AN: As always, a huge thank you to you all. NaNo has kept me from responding to you individually, but I will! I hope you all had a good holiday:)
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Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast. One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.
She crept along trembling with cold and hunger-a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing! The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought. In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags. She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when-the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house. Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when-the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire. "Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God. She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love. But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall-frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but-the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety-they were with God.
-The Little Match Girl, by Hans Christian Andersen
Somewhere in the blaze was a candle that had started it all, and trapped in its flame was the soul of a child Regina was not going to lose.
She stayed crouched low in the smoke and used what magic she could muster to create a barrier between herself and the wall of heat, but even so, sweat and smoke got in her eyes, half blinding her. The candle had to be near a window, she thought, near the drapes or bedding…and then she remembered the study. The hundreds of books, the pages and pages of notes they'd written.
She grimaced. If she wanted to make sure the mansion burned, she'd start there.
She half crawled, half fell down the stairs. She braced herself and shielded her face as she kicked the heavy door open; a rush of flames leapt past her.
"Regina!"
She whirled to face the front door, where Emma was crouched, calling out to her. "Regina, get out of there!"
Regina clenched her teeth, closed her eyes…and reached out with both hands to blast Emma across the yard. She turned back to the study, advancing as much as she dared. Another jet of cold air from her palms created a ripple through the room, and as the flames parted momentarily she saw it—a pillar candle, plain and white, burning on the desk near the window.
Regina would remember later that the candle was curiously unaffected by the heat. It wasn't melting, and it was cool and hard to the touch.
She would remember that much later.
She summoned her remaining magic to charge across the room and snatch the candle from the desk. She cried out as her magic wavered, her energy almost depleted. Flames licked her arms, her legs, her face…
Regina dropped to the floor, forced to abandon the scarf that had shielded her breathing in order to keep one hand on Roland's candle and crawl with the other. She closed her eyes against the smoke and heat and tried to feel her way to the door.
She felt wood turn to carpet and knew she'd made it to the entryway; she gasped for breath as her strength gave out.
She heard shouting, felt someone grab her, she was being carried…she clenched her hand, but the candle was no longer in it. "Roland," she rasped. Her vision cleared—she was in an ambulance, and Emma was looking down at her with a tear-stained face. Regina grabbed her hand. "Henry. Roland," she choked.
"They're alive," Emma whispered. She placed a gentle hand to Regina's hair. "You saved them."
Regina slipped into unconsciousness.
…..
At the hospital, Emma sat in the waiting area with her face in her hands. Mary Margaret was with her; she kept a supportive hand on her daughter's back.
With everyone out of the house and the candle recovered, the fire department was able to put out the blaze. Most of the mansion was spared, but what did burn burned completely. Emma and Regina, the two people most equipped to catch the Match Woman, had been completely and effectively distracted, sidelined, derailed. The sheriff should have kept going, Emma told herself. She should have torn the woods apart, ripped doors off hinges to find this lunatic.
But her lover and her son were here; she could think of nothing else. She had failed the town.
"Stop blaming yourself," Mary Margaret said softly, reading her mind.
Emma didn't reply.
David and Ruby had gone back out to resume the search; hopefully they hadn't fallen too far behind and the trail, if there even was one, wouldn't be cold.
The spell Gold cast to help them was a huge one and would certainly cost them a favor down the line: it confined everyone in Storybrooke to their homes, with the exception of those few helping with the search…and anyone currently in the hospital.
Emma heard heavy footsteps in the hall and picked her head up to see Doctor Whale. She stood immediately. "Henry—is he…? I mean, the smoke, did it….?"
Whale held up a hand. "The smoke didn't do as much damage to his lungs as we'd thought. In fact, it looks like he inhaled very little."
Emma sighed and took her mother's hand. "That's good. That's good news, right?"
Whale's eyes went from hers to Mary Margaret's. "Well…if we could all just sit for a moment…"
"Why." Emma dropped Mary Margaret's hand. "Henry's going to be okay, right? Or is it Regina? Doctor Whale…"
"Emma," her mother said gently, "he's trying to tell us. Go on, Doctor Whale."
He took a deep breath. "I suspect Henry has very little smoke in his lungs because he was already unconscious when the fire started."
Emma didn't understand. "…From what?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Emma, but Henry is in the same condition as Roland Hood. The same that the other children were in."
Her eyes went wide as her stomach turned to ice. "No."
Doctor Whale said nothing; Mary Margaret put a hand over her mouth to cover a sob.
"No," Emma said again, more firmly this time. She looked past Whale to the hallway—in one of those rooms at the end was her son.
She ran.
Henry was in the very last room on the right—Emma froze in the doorway, suddenly afraid to step inside in case…in case….
…in case she snuffed him out.
She clamped a hand over her own mouth to stop the cries within her from getting out; she started to shake. She felt her mother's arms around her and crumpled into her embrace. "Mom," she sobbed.
Mary Margaret held her.
….
She had feared that she wouldn't be able to complete her mission; she had always assumed they were closer to finding her than they actually had been. But this last time had cut pretty close.
And then the little prince himself came home; what an unexpected gift when she had only hoped to burn the queen's castle as her last hurrah, sending the Hood boy on his way.
But then magic had enveloped her, and she was transported home; she found she was unable to leave. She sighed and looked at the tall pillar candle, the little prince's soul flickering away in the lantern. She smiled, satisfied with her enemies' grave miscalculation:
Being trapped in her home meant she wasn't trapped at all.
…
Emma wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Did Whale say anything about Regina? How is she?"
Mary Margaret nodded and brushed Emma's hair from her face as though she were just a little girl. "She's doing much better than if she didn't have magic," she told her. "Her body is already starting to heal itself. She's getting oxygen, and Whale says she won't need any skin grafts."
Emma blinked. "Skin grafts…?" she echoed.
Mary Margaret took her hand. "Emma, Regina's going to be okay, but she was badly burned. Don't worry—Doctor Whale said she's already healing…because of her magic," she repeated. "If she wasn't magical, things could have gone differently. But they didn't. Regina's okay." She took Emma's face in her hands. "Emma, you do believe me?"
"Yes." She felt like the whole world was spinning. She knew they had planned to go charging into any future fires…but with protection. With magic, with gear. Regina had essentially abandoned her in the car, miles from their home, to fix everything herself.
She could have died. A normal person probably would have.
When Emma had tried to get her out, to convince her to return with any kind of protection, Regina had literally flung her away. She was angry, in awe of her, and afraid all at the same time; mad that with a flick of her wrist Regina would and could take away any say Emma had in the matter, awed by her bravery and determination, and afraid…of everything else. Of losing her. Of losing their son.
"Emma…" Mary Margaret whispered.
She realized her mind had wandered away, and that her mother had seen it go. "I'm fine."
"That's not true. Why don't you go see her?"
Emma shook her head. "I can't. It's too…Mom, I can't." She stood abruptly and leaned on the window to Henry's room.
"Doctor Whale said she's asking for you."
Emma closed her eyes and said nothing.
But Mary Margaret wouldn't be deterred. "Emma I know you're afraid, but…"
"I'm not afraid," Emma snapped. "I'm angry. She…she…" she whirled on her mother. "She's so infuriating! She uses her magic to take away anything I can do, I'm left with no choice, no control over what happens to my own family. She left me behind and I couldn't save Henry—she literally threw me out of the house when I tried to save her. She's so…so… selfish. She can't do that to me, we have to figure things out together, but with her magic she can just…I'm…I'm so mad at her. I can't see her." She turned back around and pressed her forehead to the cool glass.
After minutes of silence, Mary Margaret came to stand next to her and gaze in at Henry. "I feel safe in assuming that Regina felt similarly helpless after the fire in your apartment, when it was you lying in a hospital bed. As I recall, she didn't leave your side except to make arrangements to take you home. To her home."
Emma clenched her teeth as her face grew warm.
"Emma…my relationship with Regina is complicated at best, but I know her. When she loves she doesn't always do it well, but she does it completely. She loves more than anyone I've ever met. And she loves you."
Emma turned to face her, her throat suddenly very dry, but Mary Margaret kept her eyes locked on Henry.
"That means she's going to protect you as fiercely as she does Henry. You're damn right she's not going to risk you burning to death in a fire if she can help it. You'll forgive me if I'm grateful to her." Mary Margaret wiped tears from her eyes and left without looking at her daughter.
Emma wrapped her arms around herself and walked slowly down the hall to Regina's room; she hesitated, then peeked through the window at the woman she loved, her arms wrapped in bandages and soot still on her face. Emma pressed a hand over her mouth. Her mother was right; she was afraid.
She quietly opened the door and took a seat next to the bed; Regina's eyes fluttered open. "…Emma?"
"Shh," Emma whispered as tears started to fall. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Henry…"
"He's across the hall. He's…" Emma tried to put on a brave face; Regina wouldn't heal if she made her more distraught. "He's sleeping, which is what you should be doing." She let her fingertips come to rest lightly on Regina's shoulder; any of her own magic that she could give to speed the recovery process, she would. "Sleep."
Regina did.
…
Emma felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She frowned and pulled it out—three missed calls from Killian, all within the last minute. She stretched the kinks out of her back and neck; she had drifted off holding Regina. To her surprise the other woman did look considerably better, though she was still asleep.
The phone buzzed again. Emma gave up and stepped into the hall to answer.
"Thank god you've picked up. You've got to get down here, to the docks, right away."
She bristled at his tone. "Killian, I can't. I'm at the hospital…"
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, but Henry…" she choked up. "They got Henry."
His tone softened immediately. "Your boy…I'm so sorry, Emma."
Emma cleared her throat. "So unless this is important…"
"It is. There's a spell on us to keep us all at home, yeah? I've found I can't leave my ship, I assumed it had to do with your search. Well, the Triton just set sail."
Her brow furrowed. "What? The fishing boat?"
"Aye, and I'm weighing anchor to follow. The way I see it, anyone trying to leave is a guilty person trying to flee."
Emma's mind was racing.
The fishing boat—its captain lived on the vessel, uncounted in a census of Storybrooke homes. She clenched her teeth, her anger growing: Henry had played on the Triton's deck, all of the children had, the day of the fish fry. It was soon after that that the first attack had come. The fishing ships had been in port during all of the attacks.
"Killian, I'm on my way. Wait for me and David. We're coming with you."
"I'll wait as long as I can keep them in sight. I won't lose her."
"We'll be there."
Emma called her father to pick her up and drive them to the docks. Her next call was to Ruby to explain the situation and have Gold release the spell keeping everyone at home—Killian couldn't help if he was trapped on the Jolly Roger when they caught the Triton.
The drive seemed to take forever, when in reality it took only minutes; David screeched the car to a halt and he and Emma leapt out, racing for the pirate ship. Killian was on deck, telescope in hand.
"She's not gone far," he shouted down to them, "but she's faster than she looks. We've got to go."
Emma thundered onto the deck with David right behind her; the three of them got to work releasing the ropes that held the Jolly Roger just as another car raced onto the scene. Mary Margaret jumped out and waved her arms at them.
Emma's stomach lurched; something had happened to Henry or Regina. "Wait," she called.
The passenger door opened and Regina stepped out; Emma raced down to the dock. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"You're not doing this without me," Regina said. Her voice was iron, unlike her stance.
Emma reached out to steady her. "We don't have time to argue about this."
"I agree. Let's go."
"Regina…"
Regina shoved Emma away from her; her eyes were blazing. "Henry isn't in the hospital because of smoke," she spat. "He is one candle flame away from death, and I am fighting for him. Now help me onto this ship."
She did, and as David reached for Regina from above, Emma turned to her mother. Mary Margaret held her tight. "I'll be with Henry," she assured her.
"Swan!" Killian shouted. "We're losing time!"
Emma raced back on board the Jolly Roger. David was sitting with Regina on the stairs. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders as Killian steered them out into the open waters of the Atlantic.