She is with him, still, that next morning.
Waiting and adorned now in a plain gown of jade coloring that he's conjured into existence solely for her. Emma sits there with her long hair still an unruly mess of untamed curls.
"That's it. Just like that"
He breathes, clawing at her silken flesh as she dutifully though gracelessly moves atop of him—as he'd so sternly instructed her to do so—while still finding ways to leave his mark on her secretly in the dark.
He digs in deeply, "that's a good girl."
She remains silent mostly, passive and unusually still. Watching vaguely as Rumplestiltskin busies himself with his elaborate potion making; the liquids and vials, roots and spices, and charmed strands of golden thread lay in a scattered mess on the table between them.
Though her sleepy gaze tends to wander around their clustered surroundings as he works, his remain diligently focused on the task at hand; of making a particularly vile and seemingly effective sleeping curse to be used on the most physically powerful of adversaries.
It's one of the objects expected to be handed over to her from his end of their bargain.
Still, doing so is all he can do to appear preoccupied. And anything but acutely aware of her still being so close; his hand twitches almost painfully with the desire to reach out and touch her, force her near to him.
He can't keep his greedy hands off of her.
Not when he finally has her like this; at his mercy and heart's content. Not even when he's taken too much of her already for one night. But it's been so dangerously long since he's felt the warmth of another under her palm, so he spreads his fingers over the expense of her bare stomach; pushes her down as he leans in over her to feel once more the wraith of his passions.
Blonde hair draped over black silk. Tired eyes flutter open as he falls upon her.
Once complete, Rumplestiltskin hands over the crystal vial to her. He wants nothing more than for her to remain here.
But, "I need to go home," is what Emma says to him instead.
.
.
.
.
She is grown wary of him, but remains silent in her resolve to do what she thinks needs to be done for those she loves most.
Even if it is against her willful nature to do so, "things are not getting any better."
She remarks off-handedly during the calm of a particularly volatile evening together in this negotiated and so called dalliances between them.
The undertone manner in which Emma says it is laced with bitterness and a pointed accusation. But she doesn't want to look at him as she does so, he knows. Instead choosing to lean heavily against the frame of the balcony doors, a single bed sheet wrapped tightly around her body as she stares into the night sky while the brisk air cools her exposed and flushed skin.
In the distance she listens intently but miserably to the echoing clash of rage and battle. Behind her the bed moans deeply as a weight is lifted from it; the sound of it stiffens her posture and draws out her anger further, "you made promises that it would."
"I made no such claim. Your prideful parents have only ever asked for my occasional support with this conflict." He argued, rising to a stand; his own irritation with her boiling up to the surface, "have I not given it?"
"But always at a heavy cost."
She turns to him, suddenly crestfallen. Desperate she asked. "When will it end?"
Dressed lightly now—having whisked the remainder of his discarded attire away with a lazy wave of his hand— Rumplestiltskin situates himself opposite her.
He admires the beauty of this tragedy but gives no answer to her pleas. He only lingers for a moment longer before leaving Emma alone with that.
.
.
.
.
She is devastated and broken; lost in tears and heartfelt sorrow.
Time has passed between the two of them and had developed into a repetition of sorts; an ongoing give and take. But in her eyes then it's all been for naught. Her commissions to him have ultimately bought her nothing in return.
Her parents were likely dead; bodies still warm but buried deep down now under layers of shattered glass and broken stone. All while her inherent kingdom lays in nothing but spectacular ruin.
A dragon roars as the Evil Queen has won her long war. And she is all there is left in its brutal aftermath.
Rumplestiltskin surveys the wreckage surrounding her fallen form, "there was nothing to be done. My assistance came too late to save any of them."
Emma looks up; bloody but relatively unharmed. Her face is stained by the remnant of her weeping; her eyes puffy and red but as inquisitive as ever as they stare up at him. Her next words are stated carefully but with pitiful certainty,
"You're lying,"
He denies nothing, nor gives any assurances to the contrary. All he offers her then is sanctuary and place by his side.
"The Ogres are not far off, dearie, and neither is Her Majesty. I am all you have now." He tells her, wanting to make clear that there was no other choice but to concede to this defeat.
Still, Emma willfully and adamantly refuses him, rising up boldly. For the briefest and most mesmerizing of moments Rumplestiltskin senses the quiver of a darkness drawing back within her; ready to let loose and strike.
But then, just a quickly, she turns around and runs away.
For the time being, he lets her go.
.
.
.
.
She is gone, but he makes certain that there are always eyes on her.
Rumplestiltskin remains compulsively informed about her; hears too often of Emma's exploits and thrill seeking. And of how she so brashly and recklessly keeps putting her own self in harm's way.
Playing the hero, he imagines.
And, eventually, that she is frequently being seen in the company of a hook handed man; a handsome fellow and an infamous pirate captain no less. Or so the whispers claim.
His rage knows no bounds when those rumors inevitably fall upon his ears; objects are broken and torn and scattered and left laying in total disarray all around him in his heartbreak and absolute fury.
In his vengeful eyes she is suddenly no better than her.
He banishes the thought from his mind before it can fester and truly take hold.
A nearby mirror then cracks before shattering completely. The tiny shards of broken glass cut at his hands and wrists. The almost gentle pain it brings is the only thing that can calm him down enough to breathe.
After that Rumplestiltskin tries to stay as far away from Emma as he can; if only for his own sake and sanity.
But it's a short-lived endeavor.
For it dawns on him swiftly one ill-fated night as he accidentally stumbles upon the pair of them—happens to spot a hint of a girlish grin he unwontedly misses as he works and deals and they drink together in the tavern carelessly—that ashes were ashes regardless of whose heart they belonged to.
And that this time they needn't necessarily be hers.
Pleased with himself and his inspiring realization and for the impending reckoning he'll soon be reigning down in one form or another, Rumplestiltskin eagerly treats the unsuspecting crew with another round of ale and carries on with his deal undetected by her inquisitive and ever vigilant green eyes.
.
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.
.
She is soon desperate and pleading; positively wrecked with emotion.
"Please don't kill him." She begs, relentlessly. "Please."
Emma is pitiful in her despair and in her attempts to inspire some semblance of his forgotten mercy, though his affection for her remains inescapably and as powerfully felt as ever as he stared down into her broken and desperately bright eyes.
All the while the pirate lays blissfully unaware at his feet.
The silly lengths she would go to save a life. To be someone's—to be anyone's—precious savior. "I'll do anything."
What a terrible thing for her to say.
And so it's exactly what he needed to hear.
Pacified by the sudden sway that comes by Emma's frantic declaration and soon dazed by the easy victory of it Rumplestiltskin hastily takes hold and pulls her to a stand. He speaks calmly, soothingly almost; tells her it's time to end this hero nonsense of hers once and for all. Tells her that it's time for her to come home to him.
So of course Rumplestiltskin doesn't catch on to the hook aimed straight for his heart until it's too late.
Emma's always been a resourceful one, he thought with a morbid sense of pride at her cunning duplicity, even as the pain she'd just inflicted heightens and spreads. He stumbles back as she quickly raises an open palm to blow a powdery red substance in his face.
"Maybe when you stop being such a selfish villain," he hears her sneer while turning away to gather up the barely conscious Hook to her side.
Numbly, he watches them go before crumbling to the ground as the world is left cold and tainted in nothing but black.
Rumplestiltskin just catches her glimpse back before it consumes him completely.
.
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.
.
She is still ruthlessly wanted; a bargaining chip tossed up and left to fall as it may.
By his hand no less.
An exchange is purposed. The Evil Queen is so certain of his interest in what she has to offer that she appears to him in person in all her conceited and exasperating glory.
And, in a rare moment of resignation, Rumplestiltskin finds himself inclined to simply allow her to speak her piece.
What harm could it possibly cause?
"We want the same thing, you and I," she suggested, a dark and knowing gleam in her resentful eyes.
So he studies her carefully; searches through that shameless and unhinged enthusiasm on full display to try and decipher the hidden agenda surely at play here. When he seemingly finds none Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to concede to curiosity—though the memory of their long and antagonistic history together strongly urged him to consider doing otherwise—and he finally asked, "Whatever could that be?"
"Our happy endings, of course"
He frowns deeply at that, at the sheer simplicity of it and of her overt coyness about the whole matter, but does not say a word as she continues on undeterred.
"I think you may have hidden away the means to achieving mine entirely, and so I thought it only fair to keep yours locked away from you."
The sharp and distinct pain in Rumplestiltskin's heart is suddenly felt, lingering softly still, yet it fluttered with a dangerous anticipation.
"What are you insinuating, Regina?"
"That, perhaps, it's time for us to finally change that."
Author's Notes:
Not much to say this time around. Just finally got around to writing this part. Even despite the sheer terribleness that was that finale ticking me right off (I stupidly caved and skimmed through it).
Hope you like this better than I liked that.
xoxox