Regina appeared deep below her father's memorial place in a plume of mulberry smoke. A guttural scream tore through her lungs and she sunk in defeat to the floor.
You should be thanking me, silly Queen. You were revealing far too much to the Savior.
"Emma loves me!" Regina sobbed the cracked concrete.
She doesn't love you. You're merely a temporary, convenient outlet for her carnal urges.
"That isn't true!"
I know something you don't know…
"What could you possibly know that I do not?" She snarled, haltingly rising into a sitting position.
I know many things, dark Queen. Many, many, many things.
"Tell me."
Oh, no, no, no. Not the right time for that. We have so much to do.
"We don't have anything to do together."
Oh, but, My Queen, we already have. Didn't it feel absolutely delicious to feel me coursing through your veins moments ago? Do not lie to me, I will know.
"It doesn't matter whether it felt good, I made a promise to Henry."
That child doesn't understand you! Your name means "Queen" and that is how you should act. Now, pick your pathetic self off this filthy floor.
The shaken woman grasped the edge of the weathered trunk in front of her, straining as she lifted herself on top of it. Maybe it'll dissipate on its own.
I heard that, Regina. Honestly, are you that daft? We are one in the same. Everything you think, breathe in, touch, and taste is mine, just as it is yours.
"You're a parasite."
Ooh, touchy subject. Would it be distasteful at the moment to bring up your little dance routine?
Regina's cheeks flushed scarlet. Normally, she would have never conducted herself in that fashion. But, with Emma, she felt free to indulge in the occasional carefree act of "letting go."
Yes, we do like it rough, don't we?
Regina refused to respond.
You continue to ignore that I already know the answer to that. I know all of your secrets, your desires. I know what makes sets your senses ablaze with arousal and what makes your skin crawl in revulsion.
"Stop."
Or what? There is nothing you could do to me that wouldn't also hinder you. And, we both know you won't do that.
"I could ask for Emma's help again."
Don't make me do something you'll regret.
"You will not harm her," Regina growled pointedly.
Oh, no, you misunderstood, dear Queen. I wouldn't have to touch a single hair on that pretty, little blonde head.
Realization burned through her core, anger bubbling to the surface, and nails dug painfully into the trunk.
"You will not force me to harm Emma. I refuse."
We shall see, won't we? You conjured me all those many years ago from within the dark depths of the Dark One. You begged for me, crazed after me, and now, you wish to stifle the very strength I gave you. You are a most frustrating witch.
"Those circumstances are no longer present."
Are you not still at odds with Snow White? Are you not still harboring the pain she caused? Answer carefully, My Queen.
"The feud with Snow White is not relevant and the pain none of your concern."
None of my concern?!
The magic swelled and expanded through her body, rendering her immobile. The orange flames atop tall, black candles began heightening menacingly throughout the room. The lamp, on the side-table to Regina's right, exploded into a burst of brightly-colored, mosaic debris.
Listen to me, you vexatious, querulous child. What protected you against your mother when she returned and intended to use magic against you? What took your afflictions and gave you the tools to exact revenge on them? Who threw King Leopold against the wall the last time he tried to assault you? I did. In return for giving my essence a vessel, I was tasked with protecting you. And, how do you repay me? You shut me in a small box inside your subconscious and refuse to use me. Ungrateful. We shall see how long you last...
The room was blanketed with black. The candles blew out as quickly as they had roared to life and Regina sat alone in the unsettling quiet. She still felt the magic within her, but it was quiet once again. The queen stayed in the vault that night, not bothering to return to the mansion. Candle smoke and magic permeated the air, a thick shroud of acrid fog. The last thing she remembered, before dipping into unconsciousness, was slicing her finger on the broken lamp that Henry had helped her paint when he was a child.
Emma woke the next morning with one of the worst headaches she had, had since trying to outdrink a frat boy back in Boston. Still dressed in her clothes from the prior night, she made her way to the shower. The vest and dress shirt were quickly discarded and she bent down to unlace her boots. The throbbing in her head felt like it had somehow relocated to the front of her skull and she almost fell forward in pain. She made sure to slowly ascend, as to not agitate the headache again. The effort would have been fine, had she not hit her head on the underside of the sink.
"Motherfucker!" She wailed.
"Emma?" Mary Margaret called up from the living room.
"I'm alright! Just clumsy as shit."
Mary Margaret frowned at her husband and nodded toward the stairs, Emma's voice didn't sound right. When he didn't act on the suggestion, she jabbed his rib with a finger and motioned again to the stairs. Just as he reluctantly pulled himself off the couch, they heard the shower turn on.
"Maybe we should leave her be, Snow."
"Something is wrong. I can tell."
David pulled his wife back in his arms. "I don't want to push her. She's stubborn like another person I know."
Mary Margaret gave him a playful glare. "I am not stubborn."
He laughed. "I must be thinking of someone else who insisted eggshell and cream are two TOTALLY different colors when we were picking out color schemes for the nursery."
She turned in his arms and gave him a dirty look. "They. Are. Different. Charming."
Hands came up in surrender. "I relented then and I'll do the same now. Whatever you say, Honey."
"That's what I thought you said. Now, back to the topic of our daughter. Something is wrong, Charming. She got in really late last night but didn't come in through the front door. Then I heard some strange thumping noises and she was crying."
"That is concerning. But, we still can't push her. You know she's still upset with us."
Mary Margaret expression saddened. "I just want us to be a family. We never got the chance to raise her and every moment is precious. It's uncertain when the next battle will rear its head and I'm worried, by then, we'll have lost her."
"The way we will lose her is if we pressure her into something she's not ready for. Even though we both hate it, she's an adult and more than capable of making her own choices. She'll always be our baby girl in our minds, but the reality is far from that."
"Charming, do you-" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Do you think she hates me?"
David squeezed his wife, carefully choosing his next words. "No, I don't. But, I think underneath the brave face she puts on for us, is a great deal of resentment and fear. From our side, we were giving her, her best chance. But, to Emma, we threw her away instead of keeping the family together, regardless of the consequences. After the curse broke, all the forgotten memories came back and, suddenly, the people she'd had relationships with were strangers once again."
"I know. I just wish things could have been different. She's so strong and beautiful, I'm incredibly proud of the woman she became. But, it burns a hole through me every time I think of someone else feeding her, raising her. That should have been us and I find myself questioning whether we made the right decision all those years ago."
"Snow, we can't change any of that now. All we have is the present and we should make the best of what we do have. We have our daughter back, in whatever capacity she will allow us, which, we will respect. We also have a grandson, who clearly gets his handsome looks from me. And-"
David paused, but Mary Margaret finished for him. "And Regina."
"Yes, and Regina."
Mary Margaret turned to look at him directly. "I can't forget those years of her hunting me or the murdering."
He cupped her chin lovingly. "No one is asking you to forget, or expecting you to. Your history together isn't something that can just be swept under the rug. But, you two will have to figure out some way to coexist, for the sake of our daughter and grandson."
She gave him a kiss and rested her head against his chest. "I'd move Heaven and Earth for them. I'll find a way."
He rubbed her back in circular motions. "We both will."
Emma slowly slid off the top step of the staircase and snuck back, in just a towel, back to her room. The shower hadn't lasted very long because just the task of washing her hair was too painful after the sink incident. When she had been exiting the steam-filled room, the soft murmuring of voices led her to the staircase. It was never the intent to eavesdrop, just see how many people were downstairs that would see her disheveled state. But, as fate would have it, she overheard most of her parents' conversation. Certain parts of their talk circulated through her mind as she dried off. We threw her away. Yeah, Dad, you guys did. Who sticks a newborn in a fucking wardrobe? And yeah, everyone did become strangers again. Ruby is Red and Red was my mother's best friend, who is also my best friend. My life is more fucking ironic than an Alanis Morrissette song. Her phone buzzed on the bed and she stopped mid-sock to pick it up.
Wolfie: Hey, crabby britches. You awake yet?
Blondie: I'll give you half a point for not calling me sleeping beauty. I would've killed you.
Wolfie: Sounds like you didn't have a happy ending last night?
Blondie: That's one way of putting it. Just when I thought we were getting something, she poofed me home.
Wolfie: What happened?!
Blondie: I don't really want to talk about it right now.
Wolfie: Okay…
Blondie: I think I'm just going to look at places to live today and avoid everyone. No offense.
Wolfie: It's cool, I get it. I'm getting lunch with Vincenzo today, but I'm free afterward.
Blondie: Oohlala, lunch. Does that mean there wasn't a nightcap?
Wolfie: A lady never tells.
Blondie: LOL then you should have no problem spilling the beans.
Wolfie: Fuck you, Swan. :P
Blondie: Love you too, Wolfie.
Emma tossed the phone back on the bed and pulled the rest of her sock on. She wasn't dressing to impress anyone today and couldn't care less who had an opinion on how grungy she looked. The blonde sported a Boston Bruins sweatshirt over matching slim sweatpants, black socks and her hair was pulled up into a semi-damp, messy top bun. She forewent putting her contacts in for the day and wore the black and blue rimmed glasses that usually collected dust on the dresser. The choices of shoes Emma had were black moccasins, checkered Vans, and a pair of sneakers that had seen better days. Knowing she would likely be doing a fair amount of walking, she opted for the Vans. Shit, now I really look like a New England version of Raggedy Ann, mismatched as fuck. Eh, I'm comfy. She rolled up the sweatshirt sleeves and headed down the stairs.
"Good morning, Honey." Her mother called from over on the couch.
"Oh, gross, PDA much?" Emma frowned and opened the fridge for a drink.
"We're just laying here!" David laughed and waved.
"Riiiiiggghhhtt."
"What are you up to today?" Mary Margaret cautiously asked.
"Gonna go talk to Gold about properties in town since, apparently, he owns the whole thing practically." Emma twisted a small bottle of orange juice open and took a sip.
"Would you like any company?" David asked.
Emma paused. "You know what, yeah, I would. You wanna come?"
David sprung off the couch in excitement. His wife, however, was not excited when she was ejected to the floor, landing with a thud.
"Charming!"
David bashfully looked at his wife, then assisted her. "Sorry, Snow."
Emma nearly choked on the orange juice. "You okay, Mary Margaret?"
"Just peachy." She scolded, brushing the dust off her clothes.
"Are you sure you're okay? I'm sorry."
Unable to stay mad at him, Mary Margaret hugged his side. "I'll be fine. I'll tend to Henry when he wakes up. You two go have fun, and make sure she gets nothing but the best."
"Of course. When do you want to go, Emma?"
Emma tossed the empty bottle in the recycle. "I'm ready now if you are."
"Yup! Let's go."
David grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, gave his wife a kiss goodbye and followed his daughter out the front door. He was surprised that Emma had extended the invitation. He respected that his daughter was fiercely independent, it reminded him of his late mother. She would have loved Emma. I hope you can see her from up there, Mother. David observed the confidence and solidity in his daughter's walk, unyielding and intense. You are so your mother's child. They walked side-by-side to Gold's shop that was only a short distance down the street. He had so much that he wanted to ask, though it was Emma that spoke first.
"Hey, thanks for coming with me."
"No problem. It's what dads are supposed to do."
"Yeah, it's still wicked weird getting used to having one. Especially one that wants to do stuff with me."
"Emma, I'm-" He turned his head to look at her, still walking.
"Dad, you don't have to."
He playfully shoved her, gaining a laugh from her. "Hey, stubborn child of mine. Let your old man finish, okay?"
Emma nodded. "Okay."
"What I was going to say was, I have a small idea as to how you feel."
Perplexed, she asked, "How do you figure?"
He turned his gaze forward. "I haven't had a father most of my life either. He left one day to trade some wool, drank too much, and crashed his cart. He died when I was very young."
Emma exhaled deeply, a white cloud forming in the chilled air. "Shit, Dad. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"I know you didn't. Only a handful of people, including your mother and Red knows about it. He wasn't a nice man. Enjoyed his spirits a little too much, as well as the use of his belt. My mother did what she could to shelter me, but, she was only one person and he was uncontrollable."
"Why are we talking about this now? Not that I'm shutting it down, but, I'm curious."
He stopped her, placing a gentle hand on her upper arm. "I want you to know that, under no uncertain terms, will I force you to do or be anything you're not. The few years that I did have with my father were full of forced choices and bad memories. I won't repeat what has happened in both of our pasts."
She gawked at him, stunned. "What do you mean both?
He shook his head at her. "Emma, I know that look. I've always known. We can leave it at that, we're almost at the shop."
They resumed walking, but Emma was in a hazy state when they entered the pawn shop. Luckily, her dad was able to talk with Gold, just requiring one-word responses from her, and got a listing of the few properties that were available. She was silent the entire walk to her father's truck and drive to the first property. When they pulled up in front of the house, she wasn't impressed with the state of the exterior and they decided to skip it. They drove another 10 minutes in the opposite direction to the second location. This house was close to Mifflin Street, just a block away. This time, Emma was visibly excited when they pulled into the driveway.
The two-story gothic-style house was a faded crimson with ivy crawling up each of the front posts and siding. Small, bare rose bushes spanned the walkway to the moderately-sized porch. Large bay windows wrapped around the left side of the house while long, standalone windows with storm shutters wrapped around the right. The second floor had a large wooden-railed balcony that was almost the length of half the house, accessible by 3 doors from the upstairs. This house was something out of Emma's childhood dreams and, she knew, it simply had to be hers.
"Holy shit, Dad. Look at this one!" She exclaimed, throwing the car door open and ran to the porch."
He laughed, following at a slower pace. "Slow your roll there, kiddo. Wait for me."
She fell to her knees and rubbing the decking. "Torch the haystack, I found the needle. This is so my house."
David glanced around the exterior, muttering under his breath. "I wonder why…"
She stood and brushed the dirt off her sweatpants. "What was that?"
He cleared his throat and gestured to the door. "Just saying we should take a look at the inside before you decide."
Emma bounded through the unlocked door and the smell of old books and dust permeated her nostrils. Do I smell clove? Shit, this is so cool. She explored the living room and stared in awe at the oversized, cobweb-covered fireplace that called to Emma's inner pyromaniac. I can't wait to set some shit on fire. And chop firewood. And stack wood. David stepped up beside her and gave his daughter a coy smile.
"You thinking what I think you're thinking?"
"You bet your ass I am." She grinned, clapping her hands together in glee.
"Just try to not burn down the place, okay? We don't exactly have much of a fire service in these parts."
"Me? Burn something down? You must be mistaking me for someone else."
"You lit your mother's roast on fire because you forgot to take the plastic off before putting it in the oven."
"Is it, like, a trend for all of you fairytale folk to never forget anything? Jesus. It was ONE time."
"Let's go check out the upstairs so you don't make this two for two."
The stairs creaked under their feet, but it wasn't unpleasantly loud, Emma decided. She liked how the house smells and the general vibe she got from it. Why hasn't anyone snagged this place? Downstairs contained a living room, parlor room that seconded as a library, a roomy kitchen with black tiled walls, and a bathroom. Upstairs, there were two medium-sized bedrooms and one master bedroom with its own bathroom, as well as an additional bathroom in the hallway. The walls were in dire need of repainting but the floors were sturdy and, surprisingly, well-kept hardwood, dark brown in color. The father and daughter pair toured each room with careful consideration, and David marked in a notepad what needed to be worked on or replaced entirely. Emma was too engrossed in the emotions she was feeling to care about those things.
"17," Emma said suddenly.
David looked over his shoulder as he pulled back the dusty curtains in the master bedroom. "What?"
"The number of foster homes I've been in. 17." She ran a finger across the dirty windowsill, a distant smile on her face. "17 foster homes. 5 shelters. 8 apartments and now one house. No more moving around from place to place, this is it. It's time for some roots."
He walked over to his daughter and embraced her. "I'm so proud of you Emma. More than I could ever put into words."
A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hugged him back tightly. "I love you too, Dad."