all of them.
"Then I guess we'd better succeed," Henry states. "Because we promised Mom we'd save her."
He sounds so confident and assured even to his own ears, but then his eyes are straying over to Lucy who shares none of his worry, and all he can think is that Alicia would have his ass for this.
Regina would have his ass for this, he corrects grimly, and then looks back over at Emma who is fidgeting around in an almost unnerving way. Her anxiety is enough to let him know that this isn't a decision that she'll be able to rationalize away, especially if it goes upside down.
Emma nods sharply, almost jerkily at him, wincing slightly as her back pings (she'd taken a handful of aspirin before they'd left Andy's place). She glances back at Henry's mustang, the back of it containing the few things of his life he'd been able to escape with, along with a little bit of food and water that Andy had insisted they take in case they get stranded somewhere.
This is their getaway car – a vehicle given by two mothers as a present to their growing boy. This is their grand escape, their attempt to fix a thousand wrongs in a moment of insanity.
"Lucy," she says. "You understand what you need to do?"
"Get everyone away from Elizabeth's room."
"Yeah," Emma says. Then, softly, "If you're scared –"
"I'm not."
Emma swallows hard at that, unable to recall the last time that she wasn't.
She watches as Henry leans in and pulls his daughter close, hugging her and calling her brave.
This is wrong, they shouldn't be doing this.
She shouldn't be allowing this – Regina wouldn't.
Or maybe she would.
No, no…
They have no choice.
There's no other way to do this.
Lucy separates from her father, and grins up at Emma. "Ready."
"Right, then I guess we do this," Emma finally manages to grind out, and then gestures for Lucy to go ahead. She then looks right at Henry, tears in her eyes and mouths to him, "I'm sorry."
He says with an uncertain smile, "It'll be okay. It'll be okay."
All the while terrified that it won't be, and that he'll have lost everything when this is over.
"Mrs. Carson?" she hears from just above her.
"Regina," she murmurs in response, sounding as drugged up as she feels.
"Regina?"
Her eyes open, and she looks up, staring into the lights over her head. The painkillers they're pumping into her are significant – the breaks in her ribs and wrist are substantial (to say nothing of her broken nose or the roadmap of cuts across her face and back) – but this somehow feels even weirder than that. These bizarre dreams she keeps having so unnerving. Not the other-her this time, but rather she's sitting behind a desk in a large beautiful office.
With a grinning Emma Swan across from her, holding out two bottles of root beer to her.
Which, obviously, makes no sense at all.
"Mrs. Carson, who is Regina?" the nurse asks, glancing nervously as Elizabeth's vitals.
"A dream," Elizabeth replies groggily. "Maybe a better dream."
"It's going to be all right," the nurse tells her. "You're safe now."
"No, I'm not," Elizabeth murmurs, and sighs against the blissful flush of narcotics in her system.
She knows that she shouldn't be saying these things, shouldn't be allowing any of her fears to surface, but it's the drugs and the pain, and right now she just wants it all to go away.
It won't – it never does, but she thinks maybe if someone else understands –
But no, she'd tried that with Emma and Henry, and here she is, and they're not here and –
"Hey, Kid!" someone yells from outside the room. "Stop that!"
The nurse looks at her, and smiles, "I'll be right back." And with that, she's out of the room, stepping out into a chaos zone where a nine-year-old girl is tossing papers in every direction.
Elizabeth doesn't see this, however; she only sees the walls and feels the grinding loneliness.
Her natural state of things, she thinks, as she allows her eyes to drift closed.
Until she hears, "Actually, this would be a whole lot easier if you were awake."
"Emma?" she asks (probably more like slurs – her speaking is muffled thanks to her nose) in absolute disbelief, and then blinks several times as if trying to clear the insanity from her vision.
Because quite clearly, the drugs here really are good.
But then she sees Henry standing right behind Emma, nervously glancing backwards at the door. Like he's watching whatever is going on out there (he is, and he breathes in relief when he sees Lucy escape down the stairwell, and the security guards hold back, looking uncertain).
"Yeah, and we're getting you out of here," Emma states, and then she's moving over to Elizabeth, looking over all the wires and tubes that tether her to the bed. She lifts the blanket, and then shakes her head, grimacing. "This is going to be uncomfortable," she admits.
"What are you going to do? Are you real? Why are you here?" Elizabeth tilts her head, fighting through the fog even as she tries to understand the idea of anyone coming back for her.
Which means this can't be real, because no one ever would do that for her.
Except Trev.
Trev will always come back for her.
Whether she wants him to or not.
"I promised you that I'd be here for you," Emma tells her, interrupting her rapidly darkening thoughts. "I know that's hard for you to believe, especially right now, but I try to keep my promises. Sometimes it takes a very long time and I screw up badly along the way, but I try."
"Why?"
"Because I'm nothing otherwise, and I've been that enough in my life," Emma insists, a strange dullness in her voice. "Now take a deep breath, okay? This is going to hurt a lot. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
"Mom, you need to hurry," Henry says from the doorway. "She just ran outside; we're out of –"
"I know, Kid. I know."
"Mom?" Elizabeth repeats, but then the thought is fading away. Only the sharp pain she feels as Emma yanks out a tube that brings a moment of clarity to her, but then there's just hurt.
So much pain.
"I don't want to…no more," she mumbles, words falling over each other. "It hurts."
"Just one more," Emma promises, and then the IV is gone, and she's helping a clearly reluctant to move Elizabeth up from the bed, an arm gently slung around Elizabeth's wounded side as the other woman practically folds into her as every part of her seems to cry out. "I'm so sorry," she tells her again. "I'm so sorry about letting you down. About letting you be hurt. I'm sorry."
"Emma," Henry warns, trying not to look back at his mothers.
Terrified of what he'll see.
Terrified that he will see them both breaking apart at the same time.
"We're ready," Emma assures him. "Show me the way."
"Yeah," he agrees, and then he's sliding out the door, reaching back for Emma's hand as if to guide her down the hallway. To the other side, down the other hall, crossing behind the medical staff and security officers who are standing by the nurse's station, laughing about the crazy kid who had disappeared down the stairwell. Joking about how nothing around this place is ever normal and … and then one of the nurses is looking at him, her eyes widening.
Henry freezes and swallows hard, his heart pounding erratically, fear overwhelming him.
Her eyes drop down to Emma, who is so gentle in the way she's holding Elizabeth against her.
The nurse turns away, stepping in front of the cops as if to obscure their vision should they choose to suddenly look up and notice two newcomers leaving with a patient.
"Now," Henry murmurs, and then they're moving again.
They don't have much time, he knows – within minutes, Elizabeth's absence will be noticed.
They only have –
"Shit," Emma growls, and yeah, there's a security officer at the end of the hallway.
Emma bends, then, and lifts Elizabeth into her arms, every nerve in her body protesting.
"Mom, no," Henry says immediately, seeing both women wince, hearing their whimpers.
Emma's back…Elizabeth's everything.
"Lead," Emma growls at him, eyes watering, tears on her cheeks. What she feels right now is practically beyond description, the pain worse than anything she's ever felt before – and that includes the rawness of a few of the terrible beatdowns she'd suffered while in prison – but she knows that if she doesn't do this, if she doesn't take control where Henry can't, it's all over.
For all of them.
Thankfully, he doesn't hesitate this time, just turns and leads them away from the guard, knowing that if the man turns in the least, he will see them and know that something peculiar is happening. Any minute now, he's going to get a call, anyway, telling him that a patient is gone.
Any minute now and –
"Hey, stop!"
It's that minute now.
They move quickly, and he thinks that maybe it's all a blur because this should be impossible. It has to be impossible to do what they just did, and to have succeeded ... unbelievable. But they did do it, and Elizabeth is in Emma's arms, and Emma is yanking open the car door and –
"Dad!" Lucy calls out, a massive grin on her face.
He grabs her, then, crushing her to him, kissing her hair. "Are you hurt?" he asks.
"No, Dad, I'm okay," she promises him. "I'm okay."
He exhales, "Okay. Okay."
"Henry, Lucy, in," Emma demands. "Lucy, ride shotgun. Henry, this is going to be a bumpy ride – someone needs to hold your mom, or she's going to end up even worse off than she is now."
He thinks to counter the possibility of that and insist that he should be the one driving instead of Emma, but then his eyes are fixed Elizabeth's unconscious form, and all he can think about is "your mom" and that's more than enough to jolt him into action. He slides into the backseat, gently lifting Elizabeth into his arms, bringing her against his chest; gently holding her against him as she stirs anxiously, and then she settles into his arms with a sharp whimper.
The door slams, and Emma is starting the engine up, fingers tight on the wheel.
He wonders just how bad her back is going to be when this is all over.
If it will even matter.
"Where are we going?" Henry asks her as they pull out onto the street. Half a block away, they see a whole line of police cruisers suddenly arriving, their sirens loud and colorful.
"Home," Emma answers grimly.
"As in Storybrooke? But…you don't –"
"Believe that it's there?" She shrugs her shoulders wearily. "I guess I'd goddamn better start believing, because if it's not there –" she swallows and refuses to finish the sentence.
No good mother would.
Not that has any right to call herself a good anything after tonight.
"It'll be there," Lucy states, firmly taking over her father's role as the Truest Believer. "It will."
"Take us home," Henry tells her, and then pulls the woman in his arms even closer.
Storybrooke is approximately one hour from Bangor by highway.
It's a relatively easy trip in normal weather, but can get kind of gnarly in any kind of weather.
Thankfully, the storm that is threatening hasn't yet started coming down.
Unfortunately, that hardly matters because there are now half a dozen cop cars on their ass.
"Emma Swan," they'd called out, and she thinks that the cop Trev asked to check her out had managed to get her identity out to everyone. "You don't want to do this. We can help you."
She'd almost laughed when she'd heard the cop's voice over the loud speaker.
Because by help, they'd meant either kill her or send her back to prison.
No sooner had she thought this then her phone had started buzzing; Henry's, too.
JB had been calling for Henry, trying to reason with him, "Henry, this is stupid. I told you that woman would get you into trouble. Kid, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?"
Henry's response had been to toss his phone – with JB alternately ranting and assuring him he can fix this - out the rolled-down window, saying he's not gonna need it anymore, anyway.
One way or another.
Emma had answered hers, and listened to the soft mewling words about standing down.
After replying, "Whatever happens here, I'm the only one responsible. This is my fault."
Her phone went out the window, too.
"They think that we have nowhere to go," Henry states, glancing back at them. For the last twenty minutes, he's been expecting them to accelerate and overtake the orange Mustang, but they've held back, keeping in tight formation as opposed to intensifying the car chase.
"Yeah," Emma answers, shifting against her seat, ignoring the raw shooting agony which she feels shooting through her back, all the while wondering if there are painkillers strong enough to help the damage which has been done to her, knowing she would make the same decision she'd made tonight a thousand times over if it gave them this one last chance. "How is she?"
"Hurt," Henry answers, arms still tucked around Elizabeth's half-conscious form. She keeps drifting in and out, letting out a soft cry every now and again before collapsing back into a shuddering state of semi-consciousness, never really coming close to being at all lucid.
He thinks that they're breaking her and has to stop himself from breaking down.
"We're almost there," Emma tells him softly, eyes flicking up towards the rearview mirror.
Because the cops are speeding up; Henry doesn't know about this kind of thing, but she does – they see her as a violent felon who has kidnapped at least one person, maybe even three.
Eventually, they plan to shoot to kill.
As if somehow recognizing her thoughts – which, of course, she couldn't possibly – Lucy puts her hand out and covers Emma's with it, squeezing with the strength that only a child can.
Henry sees this, and asks, "Are you okay?" Stupidly, because he already knows the answer. He knows that she's crumbling, and has been for weeks now, and is finally coming entirely apart.
He thinks maybe they all are.
"No," she admits, her fingers gripping at the steering wheel, her foot slamming the accelerator down as she continues to push Henry's old Mustang to give them everything she has in her.
Henry's face contorts with a kind of fresh panic, "Emma –"
"Kid, ahead."
His head turns at the same time as Lucy's does – both of them seeing a green sign there.
Lucy whispers – like it's something holy and perfect instead of a broken home, "Storybrooke."
Elizabeth has no idea why she's in this car.
Okay, that's not entirely true – she's somewhat aware that Emma and Henry had taken her from the hospital, but she can't really figure out why they had bothered? Why they had put themselves at such risk for her? She can't figure out what kind of game this has to be.
It has to be one.
She tries to fight through the pain and the fear for some kind of truth, but the only truth she has ever known is that in the end, the only one who had ever cared for her was the man who had also put her in that hospital bed with his fists. He, and he alone has ever loved her, right?
And yet here she is, in Henry's arms as the road below them thumps and sirens behind scream.
She doesn't understand anything, anymore. Not this, and not the dreams.
But someone is saying, "You're almost home, Regina. Almost there."
She looks up and sees herself, eyes dark and so defiant and powerful.
"Be strong."
"I don't know how," Elizabeth murmurs.
"You do. Better than anyone else. You are Regina Mills, and you are a Queen. You are strong –"
"No, I'm not. I'm not anything. I'm –"
"Yes, you are."
She's about to reply, about to insist – in a moment of pure insanity – that this person who looks just like her couldn't possibly know or understand her well enough to be so certain, but then the world is suddenly crumbling, and her mind is splitting into a thousand sharp shards of glass.
The last thing she hears before she gives into the seizure is the squeal of a car coming to a stop, and Henry (why is he suddenly so much more familiar) screaming, "Mom, what to do I do?"
The sudden seizure that started the moment they'd rolled over the town line is violent, and her body is slamming against the seats, jerking her out of Henry's arms as her eyes roll back into her head. Cuts appear on her hands and arms, and a deep ugly gash forms on her left shin.
Because more injuries are exactly what she needs.
Not that she's aware of any of this.
The only thing she's aware of is the splicing, nearly unimaginable pain in her head as a thousand memories force their way into her brain, brutally chipping away at the forged ones there.
She tries to reach for them, tries to grab at her identity and figure out who she is, but there are lights bursting behind her eyes. She feels herself being held, but in that distant kind of way that makes little sense. She thinks of Emma and Henry and her last moments of awareness, and then she thinks of an alley and a dead man and another man wrapping himself around her.
She thinks of curling into his chest and falling into his desires, surrendering herself to him in the hope of being safe. She thinks of him over her, his body overpowering her and possessing her, and then his face is changing and he's Leopold instead and Regina just keeps shaking apart.
The memories come faster, gods so fast, and there's something wet running down her.
She feels pain – in her chest, in her bones, in her face, and all of is so distinct, and none of it is.
And then…and then it all just stops.
The colors, the memories, everything, it all just fades and drifts away. Like the kind of hazy toxic cloying smoke that forms over the ruins leaving nothing but ashes to scatter into the darkness.
That's what she feels like right now – like she's scattering.
There's a new sensation, then – cold air on her face, drops of water on her eyelids. She feels herself being lifted and carried, set down on the cold hard ground, asphalt in her nostrils.
"Mom? Can you hear me?"
A siren blares loudly behind them, the kind of whirling noise that comes from police cars.
Details that no longer matter to her.
She tries to speak, tries to acknowledge Henry.
Henry, who is both her son and a stranger.
Henry, the son whom she'd taken to school and never seen again.
Henry, the stranger whom she once had believed had wanted to fuck her.
Gods, what is wrong with her?
What has she become?
Who has she become.
She thinks of the Queen, and wants to laugh at the very idea of strength.
"She's not responding," Henry says, and sounds panicked. "Emma, why isn't –"
"I don't know, Kid," Emma replies; Regina focuses in on her voice, like a lifeline.
And then hates herself for doing it.
Her thoughts are interrupted by hands settling on her face, calloused but familiar, and there's another memory that slams its way into her mind – one of those same hands touching her face and gently bringing her closer, the gaudy walls of a hotel room shimmering into focus around them as Emma had backed her up against the door, their alcohol-tinged breaths mingling.
"I'm going to kiss you now."
"You really need to work on your seduction techniques, Swan."
"Maybe, but I'm still going to kiss you."
"Anytime soon?"
"Yeah. Real soon."
Regina blinks, more water on her face, trying to simultaneously grab at and clear away these rampaging thoughts and shadowy memories, none of them real and yet all of them real.
"I need you to look at me, okay?" Emma says. "I'm hoping you remember who you actually are right now. If you do, then you're probably really confused, and I imagine this is all pretty scary, and…I know that you're in a lot of pain, Regina. I know, and I'm so sorry I couldn't stop that from happening. That I couldn't stop any of this from this happening. I tried…I…but I think we're home now. This town wasn't here and now it is so…I think maybe we made it. We're home. But I need you to look at me, okay? I need you to tell me that you understand what I'm saying."
Regina tries to reply, tries to tell Emma that she can hear and understand her, but the words catch as another slate of memories shoves its way in – the alley and Trev's hands around her. The way he had throttled her, and she had allowed it. The way she had shattered in his grasp.
She hears Henry say, "We need to get her to a hospital."
And thinks both "yes" and "no" and wonders which is the real her.
The woman who craves the drugs that will push her away from all of this or the ones who is clawing for some degree of control, insisting that if she can just get it, she can be strong.
She hears Emma say something about the curse, and her mind rails against such a thing even as she knows – better than anyone – that curses exist and can destroy a soul from top to bottom.
Henry argues with her, but his actual words fade from her as she continues fighting her own internal battle to figure out whether it will be Elizabeth or Regina who emerges from this.
"Because she's the town," Emma says in an exhale of breath, and Regina thinks it has to be her.
Even if maybe she doesn't entirely want it to be.
But then, just as she's considering retreating again and allowing Elizabeth to take over (Elizabeth doesn't want to, but in her own weird defeated way, also doesn't quite know how to give up even when she should) feels hands gripping and then covering hers – a surreal feeling for a woman who has spent so very much of her life feeling only the very worst of things.
Emma. Henry. Lucy.
Regina – yes, Regina - swallows hard and forces the words out. "Em – Emma? Hen – Henry?"
Broken, torn apart, but still heard; it has to be enough.
She turns her hand, covers theirs with hers, desperately reaching for them – for her family.
"Yeah, we're here," Emma assures her, sounding so disbelieving, so much like she, too, is breaking somewhere down the middle of her.
She asks if they'd made it, like she'd been an active part of the journey.
Instead of just the pathetic victim.
Instead of just the one who had needed to be rescued.
There are so many faces and voices in her mind all of the sudden, so many conflicting stories.
The Queen says, "Fight."
But Trev is there, too and he's shaking his head and saying, "Lizzie, you know you can't."
If Emma or Henry is aware of the war within her, neither indicate as much, both of them just looking down at her like they're finally truly seeing her (and hoping that she truly sees them).
"Yeah, Regina," Emma says quietly, so much relief in her voice, fingers gripping at Regina's, the hold secure and strong and so faithfully full of all that is Emma Swan, "We made it home."
"Home," Regina murmurs, and then exhales, slowly and shakily, her ribs protesting the deepness of it.
She blinks and blinks and all of the voices and faces are fading.
Except for one.
The one identity which she grabs desperately for.
And then, she laughs almost hysterically.
Arms and legs slapping against the wet ground, ignorant of the searing pain in her body.
Aware only of the fact that after ten long years, for better or for worse, she's finally Regina Mills once again.
:D
Afterword: We are now at the half-point stage of the storytelling (not necessarily word-count wise). From here, we take on the very difficult, very emotional task of working through ten years of damage to the families Swan, Mills and Charming. All of them have been through so much, and getting through this part might actually be more difficult than surviving what came before it. Buckle in. And thank you for taking this intense trip with me.