Chapter Twelve - The Curse and the Hangers-On
The little boy knew the forest like the back of his hand. He led the traveler through gullies and around rock formations and hidden dales and meadows on a path so intricate that it made her head spin and ache. He laid no breadcrumbs or shiny white pebbles, but moved through the woods with an ease that the traveler knew that she herself possessed in the woods closer to home. She was an outsider here though, she knew that. The forest was cold and unrelenting, and a steady rain fell down around them as the little boy gathered his mushrooms and herbs for his mother.
She'd offered to go with him, and the rain had started when they'd been out for scarcely half an hour. He'd continued on, unperturbed, and the traveler had struggled to keep up with him over the slippery ground. In a place like this she didn't dare take her hand off of the hilt of her sword. She stood prepared and ready, even now as the little boy bent and used a small knife to cut from the bottom branches of a nondescript looking plant. He whispered words as he did so, words in the old language that the traveler had no head for. They were words of faith, words that she didn't think one such as the witch would ever possess.
The traveler had lost her faith long ago, and she was sure that one with as torrid a story as the witch would have lost her own in a similar fashion. She could not stomach the idea of losing all that the woman who had once been the queen had lost. She had no idea how the witch was able to raise this child in this cottage in the woods, away from all who thought her heart blacker than night. Here, there was a sense of freedom, and the traveler knew that here, in this black forest, the witch had found her heart once more.
Tripping and stumbling, the traveler followed the little boy deeper into the woods, muttering curses as her boots slipped on slick ground. She glanced down for a moment, wondering where on earth he'd learned to be so sure-footed on moss-covered, wet rocks. When the traveler looked back up, her feet more firmly planted on the ground than they'd been since the rain had started, the little boy was gone.
The traveler stepped forward hurriedly, her cloak billowing out around her as she tried to catch sight of the boy once more. She didn't even know his name – she realized in that desperate moment. She didn't even know where he could have gone.
Through a break in the trees, the little boy came into view once more, and the traveler's worried breathing and panicked heartbeat calmed. Splattered in mud, he stood in the middle of a small clearing. His head was turned up to catch the icy droplets of rain on his round cheeks, his cloak hood forgotten at his back. The traveler stayed back, watching him revel in the rain. She didn't want him to get sick, the witch would never forgive her for allowing him to behave in such a way, but the little boy seemed absolutely impervious to the cold.
"Once, I hated my mother," he said. With his basket clenched in one fist and his cheeks streaked with rain water, he looked like a true child of the forest. He was probably only five summers old, but the pieces tumbled into place for the traveler, and her eyes widened. She could see him at eleven, at fifteen. This was a place where he could grow to manhood happy and content, away from all that would plague him throughout the kingdom.
"Why?" The traveler asked, pulling at her own cloak and stepping into the clearing. She couldn't imagine a child ever hating their mother - it didn't make sense. Mothers were the most powerful creatures of all. Everyone knew that the magic of a mother was something wondrous – to hate a mother...
The little boy's wide brown eyes leveled with the traveler's green, and there was a spark of recognition there. His cheekbones were so similar to the traveler's own mother – the queen's that the traveler's breath caught. She should not be seeing her mother in this child of an absolute stranger, there had been a familial relationship there once, but it was gone, a memory of a terrible time in the forest's history. "It was a different life," he confessed quietly, muddy fingers pulling at his hood and shaking the water from his hair. "And I didn't understand what was happening."
"The curse she nearly cast?" The stories that the traveler had learned from her nurse and then her tutors had been fantastic and all the children of this land knew of the implications of what might have happened, had that curse succeeded in being cast. They would have all been doomed to a life where there was no magic, no love, and no happy endings.
The traveler didn't believe in happy endings. Her soul was cursed twice-over, wanderlust and a promise she couldn't remember. A third curse on top of that would have been entirely too much. She swallowed and looked away, trying not to think about how the wanderlust had faded to almost nothing since she'd come to the witch's clearing in the corner.
The little boy looked at her strangely for a moment, before he shrugged. "In a way," he said at length, "yes."
Sleepily, Emma reached out into cold and empty air, fingers desperate to touch the child in her dreams. Morpheus slipped away once more and she cracked an eye open, a scowl etched firmly onto her face.
Again. That dream.
She could never remember the faces in her dreams, not any more. Before she'd come to Storybrooke, the faces in her dreams were playful reminders that she could someday sell the stories in her dreams as a successful novel – but now it was just question after question that added to the great confusion of her life already.
Blinking, Emma peered around at her surroundings, the low light and dark wood reminded her where she was and she hurriedly sat up. "Regina?" she called, peering around the room owlishly and wondering how it was that she'd managed to fall asleep while Regina was in mid-rant about Gold and his fairies.
The room was silent and still, full of the gentle sound of the furnace in the basement and the soft patter of icy rain outside. Emma scowled at it, knowing that if the roads were anything like the state of Regina's front walk, she would not be driving home until daylight. In the streetlights outside, the world seemed to flow and shimmer, a thin coating of ice encasing everything. Emma shivered despite herself and scrambled to her feet.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Emma noted the fire in the grate and moved closer to it, shivering again, this time more violently as she stood by the warm orange flames. Regina's study was the sort of place where – in another life - Emma could picture herself spending hours inside, reading and being left alone with her thoughts and a good glass of scotch. This wasn't that life, this was something else entirely. All that she was left with was a twisted sort of approximation of what might have been and the dreams of where it all started haunting her every sleeping moment.
"You fell asleep," Regina's voice came from the doorway, and she stepped into view. Her feet were bare and she held a cup of steaming, apple-smelling liquid in her hands. Emma's nostrils flared at the smell of it, enticed by the scent of apples and the memory of a story so old it felt like an almost Disney-ified myth to her. It all seemed so funny that the once evil queen would love nothing more than her apple tree and the great creations she could draw from its fruit. Apples were supposed to represent death in that story, death and ill-intentions, not the innocent flick of wide brown eyes that settled on Emma's pensive expression.
Emma didn't understand, still.
She turned back to face the fire and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, a scowl pulling her lips downwards she thought about all that Regina had said to her in the previous weeks. There were so many secrets that lurked just beneath the surface of this town that it made Emma's head hurt, and she had more questions than she did answers, most of the time. "How did the sword get stuck in your chest," she asked quietly. Her voice sounded alien to her now, full of uncertainty and none of the confidence of her dreams.
Regina said nothing for a long time. The room seemed to warm as Regina shut the door behind her and crossed to her desk. She set the mug in her hands down on the slate coaster that sat neatly by the stack of papers that she and Emma had been discussing before it had been time for Henry to go to sleep and Emma had drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
"At your parent's wedding," Regina's voice was like a whisper, just barely audible over the sound of the merrily crackling fire. The rain pattered against the window and Emma bowed her head, turning to face Regina. Perhaps she had overstepped her place, but she wanted to know, and Regina was in a position to tell her. The free exchange of information had gotten them this far, even if Emma knew that they were not equals. She held just enough power to keep herself safe. Regina (and Gold's too, she supposed) focus was on other things. It meant that situations like this would occur, and Emma would be able to try and find the answers she so desperately needed.
Regina looked closed-off and worried, not unlike how she had been when she'd lead Emma into the forest to kill the Minotaur. She leaned against her desk, resting on her palms and staring down at her feet. If Emma hadn't known better, she would have said that Regina looked ashamed, almost, having to admit the truth at all. "I was not invited…" she shook her head and Emma wondered if that was somehow far more of a slight in that world than it was on earth. People didn't get invited to weddings all the time; it was just a part of life. And weddings were really expensive and generally awful, so Emma almost understood why.
"So?" Emma asked. Her tone was even, but there was the barest hint of amusement in it. "I mean, if I were in your position I wouldn't have gone at all."
Regina's laugh was short and barking, the sort of laugh that is more a pained expression of amusement and not really in good humor at all. "That simply was not done, Ms. Swan," she explained slowly. "I was a queen, even if I was not on the best of terms with James' father's country, I was still a queen, and I had a connection to the bride – no matter how tenuous."
Running a tired hand through her hair, Emma sighed. "Why does it matter, though, really?"
"Perhaps I simply wanted to declare my intentions publicly," Regina said with a small shrug, her back ramrod straight. She turned and picked up her steaming mug of what Emma could only conclude to be cider. "Ruin their chance at a happy honeymoon, if you will." She quirked an eyebrow at this statement and Emma felt herself scowl in return.
"I won't," Emma folded her arms across her chest, her scowl deepening. "I still don't understand why you cast the curse in the first place, especially if it wasn't really even yours to begin with."
Her lips drew into a hard line, and the amusement of her previous, mocking statement was all but gone when Regina pushed herself forward once more. She stood before Emma, barefoot and with the full command of a queen. "You forget your place," she hissed, eyes narrowing. "You are mine; you are here to serve me. It is not your duty to question my judgment."
Emma stood defiant. The urge to back away, to fall to her knees, to beg forgiveness from this woman she'd somehow earned the favor of was so strong that her hands clenched into fists. Emma's fingernails cut into her palms with the effort of not doing what it was that her body so desperately longed to do. They'd been doing so well, more like equals and allies, less like master and servant.
But that was what they were.
"I…" Emma looked down at her trembling fist, clenched as it was at her side and swallowed. She turned to stare once more into the fire, the words and emotions behind them just barely surprised beneath the surface of calm she'd learned long ago – years before any of this seemed viable. "I just want to understand majesty," and she winced at the title, knowing that it did not exist in this world, but knowing that it must be said. "Nothing more, nothing less."
Regina seemed to contemplate this for a minute before she sighed. There was a slight rustling of papers and then Regina was standing beside Emma, her body not touching Emma's at all, but it was a close thing. Emma breathed deeply at the scent of magic that surrounded Regina even now, so far removed from that time and that place. "Maybe," Regina trailed off, her expression pensive. "Maybe there is no understanding why. I did it because I felt I had no other choice. I took your father's sword into my heart because I liked the pain and the reminder of who I was and how black my heart was."
"And your favor?" Emma didn't dare hope for a response, but it was worth a try anyway.
With a quiet chuckle, Regina's shoulder brushed against Emma's and Emma turned to look at her. "You've earned it now, but at first… I needed a knight - a savior, even - and you were there."
"Henry thinks that I have to kill you to break the curse," Emma replied bitterly, thinking of all the times that she'd tried to convince him that she could never do that. That there was black and white, but when they mixed there was always grey.
Regina's eyes closed slowly, and her lips parted in a quiet exhalation that Emma knew had nothing to do with their conversation and everything to do with the sheer weight of it all. The secrets of this town were heavy, and Emma felt them dragging on her even now. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like for Regina, the only other person who truly knew.
"He just might be right, dear."
db
Regina cleared her schedule for the afternoon to inspect the town's charter and to hopefully make some more educated guesses as to where more of the fairy rings might crop up. Emma had dropped her off by the archivist's office and had turned the car around on a whim, heading towards the outskirts of town, where the nunnery was. She had no idea why a small town in Maine had needed a nunnery, for it was so far removed from anything that even approached a religious center. She supposed that nuns liked nature, just like everyone else who lived in this terrible town.
As she drove, she wondered how easy it would be to tell the Mother Superior that she was there to seek some sort of guidance about Henry. It was a reasonable enough reason to detour out into the country, especially if she stuck to the story about the rabid dog and the not-rifle that was running rife through the town at the moment. Emma's jaw hardened, chewing hard on the inside of her cheek she pressed the gas, urging the cruiser into a higher gear and wishing desperately that it was a stick and not a slow-to-shift automatic.
All the signs seemed to point to the hangers on being responsible for what was happening. They weren't supposed to be there in the first place. She was sure that Gold had his reasons, and Regina's non-answers to Emma's demands of why were enough to convince Emma that Regina at least seemed to have some want to be in this world without magic. Still, the magic was ever-present, even now. Emma could feel it prickling around her, flashing at the corner of her eye and distracting her from the icy road. There was salt and sand down, but Emma had learned to drive in a place where it didn't snow very much at all.
At the thought of her childhood, Emma shook her head violently. She had spent the better part of the last few days trying to ignore the nagging feeling of longing every time she happened to see Mary Margaret and David together. The curse was starting to weaken, and Emma was convinced that it was their closeness, rather than Regina's magic coming in fits and spurts, that was the tell-tale sign. Perhaps the giant mythical creatures and the fact that she could pull a sword from Regina's heart were also pretty good indicators, but even now, all Emma could think of was the look of pain in Regina's eyes when the sword was yanked free. Regina was so relieved when it was gone, and she seemed to soften around the edges.
Gravel crunched under the cruiser's wheels as Emma turned into the drive that led to the worn but well-maintained Victorian that served as a home for the town's more spiritually inclined. There were lights on against the dim afternoon light. Emma parked and pulled her hat down over her ears, grateful for the thick parka that she got to wear when she was on duty. The day had turned frigid, and the clouds had grown darker and darker as the morning had progressed. Regina had said it would storm soon, and with it would come the snow.
It was November in Maine, Emma supposed, it happen sooner rather than later.
Her breath fogged as she got out of the car and half-jogged over to the door. The nunnery was technically open to the public, but Emma knocked out of habit, as it was also a residence. After a few minutes of shivering on the stoop, a round-cheeked nun whose name Emma didn't know opened the door. She ushered Emma into a bright vestibule and asked that she please leave her coat and service weapon at the door. Emma complied hesitantly, trying to ignore the long-searching looks that the woman was giving her as she took the proffered hanger and settled her coat on it. She stuffed her scarf, hat and service weapon (after she'd double checked the safety) down the sleeve of her coat and put it in the closet without a wood.
The vestibule was cold still, and when Emma was let into the house proper, the warm air burned her lungs as she sucked it in gratefully. "I was wondering if I could talk to the Mother Superior?" Emma asked mildly, glancing around the hallway and peering up the stairs briefly, wondering if it was more communal space or bedrooms on the second floor. "The school said that she was here today when I called."
The nun (was it Astrid or something? It was something weird, Emma knew that) blinked, her eyes widening a little bit in what Emma could only surmise to be surprise. "Yes," she covered hurriedly, her expression returning to that bright, neutral sort of smile that all the nuns that Emma had ever met in her life had possessed. She wondered if it came from being married to God or something, because it was a little creepy if she was honest. "I'll go see if she has a minute to talk to you, Sheriff Swan."
Emma watched her go and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, deciding that she would also mention the 'rabid dog' and ask if there had been anything strange or unusual in the woods around the house here. She supposed that it wasn't the best reason to be out here, but it was reasonable enough. Emma had worked far less for far more in the past.
Five minutes later, Emma was hurried into a small first-floor office space. The Mother Superior was sitting behind a large, rather imposing-looking desk, a stack of paperwork in front of her, and several reference books open in front of her. "Sheriff Swan," she said, standing and offering Emma her hand.
Emma shook it firmly, "Mother Superior." She didn't know the woman's name, and she didn't think it was right to ask. She shifted from foot to foot after the woman released her hand. It felt strange, she wasn't a kid any more, but the woman still had that severe look about her.
Swallowing, Emma took the chair that the woman indicated.
"What brings you here today," the Mother Superior asked. Her reddish brown hair was curling at her forehead – like she'd been out into a humid southern summer and she looked absolutely exhausted. Emma shifted forward in her chair slightly, one palm resting on the seat between her legs, desperate to keep her leg from bouncing up and down.
"I was in the area," Emma began. She glanced towards the window, out towards the growing storm. "We've had a few reports of a potentially rabid dog about town," she explained. "I'd initially wanted to catch you at the school, but when I called they said you were here, so I figured I might as well stop by and see if you'd seen anything strange in the woods." It was the sort of question that Emma couldn't phrase quite right. She knew that Regina or Gold would have a hidden barb full of implications and lots of I-know-what-you-did behind studied innocence. She wasn't really like that, though. Her belief was in straight talk, in cutting through the layers of bullshit to get through the truth.
Naturally, coming to Storybrooke had really harshed Emma's mellow when it came to that. She needed a cypher to understand half of what was said in this town.
The Mother Superior, apparently, was going to be no exception. She glanced towards the window as well, her brow furrowing in what Emma guessed was concentration. "No," she said slowly. She set folded her fingers together on the desk in front of her and slid her gaze back over to Emma. "I haven't seen any dogs in the woods. Just your usual, run of the mill, forest creatures." She inclined her head to one side. "Have you spoken to Mr. Nolan? I know that he's probably the best woodsman we have; now that Sheriff Graham is gone." With the mention of him, she absently crossed herself.
Backwards.
Emma couldn't help the tiny little gasp that escaped her lips as she recognized that the familiar and age-old gesture was incorrect. She forced herself to show no other reaction, her features schooled impressively neutral and a small smile on her face. "I spoke to him two nights ago, actually. He's been on the lookout as well – checking any strays that come into the shelter."
"Hummm," the Mother Superior hummed in agreement and Emma found herself hesitating. She didn't know if this was just play acting, or if she genuinely was hesitating. At this point she just was looking for a segue into discussing Henry and this woman was giving her next to nothing to work with. She frowned, biting on the inside of her lip. "Was there something else, Sheriff?"
The question pulled Emma from her thoughts and she jumped, slightly startled. Focusing her attention back on the Mother Superior, Emma could see that her eyebrow was raised in a half-questioning look. Emma sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry, I was just wondering if I could talk to you about Henry for a minute…"
"I don't have much direct contact with the students in my school, Sheriff. I'm more of an administrator," the Mother Superior replied, but there was a kind smile on her face. "But I can try to help."
Emma found herself grinning awkwardly back at it, feeling somehow self-conscious under her gaze.
There was something in the Mother Superior's eyes that was throwing Emma. It wasn't contempt, or even that spark of knowledge that she'd seen in David's eyes over dinner a few days ago. No, it was something that Emma had seen many, many times in her life. She couldn't stand those looks when she was a kid, and she couldn't stand it now. Pity was never an emotion that Emma understood. Pity, to her, was antithetical of her entire life experience. She'd been pitied her whole life, and yet no one had taken the time to actually help. It had just been one sad face after another. A parade of all the failures of Emma's life without a single kind face among them.
Emma pushed the dark thoughts away and straightened slightly, beginning her story. "I don't know if you know all the details of Henry running away from Regina – Mayor Mills – to Boston to come and find me." When the Mother Superior shook her head in the negative, Emma knew that she at least had her interest. It was time to see how much she knew. "He came to find me because he'd been given a book that was full of stories that he found parallels to in his own life. He thinks his mom's the Evil Queen in the stories."
The Mother Superior's face was impassive, but there was a little glint in the corner of her eye that Emma recognized. She'd seen it in Regina and in Gold. Perhaps it was an indicator of skill with magic, she didn't really know. "Maybe he's right," she said neutrally. When Emma looked up at her sharply, she added, perhaps a bit too quickly, "But not in the literal sense, if that makes any sense. Maybe he sees her as some sort of all-powerful person in his life and this is his rebelling against that control." She shrugged. "I'm not a psychologist, Sheriff Swan, but I do think that he was probably too young to be told he was adopted. I'm sure that that, rather than his book of fairy tales, is really what this is all about. Add your presence into the mix and I think I can almost understand why he's still being so rebellious."
"Guess I can see that," Emma sighed. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. "It gives me something to think about, at any rate."
"Glad I could be of help," the Mother Superior replied with a friendly smile that didn't reach her eyes. Emma's fingers moved to her hip, but her gun wasn't there – nor was the sword. She felt almost naked without either of them as she thanked the nuns for their hospitality and warned them to be on the lookout for particularly menacing-looking strays.
It wasn't until she was back in her car that Emma finally allowed herself to breathe, and to think about what the Mother Superior had said. As she drove away from the nunnery she found herself replaying the conversation over and over in her mind. The double speak that she was so used to with Gold and Regina was there, cutting like a knife through her consciousness and Emma sighed, pausing at a stop sign to rest her head against the wheel and allow the feelings of defeat to wash over her.
The curse wasn't supposed to include hangers-on. That was the point of it, at least as Regina told the story. Emma supposed that she was in a rather unique position to lie if she felt so inclined, but there had been abject honesty in Regina's voice as she'd explained what the exact nature of the curse truly was. Emma couldn't stomach it, not even now.
How the hell did anyone do something like that? How could they be so nonchalant about it now? What was the point of even bringing Rumpelstiltskin, the fairies, even Snow White along? They were all enemies to what Emma supposed was Regina's eventual peace. So why bring them along at all? The whole idea seemed like a foreign concept to her. If she wanted to run away – and she'd done her fair share of doing just that in her life, the absolute last thing she'd do would be to bring along reminders of what she was trying to get away from.
Behind her, a car beeped and Emma turned, scowling at the truck and wondering if she could invent a reason to give him a ticket just because he was a rude asshole. It wasn't worth it in the end, she decided, and turned down the road that would lead back to town. She just didn't understand it, but she was convinced of one thing: The Mother Superior was well aware of what was happening in the town.
Chewing the idea over in her mind, Emma headed back towards the station. She had no reason to share this information with Regina, not yet. Emma was pretty sure that both she and Henry would be holed up in the archives until late that evening anyway. Henry had an essay to write and there was a computer in the archivist's office that Regina had secured him permission to use.
Resolving to take the cruiser home with her that evening because she had the sinking suspicion that she would be out looking for more fairy rings under the cover of darkness, Emma hung a left and pulled into the parking lot of Mary Margaret's apartment some ten minutes later. She shivered as she collected her keys and things from the backseat and headed inside, taking the steps two at a time, desperate to get into the warmth of the apartment.
It was way too damn cold in Maine.
Emma kicked off her boots and hung up her jacket, bending to hunt through the shoe rack for her house shoes. Her bones ached even now. Before they'd fallen asleep, Regina had posed a theory that whatever magic Emma was using to close the fairy ring portals to the other world was taking a great deal out of her. Emma didn't even think that she had that sort of magic, but Regina had just looked at her sadly and had shaken her head.
"You are made of the most powerful magic of all," Regina had explained, her eyes seeming to glow in the winter moonlight that streamed through the half-open blinds of her bedroom window. Despite the lateness of the hour and the soporific effect of what they'd spent the better part of an hour doing, Emma found her struck by how beautiful Regina was. She'd been trying to ignore the feelings of doubt and of attraction that she'd been desperately attempting to stave off ever since she'd fallen into bed with Regina. It wasn't a good idea for them to get involved, Emma knew that, and she was sure that Regina knew it as well. And yet, somehow, Emma couldn't help herself. She liked it. Liked how Regina made her feel, and how Regina seemed to relax when she was alone with Emma. "It would be foolish of anyone to underestimate your power."
There was a small sound from the kitchen and Emma turned, slippers still clutched in one hand. Mary Margaret was standing in the kitchen, her shoulders hunched as she leaned over the sink. It made Emma's heart ache, looking at her. It had been Snow White's love - Mary Margaret's love - that had given her life in a time when nothing was certain and everything was chaotic.
Henry's book told the story of Emma's birth, talking about James' bravery and Snow's desperate attempts to do anything possible to stop the steady and sure advance of the Evil Queen's curse. It was only when she'd finally read that story that she truly understood why Henry was so desperate for her to hate Regina because he couldn't do it himself. Regina had taken her childhood from her; she'd denied Emma the mother than he himself possessed.
But, Emma thought, dropping her shoes to the floor and sliding her feet into them, Snow and James took it from me as well. They had pushed her into a world all on her lonesome and had hoped she'd survive long enough to save them. Regina had merely provided the impetus. No one was without blame, as she'd insisted to Henry just a few days ago. There was good and evil, but there was good people doing evil things and vice versa.
She moved to stand behind Mary Margaret, her hand tentatively resting on her shoulder. She couldn't help but feel her heart plummet to somewhere around her knees when Mary Margaret flinched away from her tentative fingers. "Hey," Emma said, her brow furrowed. Her tone was quiet and carefully neutral. She didn't know what, exactly, she'd walked in on. "You okay?"
Mary Margaret turned to look at her, almost stiffening as she gazed at Emma with eyes that seemed almost lost. "I..." she began, but looked away before Emma could see her face crumple again.
"Did David do something again, because I swear to god-" Emma let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that he hadn't. The spark that she'd seen in Mary Margaret's eyes was unlike anything that she'd ever seen before. She'd seen something like it in David's eyes when he'd been over for dinner a few days ago.
She was remembering.
"No," Mary Margaret replied with the sort of shaky laugh that seemed almost hysterical to him. "He... He didn't do anything at all."
"Then what's the matter?" Emma asked, glancing to the steaming pot of water on the stove and the carefully measured out ingredients to a simple meal of pasta and sauce set on the counter beside her. She moved over and threw the pasta in the water, turning the heat down and allowing Mary Margaret a minute to collect herself.
"Do you ever feel like you've made the worst decision of your life, even though you know it was the right one?" Emma had reached for the jar of sauce (home canned, by the look of it. There was no label and it smelled delicious. She turned to glance at Mary Margaret. She was leaning against the counter, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked for all the world like she was adrift in the sea without a paddle to steer herself to safety.
Emma's mind flashed back to the insistent pull of hands in her hair and teeth on her bottom lip, biting and drawing her to new heights of lust and sheer wanting that she had come apart with a few words and well placed touches. "All the time," she said before twisting the top off of the jar of sauce and reaching for the small saucepan that Mary Margaret had set out. "I think that's why it's a hard decision, though. Because it doesn't feel good to make it a bad choice."
Letting them take Henry hadn't felt good at all, but Emma had known even at that impossibly young age, that it was the right decision to make. She supposed that she was just like Snow White in that respect. She'd had a child for the briefest of instances, before she'd been forced to give it up to an uncertain future.
At least Henry found Regina, Emma thought darkly, her mind drifting back to foster homes of her youth.
"I suppose," Mary Margaret replied. She still wasn't looking at Emma, and Emma was pretty sure that she knew why. She didn't know if she was taking to her friend or the woman who was once her mother now. She wasn't sure how that part of Regina's curse worked. She didn't know if she wanted to know.
Regina wasn't the sort of person who would plan for that sort of an eventuality by Emma's estimation. No, even though she seemed cool and collected most of the time, Emma knew that she was ruled by her passions. Emotion, rather than years of careful planning, had brought about the casting of the curse. The stories seemed to indicate that it was the last of many options already exhausted.
Emma chewed on her lip, wondering if it was Gold who had planned for such an eventuality. The curse hadn't been erected exactly as planned, that much was for sure. There wasn't supposed to be magic in this world at all, and yet the queen's blood and promise of favor had been enough to draw forth the sword in her chest.
That power slept within Regina, and it was only a matter of speculation to wonder what else lay there.
They were really similar in that respect.
And Emma wanted her. The magic and the power were intoxicating, and the promise of fealty was one that Emma could stomach. She understood what it meant, she understood and she hated that it had been thrust into the situation so desperately. She didn't mind that part of being the one destined to break the curse.
And the answers to the dreams were coming to Emma slowly. Somehow she knew that all would be explained in time.
"I missed you," Mary Margaret said after the silence between them had grown almost impossible to stomach.
Tilting her head to the side, Emma glanced over to peer at Mary Margaret. Any doubt that she'd had about the weakening of the curse flew from her as she saw the warmth of her mother's eyes for the first time she could remember.
"I ah..." Emma stuttered, her cheeks coloring and desperately wishing that she could be anywhere else. She hated the nagging part of her consciousness, the part that wanted to run and hide before the curse did break. She couldn't mentally face that idea of loving parents now, when they still didn't really remember. Emma hated to think what it would be like to face them when they did. "I missed you too."
db
Emma bought two cups of coffee from the diner the following morning, trying to shake the feeling of malcontent that had kept her up half the night. She'd gone to bed not long after dinner, and had very pointedly ignored the quiet presence looking in on her sleeping that night. It was a Saturday, and Mary Margaret had looked rather forlorn as Emma had packed herself a lunch and had headed out into the bitingly cold wind off the harbor. "Dinner tonight?" Emma had suggested.
"Sure," Mary Margaret had agreed.
She was headed to the City Hall. She wasn't due at the station for two hours yet, and she wanted to see if Regina had made any progress with her research project. The previous night all Emma had received was a terse text demanding the exact whereabouts of the other rings that Emma had destroyed and a few questions about the nature of the portals. Emma hadn't really had much to say on the matter, as she had no experience with the supernatural or the idea of such magic even existing and Regina had told her to get some sleep and to come to see her in the morning.
"Emma!" Henry's voice cut across the frost-covered green and Emma froze. She gripped the coffee cups in her gloved hands tightly and turned around, trying to give Henry the best smile she could possibly around. She didn't know how to force her expression into a happy, neutral one.
She really wasn't cut out to parent.
She had things she wanted to discuss with Regina, things that could absolutely not be discussed with Henry present. "Hey kid," she said. She kept her tone as even as she could possibly force it to be, but it still wavered just this side of curt. Henry grinned up at her from under a floppy wool hat and a bright smile. "I was just going to see your mom."
Henry didn't reply for a minute, before he shrugged and let Emma lead him into the building and up the flight of stairs into Regina's office. Henry opened the door helpfully for Emma and Emma stepped after him into the stark black and white of Regina's impeccably decorated office and regarded what looked like a bomb site.
There were papers everywhere, stacked on the coffee table and across the desk and work table. There was a small pile of them on the sofa and a forgotten coffee cup next to a precariously placed rolled-up plan on the low bookshelf by Emma's elbow. Emma let out a low whistle, finding Regina hunched over a map at the middle of the room, several reference books that probably were not of this world propped open all around her and a ruler and red sharpie in one hand.
"Henry," She said quickly, looking up with an alarmed expression on her face. Emma could see the realization and fear in her eyes and was shocked her face stayed perfectly warm and friendly as she stared across the room at her son. She made no move to hide what she was doing, and as Henry picked curiously across the room towards her Emma could feel the weight of the truth crashing down around him.
He looked from Emma, coffee still steaming in her hands, to Regina and her ruler, and back again. His eyes were wide and his lips formed words that made no sound as Emma hurriedly crossed the room and shoved some blue prints aside to set the coffee cups down in case he bolted. The incident at the mine was still fresh in her memory, despite having happened what felt like years ago, and with the wintery cold firmly in place, the last thing that Emma wanted was to have to hunt down a distraught ten year old in the snow.
"Henry..." his name came out a low whisper from Emma's lips and she wasn't even sure that he'd heard her. Emma looked at him with sad eyes and waited, wondering what he'd do now that all of his worst suspicions were revealed to be true.
"You can't be..." He said quietly, launching himself at his surprised-looking mother. His muddy boots left wet footprints across the papers that scattered the floor as he catapulted himself into Regina's very surprised arms. "You can't be, you can't be, you can't be..." He kept repeating it over and over again like a mantra and Emma felt a lump grow in her throat.
They had never discussed what might happen should Henry discover the truth. Emma supposed that it had never really come up. There was the understanding that Henry was aware of what was happening, even if he still wasn't all that solid on the details. Still, it hurt to see him realize what was going on. Emma knew that it would be a long time before he forgave her for lying as she had to him, and she knew that she'd take that responsibility without questioning it. She had lied to him. She and Regina both.
Now they had to make it right.
Regina's voice came through like a revelation then, and Emma swallowed hard, forcing the lump down as she spoke, "Perhaps I was, once," Regina's voice was quiet and low, full of affection that Emma had rarely heard, even when she was talking to her son in the past. "But that was a long time ago."
Henry's eyes were brimming with tears when he finally pulled himself up to stare in her face. Emma wondered what it must feel like, to desperately want to be correct, but then realize that you were and the only person who has ever truly loved you is the reason why so many are trapped and suffering. "Then why..."
"I ... I wanted to punish the people who had hurt me, but I also wanted to escape that place. I was so angry, Henry. I was so angry and so sad all the time; I would have done anything to feel happy again." Regina sighed and smoothed the tears from his cheeks.
"Do you feel happy?" Henry demanded. His chin was stuck out defiantly, a gesture that Emma knew well from his mother's face. He bore so little resemblance to her that she sometimes wondered if he truly was her child at all. He was so like his mother in so many ways, and yet he didn't seem to realize it. "Did hurting all those people make you happy?"
"No, Henry," Regina said quietly. She sighed and glanced towards Emma before turning her attention back to Henry. The look in her eyes spoke volumes to Emma; it was full of desperation and a plea for understanding. "I thought it would, but it didn't." She touched her finger to his forehead. "But I don't regret it, because I wouldn't have met you."
"Or Emma," Henry retorted stubbornly.
Regina's smile was slow and predatory as she looked towards Emma once more. Emma felt a shiver of fear run down her spine, wondering what on Earth could spur such a mercurial mood from Regina. "Oh, I think that Emma and I would have met anyway, Henry. I promised her my favor on the day she was born, after all."
"You did?" Emma and Henry demanded and almost the same time.
Regina shifted Henry to one side and regarded Emma with a contemplative look. Emma thought of the witch in her dreams and her own cursed wanderings, desperate to find her queen. Maybe it wasn't about longing for a picture-perfect childhood after all. Emma's jaw hardened as she thought of the story in Henry's book. Nothing like that had happened in the story.
She inclined her head to Henry and Emma nodded slowly, realization dawning on her.
In this story, Regina wasn't the enemy. She wanted to keep the peace, to keep the town safe from the evils of the creatures that were coming through the fairy ring portals into the other world. In this story, Henry could see the once-evil queen as the sort of anti-hero. Not particularly good, but not bad either.
And maybe that was what Henry needed.
"Emma's been helping me," Regina explained quietly, directing Henry's attention to the books and careful diagram of the town and surrounding countryside. The fairy rings that Emma had already destroyed were marked off in black, but the others, the ones that were only educated guesses were marked in red. Red lines slashed across the map as a whole in a tangled sort of spiraled web that lead outwards from several points on the map. Emma recognized the old well up in the woods, as well as the town's central green, and the clearing where the Minotaur had appeared. These must be the lay lines, Emma realized, bending forward to get a better look.
"Someone is trying to break the curse," Regina continued. "They want to let magic that doesn't belong here into this world. Emma's been helping me to try and stop it."
"But Emma's supposed to break-"
"I know, Henry." Regina said sharply. He stared at her like he was about to cry once more, before her expression softened and she added in a far more friendly tone, "Sometimes what is intended and what actually takes place are two very different things."
Henry's chin wobbled slightly and he stared at her, as though he was desperate to forget the past ten minutes. Emma didn't blame him; this was a harsh as hell way to find out that all your worst fears were true. At least Regina was being honest with him, and giving him straight answers. She wasn't apologizing, and she certainly wasn't going to do him the disservice of lying to him anymore.
"But why did you lie to me?" He asked quietly.
"Henry, I lie to everyone," Regina replied in an even tone. "All I do all day is tell lies to people I used to know but scarcely recognize anymore. When I... When I cast the spell I thought it would make me happy, to lord my memories over them, but it doesn't. Not really."
Emma shifted, feeling like an intruder and picked up one of the coffee cups from the desk. She quietly crossed to the door and let herself out of the room, leaving the little boy and the once-evil queen to their conversation.
db
Well. That certainly came out unexpectedly.
It's as you said before, the Queen put her hair into the spell twice. She is her own worst enemy.
And then what of the fairies then? Are we meant to believe that their intentions are as evil as they seem?
Hummmm. I say they just want to go home. They're magical beings, just like you or I or even the Dark One. They're not used to a place where there is no magic.
That's a puzzle we may never solve.
an: Thank you for the excellent feedback. I'm trying to show the curse slowly dissolving around them all. Hopefully to good results? Please let me know.
Next: The Confrontation