Author's note: Thank you! Yes, to you who have read, alerted, and specially, you who reviewed.
For those of a more nervous disposition: please don't fret. I love happy endings.
Thank you to my wonderful beta MickeyBoggs.
And Cindy, babe, you really need to start watching this show!
Much Love
Jane
Previously on Burn the Witch…
Emma walked in through the door and pushed her way in. She would have walked all over them too, if the crowd had not parted like the red sea for Moses. It helps when you have a sword in your hands. When she reached Regina, she raised her sword. She felt remarkably calm as she asked them politely to step aside.
And they did. And sweet Jesus, this looked like a Discovery channel footage of black ants walking away from a white carcass.
When everyone stood well behind the desk, Emma turned her sword slowly to Regina and then, to the mob.
"I swear I'll kill the next one who touches her."
If there is such a thing as a collective conscience - some say a mob is a soulless animal - this one did not feel shame or regret. Only a vague curiosity. Did the White Knight want to finish off the evil one all by herself?
The Blue Fairy knew better.
She always did. The only surprise was that she had not seen it coming.
.
.
Emma knelt beside Regina and put the sword between them and the rest of Storybrook. She pulled the black hair out of the woman's face and carefully searched for a pulse.
There was none.
So why did not all wrongs feel righted?
Regina lay dead on the floor, broken like a discarded doll, so why wasn't her childhood returned? And as the mottled skin began to lose heat, the only thing Emma knew for sure was that when she did not- could not- care for Henry, Regina was there, right in this very house, caring and loving her son. Worrying and cleaning and feeding and changing diapers and all the, gritty, less romantic things about having a child. The Evil Queen had loved her son beyond all measure. And Emma was just the person to understand how rare and absolutely precious that love for a child that is not flesh of your flesh is.
It was called redemption.
She gathered Regina in her arms, took her father's sword and prepared to defend her position.
.
.
A mother knows. A mother always knows. Snow followed the silence into the Mayor's study. And when she saw her daughter holding on to a corpse, she knew.
Emma was heartbroken.
.
.
Why was the White Knight crying? Henry could not comprehend. His White Knight, his mother, his true mother had vanquished the Evil Queen, the embodiment of evil. She was victorious. So what was she doing on the floor holding on to the Queen? Why was she crying over her?
Surely they should all be celebrating.
Surely…
.
.
Snow moved to stand by her daughter. Her White Knight. James followed Snow because that's what he always did. He ran his hand through his child's hair, the child that could do no wrong - his White Knight- and he knew.
He took the sword from her hand and stood between her and the silent audience, braced to defend whatever she had decided. Ready to defend her to the death.
Emma laid Regina's body carefully on the ground.
"Is she dead?" There was no shock in Henry's question. Just curiosity.
Emma could not, for the life of her, understand why it was that in that moment she wanted to smack her son, just a good honest to goodness smack.
"NO".
It came out forcefully.
"NO."
And she positioned the body straight on the floor.
"NO!" and she began what she hoped were the correct movements for CPR.
"No, she isn't." Her hands united over the still chest, forcing Regina's heart to beat.
Snow took Regina's wrist in her hands and felt for pulse, hoping against her better sense, to feel something, to feel blood pumping through the veins.
.
.
The Blue Fairy walked out, her face twisted in anger, carefully disguised by the lowering of her head in subservience.
.
.
"Regina," Snow called softly. It was strange, because all that she could remember at that moment was that Regina before the wedding to her father. That Regina that smiled with humour and kindness. None of that Queen Regina came to mind now.
Just that she had, once, had a mother in this woman.
Emma motioned Snow to take over the chest compressions. Snow moved without questioning. Emma took Regina's neck in her hand and with the other pinched her nose. Her mouth lowered over Regina's and she held on to the words her CPR instructor had told them: the kiss of life like a mantra. She breathed life into Regina.
And breathed and breathed and breathed.
Regina's heart remained as still as before.
So for the second time that day, Emma's tears fell for the dead. Hot, angry, desperate.
.
.
The mob remained silent. And in tacit agreement, they remained motionless in vigil. The angry faces a clear warning that if CPR worked, they would undo it.
.
.
"You did this."
Emma's voice was remarkably calm through the crying.
"You did this."
"Do not forget what she did to us." Emma looked up. She saw Kathryn. What a friend.
"Do not forget what she did to you." Ah, Jefferson, the unbalanced creep.
"You killed a person."
"Not a person. The Evil Queen."
Emma gave up on the faces. There were no identities here, just a collective. "A person. And this?" Her finger pointed at the semi circle of angry faces. "This is Evil. Evil won here."
Defeated, she sunk on the floor.
Unaware, Emma's fingers traced a cut on Regina's greying face. She did not see. Not really, not then. But a gentle light grew around her finger tips. The light grew warm in her hands and not really noticing much of anything, each bruise she touched faded and disappeared. Each cut she cleaned mended itself. They were small gestures, physical reactions, really. These were not conscious movements, she did not determine any of them.
.
.
Snow was the first to see it, that light, shining a soft shade of white. She was the first to notice the healing. Because, quite frankly, Emma was not really there. Yes, she had her eyes open, but really, this was more like a trance, or a dream state. Things were happening and Emma just kept on tending to each offense intently as if only that particular stretch of skin existed at that time and they were not in these direst of straights facing off with their friends and neighbours so intent on killing that which they were so intent on protecting. It was… inspiring.
She surveyed the crowd. And there it was. The recognition. They had felt the magic before they could really see it.
.
.
Through the anger there was amazement. Their White Knight, the saviour- for there was no doubt now- had magic. There was an uncomfortable shuffling of dozens of feet.
The White Knight was soon a shimmering form. And it was white magic, the likes of which they did not see often.
.
.
The crowd's reaction forced David to look backwards. His Snow stood next to their daughter, her fists raised, ready to pounce on the first to try and stop Emma. That was his Snow, his wife. His face bloomed into a smile of pride. But his daughter? For all that was holy, his Emma? She was shining. She was shinning a white benign magic that took his breath away and made him square his shoulders and stand a little straighter and take one step forward towards the crowd, making them step back once.
.
.
Emma stopped when she found nothing else to heal, a certainty deep in her heart that she'd done this, but unsure as to how or how to do it again. Regina looked like she had a few hours ago, before she had tossed her into the medical supplies closet. She looked pristine and beautiful.
But she was still dead.
.
.
Of all the developments, Henry had not expected this. He had thought that you were born with magic. The same way you are born evil or good. Non magic folk do not become magic, the same way good does not become evil and evil does not become good.
Childhood is simple and innocent because the world is only black and white. There are no in betweens so it is easy to decide.
Henry grew up right there and then into a precocious adulthood: he understood that things change.
He approached Emma and sat on the floor with her.
"Mom?" He pulled on Emma's sleeve so that she knew he was addressing her. "I don't understand…"
.
.
Emma didn't know where they came from, the next few words she spoke. They were neither legitimately thought out nor did she have any proof of what she said, nor the sensitivity of speech to say them, but she did take Henry's hand in hers and pulled his hair out of his forehead with a gentle finger. Henry could still feel the remnants of that magic. "What I did, Henry, giving birth to you, giving you up? That was only pain. What your mom did? Raising you, protecting you, teaching you? That was love. She loved you so much, Henry…"
.
.
Boys, very young boys, are easy with their affections, have a simple belief system.
"I know…" He held Emma's hand and carefully lowered himself next to Regina. "I'm sorry, mom." He placed a gentle kiss on Regina's forehead. "I love you too". He believed Emma and Emma believed Regina.
.
.
It would have been a great moment if Regina had opened her eyes and been alive. It would have been storybook perfect. But she didn't. She remained dead through Henry's proffered love.
There were to be no great deeds of magic, no magical solution.
Henry felt orphaned, which came as shock.
Emma stood unsure what to do. Except carry Regina out of there. There had to be some dignity in all of this. She put her hand on James' shoulder and spoke to the crowd.
"You all step back now. Go home. You've done quite enough."
Snow stood and grabbed the first weapon she could grab- one of Henry's fishing trophies, heavy at the base, handily slim at the top. It did not look to her like anyone would move. And if she knew Emma and James- and she did- they would barrel through the throng to get out.
"Burn her!"
It was one single voice. There was not enough time to identify it, because soon there was nothing more than a pulsating chant of burn, burn, burn.
.
.
Emma took the sword back from her father. This was her battle. This was her being her son's White Knight. James turned on his heel and in a swift movement he had Regina in his arms and with Emma opening the crowd, he walked behind her. Snow closed the rear, back to back with James, Henry clasped tight in her free hand.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
.
.
The chant increased in volume and, it seemed to Henry, made the walls of his childhood vibrate with a terrible energy.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
But his hand was in Snow's and his mom was charging the crowd armed with a sword and he felt a little like a hero to a dying cause. It was noble and good.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
.
.
Though the chanting was deafening, there was no action. No one threw rocks or tried to stop them. They had only the strength of numbers. Emma had the strength of her convictions for the first time in her life and it shone in her steady gaze.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
James deposited Regina in Mary Margaret's bed and then stood by it, unable to leave. In her guise as Regina, this woman had been a friend to him. It was difficult to reconcile that with the foe from so long ago.
.
.
Snow stood by the only mother figure she had known and mourned what they didn't have, the forgiveness that could have saved them both such heartache.
.
.
Emma stared at the window. Smoke billowed from the general direction if the mayoral mansion. It seemed the anger had turned physical yet again and the mob was burning the stake having lost a witch to tie to it. She walked and sat by the body. She wished she could do something. Anything. Bring her back. She held on to the Regina's hand as Henry came to seek refuge in her arms. He sat on her lap and there were silent tears on his face, running free.
.
.
You had to be outside that room to understand what happened next. It started with a pulse of light, small at first, a mere point of light, beating such as heart does, above the bed and its occupants. It beat in tandem with the living hearts in that room and drawing strength from them, grew, pulsing, pulsing a double beat, expanding outwards form its core, its edges never losing definition, enveloping them all, surrounding, entering them. All of them. They were vaguely aware of something different in themselves, in the room, but a sense of purpose overcame them. Their hearts beat in unison, in a simple mission.
Live, live, live.
.
.
The pulse of light became Regina's living heartbeat.
Live, live, live.
.
.
There was no gasping awake for Regina. There was simply a becoming aware, as you do when you awake up. Her hands felt the warmth of those holding hers and her eyes fluttered opened to the beat of her own heart, so strong and good. So peaceful. Like nothing she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes again and let it last. Because she should be dead. She remembered being dead. Remembered the moment her neck snapped and her last breath did not come out of her lungs. Her eyes opened. It wouldn't do to dwell on it.
Only on this: Emma, Henry, Snow and her prince. Around her. And she belonged. Of that she was sure. She belonged.
.
.
Emma was the one that saw it first: brown eyes opening and the chest moving in breath. Her hand squeezed convulsively around Regina's. Henry, deep in sleep in her arms, stirred, his hand touching Regina's face and sighing contentedly.
"You saved me."
Emma smiled.
"It was more of a team effort", she whispered, with a lopsided smile and her chin pointing around the room where James slept on a chair and Snow at the foot of the bed.
"You said you would…"
"Yes I did. Though it was touch and go for a minute there, what with a shiny sword and all…" She smiled making fun of herself.
"I was dead…"
"Yeah…"
Regina lowered her head into her chest. It was so difficult to let go of a lifetime of hurt and resentment.
"You brought me back." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah..." She passed Henry from her lap to the bed, positioning him beside Regina.
The boy snuggled to the woman, mumbled Love you mom and went back to sleep as if he hadn't just given's Regina the sweetest heartache of her life.
What was the point of fighting tears? If escaping the clutches of death didn't give her leave to shed a few, nothing would. She put her arm around her child and smelled his hair, like she used to when he was but an infant and did not mind such displays.
"I thought I was beyond any happy endings."
"Why? Because of the whole Evil Queen thing?" If it hadn't been said with a smile, Regina would have had all her feathers ruffled. "Can't say I'm not surprised too."
"They burned the house, didn't they?
Emma nodded. "I think they did, yeah"
Regina though about all the mementos. Henry's baby album and the drawings he had presented her with through kindergarten. Scores and scores of carefully preserved treasures from her child- fine, their child- up in smoke.
"It's just stuff, Regina." Emma's hand wandered over and smoothed the other woman's hair, unconsciously. She became aware of it when Regina flinched at the touch, but she didn't stop. She just reclined on the pillow and made herself comfortable around Henry, keeping eye contact.
"She was such a beautiful child," Regina spoke softly looking at Snow. That brought a smile from Emma. "She grew up beautiful."
"Yeah, she did…"
"This is a strange turn of events."
"You'll get used to it."
And that was final. Or not quite. Because since that push and shove match back in the supply closet that Emma had been itching to do something she wasn't quite sure how to handle. True to form, she went in head first and without thinking about it. She lowered her lips to Regina's and just let the kiss happen willing to take the consequences.
.
.
It had felt unbelievable before, when she had been brought back from death, and nothing could ever compare, being alive. But when she felt herself respond, when she felt her lips moving under Emma's, when she felt each cell caressed and warmed all the way to her heart, that void, than unfufilable hole in her, mended itself. And it felt beyond words. It felt a lot like being loved. This was living.
"Sleep now, Regina."
"Will they come for…"
Emma kissed her forehead. "Let them come. I'm here."
"My White Knight," Regina touched her fingers to her lips, holding on to the kiss as if it could possibly run away from her or be taken.
"You know it." And she walked to the window to keep an eye on the shadows moving in the dusk.
.
.
Outside, under the cover of dusk, shadows moved. The Blue Fairy, still in her nun's attire observed the window of the first floor. This she had not seen coming.
.
.
Emma watched from the window. In the dim light of dusk, you need to have good eyesight, to be able to tell the Good from the Evil.
I have dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me into your heart- and you'll see how nice I can be.
Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays.