Took an enormous amount of time to update! Apologies! Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Ps: This chapter contains parts of Regina's past. Darkness warning.

Chapter 5: Exposing the Thorn

She reached out to it and gingerly let her fingers graze the ragged surface of the seashell. Or, it wasn't as much a shell as it was a fossil. She imagined she could still feel life beneath its star-shaped imprint, although perhaps it was just the Magic humming through. The Magic she had recognized the moment the object had met her palm, given to her by the woman she had considered her enemy all these years. The woman who, she now realized, perhaps knew her better and had given her more chances than anyone else in the world. The unspoken words that had lingered between her and Snow, as the awkward exchange of Henry and politeness had taken place, had resounded in her heart so loud she was quite sure she would have uttered them, had Emma not chosen that moment to speak. She was also quite sure that those had been the words she had seen linger in Snow's light eyes every time they'd locked with hers and the ones she could read in the post scriptum of the letter she had reread more times than she cared to admit and which was now pasted into the book Henry had presented her with.

As thoughts of love and forgiveness filled her and merged with the repelling sensation Rumple's Magic always evoked in her, she felt her thoughts drift back to the moment she felt had defined her life. Not, as so many people would think, the death of Daniel, but her attempt to no longer hate her mother for the act of killing him. The choice to blame a girl instead, who had learned and spilled a secret, who she had trusted but who had betrayed her. Her mother had only done what she had thought was right. But her heart had never truly forgiven the woman who had simply and without the slightest show of remorse crushed her hopes and dreams in the palm of her hand. It had just been so much easier to think she had. To direct her rage at Snow White, the child who had so badly wanted a mother, she had appointed Regina to a life of misery and hell.

She had thought to maybe free herself of the pain the anger caused her. Of the strength of it, rising like bile, in the back of her throat. She had tried by pushing her mother out of her life, to another realm. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so she had thought. But out of mind certainly did not seem to mean out of heart, as she had still found so much pain trying to claw its way out of that organ, oozing and leaving stains of ache all throughout her body. And still it was easier to feel it flow out of her the moment she laid eyes on that innocent-looking little girl, who went through life without a seeming care in the world, who had everything going for her and everyone waiting on her hand and foot, who anyone seemed to so effortlessly love. To, when she laid in that bed, her own fingernails desperately puncturing the skin of her palms, always failing in their attempt to block out any of her other senses with the pain, to then not think about how much her mother had wanted her to be the queen, but how Snow, so adamantly, had chosen her to replace her mother and condemned her, to this. To, when he whispered the name of his deceased wife in her ear at the moment he filled her with his juices, trying to make the servants –and thus the realm- believe he was attempting to produce a male heir, not think it was her mother who has created the potion that would leave her barren for all her days, but that it was because of Snow White that the King had requested, or more aptly said demanded, the precaution to be taken in the first place.

She trembled as she watched the images, formed by her thoughts, project themselves on her living room wall. Stared at them, the sight of the enchanted forest so odd on the plaster, unable to blink. She saw herself save Snow, embrace her mother, rush to Daniel's limply falling form. She watched how she drank the potion, her mother's palm covering her neck and the golden cup pressed against her lips and cringed at the moment the struggle turned into obedience, not by a forceful hand, but by Cora's softly spoken words about being unable to love her if she wasn't mommy's good little girl. She looked on as her lips parted without hesitation, her soul thirstily drinking in the threat posing as a promise. Her eyes glazed over as she saw him approach the bed, her eyes innocent, fear glimmering in them and she closed them, her heart dropping in a sickening way and yet still unable to prevent the memory from forming. And maybe even unwilling.

Because although it made her tremble, somehow, holding the vibrant fossil in her hand, she felt some of her pain flow through, (and in the oddest way, out of) the object. It was as if with every memory, some of the tension built up in her shoulders, in her rigid back and mostly around her heart, trying to keep the shattered pieces in place, found its release.

But what she had least anticipated on was the fear, clawing in her stomach. The urge to open her eyes and glance aside, gauge the reaction of the woman who sat to her right. The inability to do so, simply because she was paralyzed by the whirling feeling under her ribcage. She was not sure what she was more afraid to find. Disgust or pity. Biting her lip in an attempt to control the feeling that seeped into (or out of, she wasn't entirely sure) her heart, imagining the discomfort of the blonde, judgment or disbelieve painting the turquoise eyes, it suddenly hit her. What would be worst. What she really was afraid of.

The memory of the empty, indifferent eyes of her mother forced itself up on her and she immediately pushed the shell away from her, certain of the image that would follow but uncertain if it would transfer to the white wall the other pictures had been shown on. But it was not the fear or even the image of those turquoise eyes, cold and lifeless, that caused her own to shoot open. It was not even the pain the shot through her, knowing that was the only reaction she honestly deserved. Because no matter what had happened to her, what she had done in reaction to it had been a million times worse. It was a sound, so soft she would have missed it had the silence not been so heavy, had she not been as tuned in, had she not blocked out her vision by closing her eyes, heightening her other senses.

She wasn't sure if it was a gasp or a swallow, or the way Emma's breath seemed to halt in the back of her throat, but her eyelids shot up in response to the sound so fast, she had no time to think it through. Blonde hair hid the woman's face, the turquoise she had thought to find, concealed by the golden curtain. She was unsure if it had been her sudden movement as she'd glanced aside, or the fact the projections of images had stopped but she thought she saw Emma's shoulders tense up, her breathing halt yet again. And as the air escaped from her own numb lips, she felt her hope flow out with it. Because Emma, she knew, was hiding from her. And the only reason she could think of for that, confirmed the burning fear in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing herself up violently was the only way she could stop herself from reaching out and let her fingertips caress the locks. It would be the means to avoid the confirmation of the plummeting feeling of her heart once she would see those turquoise eyes. So then why did her hand linger over the couch cushion before making its way up? Why did her heart race in this particular manner when she touched the silky curls and slowly, in what she could no differently describe than a tender movement, brushed them back? She almost moaned when her fingertips met soft skin and she lost herself momentarily in the sensation of it, as she slid the golden mane behind Emma's ear. She thought she heard the woman gasp, but the humming, deafening sound of her own heartbeat, one she usually heard when about to faint, prevented her from being sure. Looking up she noticed what she had aimed to find was hidden in shadows, her hand betraying her once more by letting her fingers trail down and gently cup the woman's cheek in the palm of her hand, finally finding the turquoise treasure she was hunting.

And finding in it, two things she'd never anticipated. Her hand almost dropped in shock, but Magic, or perhaps the semi-magical substance they called super-glue in this realm, seemed to keep the body part in place as their eyes locked. Emma's glittering like emeralds in the unexpected welling tears, but filled with something that went beyond anything she ever could have dreamt up. Her heart lurched, in a forward movement, as if wanting to reach this woman, this woman with these hellish eyes, giving her everything she had never known she wanted so desperately. Everything she felt spread through her chest the moment Emma looked at her… Looked through her… Saw her. It swirled and she could not determine whether she was warm or cold, incredibly happy or terribly sad, for all emotions seemed to attack her all at once at the moment she knew what truly was laying behind the tears.

Understanding.

A real, true understanding, laced with the pain of experience she didn't want to see but couldn't possibly deny.

This wasn't pity. Or the halfhearted sympathy of a person who had not seen the deep darkness life can throw at you. She could see it, in the turquoise, in the swallow, in the biting of that soft, pink lower lip. She could feel it, when her hand was covered and slowly squeezed. Heard it in the gentle uttering of her name. And it took her breath away in the most amazing way. Because she wanted to take it in and she wanted to take it away at the same time. She wanted to relish and to protect. She wanted to withdraw and to draw near.

The contradictive feelings collided and merged as she watched Emma Swan look at her, see her. And the word to describe the strong emotion that hit her, lingered over her. But before she could pluck up the courage to grasp it, something in the eyes before her changed. They unlocked from hers and looked away and she was unsure if the object they fell upon was a mere coincidence. Especially when the warm hand covering hers slid away and the woman turned towards the shell, allowing Regina's own hand to slip away from the smooth skin and drop, together with her heart.

'Would you care for a beverage, Miss…'

It had been meant to come out all sharp and cold, not hoarse and shivery as it did. And the eyes that had only moments before left her shot back as she, this time successfully, pushed herself up. She couldn't do it, she couldn't speak the woman's last name, the word that had, so condescendingly trying to keep her distance, left her mouth so many times before. And when the fingers gently enveloped her wrist, it was replaced by the word which had, during those times, rang through her heart and had been suppressed. The name she'd woken up whispering so many mornings, relishing that forbidden moment of time where reality still was blurry due to lingering dreams. As the blonde pulled her back and gently turned her around, it fell from her lips as if it was the most natural thing to say.

'Emma…'

'Regina.'

Never had she heard her name spoken like that, so softly and filled with something she couldn't quite place but which tickled her ribcage and heavied her heart in the most delicious manner. The blonde had risen and stood close to her. And even though Emma wasn't touching her, apart from the hovering fingers around her wrist, even though they had been in closer proximity many times before, Regina felt how her body melted into the moment. She could smell the fruity scent of what she thought to be shampoo, feel the caressed skin prickle, as Emma's thumb made a pattern on the inside of her wrist, sense the energy that filled the narrow space between them, crackling in its intensity as she felt her gaze drop to pink lips.

Her free hand trembled in an attempt to stop the upwards movement, musclememory of years, decades really, of suppression guiding her until she realized she did not want to suppress. She wanted to reach… To touch… To kiss.

But as she took the step nearer she so desperately craved, turquoise eyes broke away from hers and Emma took a step back. It was odd how cold the rush of slightly moving air felt as the blonde turned away from her and the breath that halted in her throat was accompanied by a constricting feeling she could not seem to swallow away. Through a haze she heard Emma mutter something about making it right and she felt the jolty feeling rush through her shoulders before she felt the tears on her cheeks.

She turned, needing all her power and strength to fulfill the motion and for the first time she fully saw what had been happening to her today as a curse. For even when it had left her vulnerable in the eyes of the blonde, her son and the woman who had once been her stepchild, somewhere deep inside her a cord of freedom had been struck. But now, now that she felt her heart squeeze with the pain of rejection. (For she had been sure she had seen a flicker of interest in the turquoise, before a cold realization had taken its place. And it wasn't very hard to figure out what exactly Emma had realized that made her turn away… Or should she say who she had realized to be with.) Now that the organ had risen before falling, she remembered. She remembered what it felt like to be open, to breathe, but she also remembered what it felt like to be hurt. Something she had not allowed herself to feel the extend of for so many years.

She remembered the moment so vividly, when Emma Swan had entered her life and in one short moment had made her fear and walls rise by the means of Henry's way of presenting her as his 'real' mother. And then the question. The question she had known the answer to, so fiercely in her heart, but showing this woman, clad in red leather, about the extent of the love that brought her such weakness had not been something she'd been able to bring herself to do. She had tried to calculate, to suppress the urge to lie and protect her son, (since those Regina loved always seemed to end up in a less than favorable position, if not by her mother's then by her own hand) tried to find the perfect answer that would manipulate the blonde who her instinct had told her was endangering them.

But she had been wrong, as always she had been lying to herself. A self preserving witch, even more so then when she had had her Magic. Because it was she herself, who had endangered Henry. From the moment she had allowed him in her life, her ever-destructing love making him a victim of deceit, of pain and of the misery that seemed to surround her touch. Why had she not just allowed herself to see the danger of caring for someone yet again? Of allowing that weakness to creep its way back into her life?

The moment the thoughts entered her mind she felt the selfishness of her decisions weigh on her. But she also knew she was not merely referring to Henry. She knew her heart, swelling so profoundly it felt like it constricted her airway, was also pulled to the woman it could not possibly be pulled to. The woman who, by any means, should be her nemesis… The daughter of the woman who had betrayed her, the mother of the son she loved more than anything.

And yet, here she was, trembling in defeat because Emma Swan would not look her in the eye. She could not, would not allow herself to show more vulnerability. But no matter how hard she fought it, she felt the urge to turn getting stronger, the urge to let the name tumble from her lips once more. Probably followed by a question, a begging for something she could never possibly have, but could not stop to crave.

But just as she spoke the name that meant so much more than the sequence of letters, it was drowned out by another pronunciation of the same word, spoken coldly and condescendingly, making her turn back sharper as she recognized the voice.

Emma retracted her hand from the seashell she had been touching and as if in a dream, which she wasn't sure to call sweet or horrid, Regina saw herself reach out and envelop the woman's wrist, much like the woman had done with hers only just before. Although a tender shiver went through her at the moment of the touch, she took no time to think, simply pulling the blonde behind her in an intuitive attempt to protect her from the man whose voice resounded through her living room and whose form seemed to rise from the touched fossil.

'Emma Swan, the savior indeed. It is ironic, is it not, Regina, dearie?'

His giggle made the hairs on the back of her head stand as she fought the urge to respond, not just because she didn't want to give Rumple the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her by this mere vision, but also because she knew the snide remark would not be able to pass her lips and she was fairly unsure what would. How did she feel about the man who had threatened and manipulated her, but also had been the only one to give her a sense of worth at a moment she so desperately was seeking it?

'You have proven yourself the White Knight of the fairytale, just as my Belle said you would, Miss Swan. Perhaps it should not surprise me so, she has a knack for seeing through people, as does your boy. But that you share such a delicate trait, Savior… Well, Regina, if you would be quite yourself today, I think you'd be the first to agree with me that is not something one would easily think of the Sheriff. But you, Emma, have proven your intentions selfless and honorable, or this vision would not appear. Unlocking the secrets I have spend a lot of time and effort in protecting is not something that any Tom, Dick or Emma could accomplish. Yes, your son has quite a faith in you… In each of you I might say. For I don't know, Regina, what his plans are, but this vision will only appear by the touch of a very strong and ancient Magic and the only way to evoke said touch was for you to be the first to. For you to open up and release something I have made sure for many years, would never be unleashed. For you to share your story.

A promise made obliges me to tell you, however, your story is incomplete. And when Miss Swan here, so generously decided to show you her own heartwrenching story. When she decided she wanted to share, to repay the gift of trust in kind, she has given you the key to, finally, fully know what influences have played a role in your destiny.

The question is, Regina… Do you have the courage to face it?'

He smirked at her, the tone and intention behind the words clear and so many times heard before. And although she knew he was manipulating her with it, once more she had no idea which road he actually tried to force her to take. What he actually wanted her to do… And the mere thought of trying to let go of that he might want and decide for herself made her head swim.

Once, she might have considered herself a strong woman. In the time she had felt loved by Daniel, she had felt a strength rise from deep within, she had even, for the shortest time, tried to defy her mother, which had had the most destructive of consequences. And after that she had found something inside her she had called strength, yet at this moment was quite certain was actually the opposite. It felt like her ideas of strength and weakness were scrambled, as the eggs Henry cared for so much at breakfast time. For when she had fought for what she believed in, refusing to, first, learn Magic and later as she had given into it, use her acquired skills to crush a heart, life had shown her that what she had thought her strength, her conscience and her thoughts on what was right and what was wrong, her ability to love, was actually her weakness. And now, in a swirling, pounding feeling in her chest, it felt like everything shifted once more. Had the mask of coldness, the impenetrable walls she had build around her, not allowing anyone, not even the son she loved with all her heart, a glimpse of what was inside, hid every weakness she ever possessed, or were they actually the weakness?

The vast amount of contradictive thoughts and questions dazzled her, as the image continued to stare at her. The vision so much like the real man that she felt the familiar shiver run through her. A shiver she had suppressed so many years it had become second nature to do so, but which now made her tremble. His gesture had been clear. All she had to do was touch the shell once more and all would be revealed.

She closed her eyes and felt the swirling in her heart settle, the whirling of the compass needle carefully slow down. It was a feeling in her gut, not unlike the place where normally her sarcastic remarks came from, not quite conscious, but yet in a way, awfully clear in its directions once you allowed yourself to see. To be guided by it. But even though the place and the sensation had something familiar, something seemed quite different as well. As if the compass needle had always pointed south and now found its way to its true destiny, 180 degrees in the opposite direction. And it felt, as she opened her eyes, as if something was restored.

For when she looked into turquoise eyes, she knew what to do. And she knew why.

Not for vengeance on a girl, nor because of love lost, or to defy an enemy.

But simply… Because it was what she wanted.

Earlier that day:

He watched her from a distance, as he kinda had been used to do since he met her… The first and second time, now that he thought about it and that made the near-constant frown on his face do the upsidedown-thing people kept nagging him about. Leroy quickly looked around if anyone had seen the start of a smile, knowing that if any of his friends had caught it, he would never hear the end of it. But with Doc forgetting his glasses, Happy joking with Dopey and Sneezy constantly… well… sneezing, who had time to pay him any mind at all? Rolling his eyes in a practiced movement he looked back at the woman he admired from afar at the moment. Not because he had to anymore… He could walk upto her, stand next to her at the fruitstand and wrap his arm around her if he wished, he knew she would welcome him. But it wasn't the rainbow of assorted fruits falling as soon as the beautiful fairy approached them (very much like, he would never admit out loud to anyone other than maybe Nova, he had fallen for her) that kept him from getting nearer.

He had learned many years ago that seeing things was far easier if being overlooked (something pretty easy for a dwarf). His grumpiness might give the impression he wasn't interested in the world around him, but he had not always been Grumpy. Once upon a time he had been Dreamy and there was one thing of each of those approaches on life that merged and found its way into a trait people (or drawfs) wouldn't soon pin on him. He was observational, knew what someone needed and wanted, sometimes even felt, before they themselves did. And then, most of the time, he had learned to just shrug and allow them and himself to simply carry on their business. But at times, for example when Snow had taken the forgetting potion or when Astrid, still cursed, had needed his help with the candles, that particular part of him became so strong he felt like he had no other choice than to act on it. And, although in the end both of those endeavors had turned out ok, he had, and still did, feel like that was not thanks to him. The failing in his attempts made him reluctant to try again, but what he could not stop to do, no matter how hard he tried, was to see. To see the scenes play out before they happened. To see the hidden fears and reasons behind peoples actions. To see what they actually wanted to do, meant to say but were afraid to.

It was one of the reasons for himself, he knew, to wear his grumpiness on his sleeve (and pickaxe). When he had refused the part of himself that wasn't 'supposed' to be, when he had not gone to meet Nova and sailed on the path their hearts had set out for them, he had decided to deny all parts of himself that had to do with feelings. As much as he could not avoid to ultimately have them, or his little quirk of observation, he sure as hell could choose not to act on them.

Right?

He looked again at the boy who had sneaked away from his grandmother. The real reason he had not approached the woman who now, in an endearing, smile-inducing, surprised jump sends some oranges flying around when Henry touched her forearm. Maybe it was the way the boy was moving, a sentimental pang in his heart as he was reminded of Stealthy. Maybe it was the way his hazel eyes reminded him of Snow's. How she had looked at him and smiled a smile extending to them, genuinely wishing him well as he escaped that cellar. Maybe it was the hope, the same one he had seen in Snow's eyes when he had freed her, he now heard in the urgent whispers when Nova knelt down to be level with the kid. The image shot an inexplicable and terrifying view into his head about a family he had not fully admitted himself to want just yet.

Even though Astrid seemed to try and keep her 'fairy business' away from him, he had been well aware of the change in her as well as of the plan, ever since the moment Henry had brought over the book. He had seen the worried and determined look follow each other in the eyes of the woman he loved more than anything in the world. So maybe he just wanted her to succeed.

That must be it. Because he sure as hell couldn't want to help the woman who he had been aware of the moment she had come in, the one who had spend a lifetime (or two) trying to kill his best friend now, could he? No matter how much he sometimes couldn't help but notice the pain in her eyes, the glimpse of something, someone else, underneath the mask of coldness, no matter how sometimes he suspected she too had been a 'Dreamy' once, he could not believe, or admit to himself, that the actions he took now were to prevent her from being hurt. But an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach made him feel like, despite the fact that there were multiple other reasons, and others to protect, he was kinda lying to himself there.

He had seen her enter, noticed the regal way in which she had taken out the piece of paper he was quite sure she didn't need, as if instead of a grocerylist it contained a royal statement. He had seen through the way she had pulled back her shoulders and pushed the reading glasses up on the bridge of her nose. And it was not hard to figure out the effect it would have on her to catch sight of the boy who was so obviously hiding from her, not at all for the reason her mind would automatically and immediately assume. Ignoring the pang in his gut he utterly denied to himself that when he took the step to block her path, as well as the kid from view, it had anything to do with her.

'Careful there, sister.'

His voice sounded sharp and provocative, and he ground his teeth together as she looked at him over the rim of her glasses in the usual, disdained way he knew would be followed by a harsh remark.

'Had we been related, Dwarf, not only would you have had a chance to inherit at least reasonable looks, any evidence pointing in that direction would have been… eliminated.'

The tone in which the last word was spoken did not leave any doubt on how that elimination would have taken place. But as she moved to push the cart past him, he stepped in front of it again.

'Had we been related, Witch, you might have had a chance to actually inherit a heart…'

He had been about to say more, but he saw the flicker in her eyes, the small step she took backwards which she hid by taking a box of cereal he knew she'd never eat and place it in her cart. He braced himself for the response he knew would come as soon as she had balanced herself. But this time he had calculated wrong.

'If you'll excuse me.'

She swallowed as she made her way past him and Leroy just looked back just quick enough to see Henry slip away. Nova's attempted caring gesture of fussing his hair sending a cascade of red apples rolling through the aisle. Had Regina seen him? He closed his eyes as that thought gave away the one reason for his actions he did not want to admit, but opened them again to see Regina brush off Nova's helping hand as she almost tumbled, making what looked like applecider outta the squished apples on the floor with those ridiculously high heels she was wearing. He thought he saw a glimpse of wood in Nova's hand and was sure he felt the rush of Magic as a spark accompanied the movement of the fairies hand as she, seemingly jittery, helped the once Evil Queen dust off her jacket. Or… Dust on? He recognized the smell of it when he caught her beautiful eyes, the woman he wasn't supposed to love, but couldn't help but do. A smell he had known, it felt, all of his life.

Fairydust.

And as he saw the twinkle in Astrid's eyes, following the regal woman out of the door before looking back to him in knowledge and gratitude, a smile playing around her lips as she approached, something inside of him shifted.

Maybe taking action was not so bad. Maybe it was not so bad at all…

And with that thought running through his mind he took her outstretched hand and smiled.

TBC

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