Maybe it made her a masochist, but Regina had to hold her baby, just for a moment. If she didn't she would forever burn with curiosity as to what she looked like. It was going to be bad enough she'd never know the person she'd grow to be, she needed the basics. She saw a bit of everyone. Herself, Leopold, Snow, and even Cora. She could see tiny pieces of them all on her deceased daughter's features. What little hair she had was just a shade or two lighter than Regina's own.
She was beautiful, another angel to join the ranks. More tears slid down Regina's cheeks, and she couldn't stop herself from pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"I'm sorry, Jasmine, you did nothing wrong." Her voice was little more than a whisper. She stroked her cheek with her finger. "You be good, okay? And know that I do love you."
The unsuccessful birth had taken a toll on her body, and she was told it would be best to stay overnight and get some rest. But how could she be expected to sleep? How could she be expected to do much of anything anymore? Only one person in the world would understand how it felt to have your baby unexpectedly taken from you, even if it was to be a future understanding.
So, once alone, Regina got up and crossed through familiar halls until she reached the only room that held meaning. "Out," she barked at the unfortunate soul on duty of Emma's watch. "Say a word and I swear it will be the last thing you do." The threat, empty or otherwise, was taken for face value and soon the room only had the two occupants.
Regina didn't sit on the chair, no; she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. It was spacious enough, with room to fit a second person if desired. And today, it was desired. "I lost her. Today served as both the birth and death day of my daughter…Jasmine Emma Mills." She shifted closer, brushing strands of blonde hair out of Emma's face. "There has been so much death this year. If it must come in threes as they say, please don't be the third. I need you to hang in there, okay? You've been excellent. Henry's too young to understand, but he loves you so much already. He knows you're his mother too. I don't think I could bear explaining he lost both biological parents when he grows older, so please spare me the responsibility." Her head drooped, bringing their foreheads to meet. No wonder she was being kept over night. What little energy she had was waning. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, and her vision was still blurred by tears. She didn't notice the way they dripped onto Emma's skin.
"Don't die," she whispered. Her head rolled to the side so they shared the pillow, though her chin came to a rest on her shoulder. "Wake up." Her eyes finally slid closed, to heavy to keep open. Her last two words were said on the brink of consciousness. She never heard herself add, "For me."
When Regina returned home the next day, the scene that greeted her would have been hilarious given any other situation. Mary held Henry, looking very much like the part of a worried and angry mother catching their teenager sneaking back into the house. No, Regina didn't have time to laugh. The world was too busy crashing down around her from the moment she laid eyes on the two. As soon as the door shut, an anguished cry escaped Regina, and she slid to the floor, overcome with loss once more.
Mary quickly placed Henry on the floor, letting him roam where he may, and dashed to Regina's side. She knelt beside her, pulling the older woman into her arms. "Regina…"
"I l-lost her!" Regina didn't fight the embrace; she needed it, even if she were to deny it later.
"Her? I had a sister?"
All Regina could do was nod into her shoulder. Her throat was too thick to let any more words out. All that escaped were the horrible, heart wrenching sobs.
Mary had never seen her almost stepmother in so much pain. It was the first time she felt the woman was actually being herself around her. She didn't seem even a fraction as affected by her father's death, but perhaps that was because it had been Mary's time to fall apart. Now, well, Regina had two deaths to grieve about. It was her turn. Time for Mary to at least try to be the strong one, even though the loss of the little sibling she had wanted so much hurt her deeply.
Mary began rubbing her back, instinctively knowing the usually bristly woman wouldn't turn down affection for the moment. "Nothing can be said to make this better," she murmured. "Neither can anything be done. Just don't let this ruin you, please. You and Henry are all I know in this town and all I have left. I don't want anything happening to either one of you."
Her words only served to make Regina cry harder. She'd been ruined long before all this. And damn, the girl cared, she actually cared. It was something she was unused to, and made her feel guilty all over again. She couldn't bring herself to care for the girl, even now; she was only and would only ever be indifferent. The kindness shown was unspecific and credited to the fact she was still a child. Yet the girl was one of the few she could count on one hand that had ever actually cared about her. Life sure enjoyed throwing irony every which way.
It was that fact and that alone which made her change her mind about sending the girl on her own way as soon as 18 hit.
When Regina finally managed to peel herself off the floor, she made a beeline straight for her decanter.
"Regina," Mary sounded disappointed, while trying to be gentle. "That's not the answer."
"There isn't one, dear. You said it yourself, nothing can be done. Besides, it's just cider."
"I also said not to let this ruin you. You think I don't know what you put in that stuff?"
Ignoring her, Regina poured herself a glass. "I've been denied a mere drop for the better part of a year. And I can think of no time more deserving than now." She downed the glass only to find Mary in her face once she lowered it.
"That's all you get." Mary snatched the glass from her hand, returning it to where it had been. Next she snatched the decanter and was off to the kitchen before Regina could make a swipe at it.
By the time Regina got to the kitchen, Mary had almost finished pouring its contents down the sink. "I am not watching this happen again. Not when I'm old enough to do something about it." The metaphorical putting of her foot down was punctuated by the decanter clanking on the kitchen counter once it was emptied. She crossed her arms as she turned to eye a livid Regina. "Henry is one, Regina. One."
"Henry's age is of no consequence –"
"It is when he depends primarily on you!" The snap affectively shut Regina up. Coming from someone she believed to be a docile creature, it was stunning. "You do not get to turn to alcoholism and forget about one child just because you lost another."
"I would never forget –"
"Do I look like I'm finished? You're doing the exact thing Daddy did after my mother died. Did you ever actually ask what his cause of death was?"
Regina wisely chose to stay silent this time. She was sure she was about to find out.
"His liver was wrecked from all the times he may as well have bathed it in alcohol years ago. He paid for the mistakes of his past, for the grief of his past. Tell me, what happens to Henry ten years from now when he's barely out of elementary school when you suddenly keel over and die because you've abused your liver too much now? Where does he go? Does he get thrown into the system once he's an orphan? Who knows where I'll be ten years down the line, I may not be able to help him though I would in a heartbeat. You are so good to him. Better than a bunch of strangers would be. Why break his heart and ruin his life because you got your heart broken?"
And there it was, all that politician potential Regina hadn't thought she had. It was sobering, literally and figuratively, to say the least. "Point taken."
"Rant, rave, cry, punch the walls, take time from work, stay in bed all day…do whatever it takes but don't cut yourself off from your emotions. Other people get hurt."
Regina wanted to protest that she couldn't cut herself off from her emotions if she tried, that that was the whole problem, but she refrained from doing so as it would only be walking in circles and she really had her fill of being chewed out by a teenager for one day.
"Bed. Good idea." And off she went.