One of the positives of being the Dark One (and truly there weren't many), was the ability to use magic — dark magic, her son would point out only somewhat disapprovingly — to peek in on some of the less trustworthy citizens of Storybrooke. In this case, her target was Zelena. For three days, Emma would use a small mirror on one Nurse Ratchet's hideous pins to watch the prisoner in her cell. It was incredibly dull most of the time, watching her snap at her captors, share a little dark and humorless banter with Whale at her checkup, or complain that the kale salads and green juices Regina insisted she be fed were more torturous than anything she had forced her own prisoners to endure.
But it was during one of these mundane visits from the good nurse that Emma heard what she was certain could be useful in her plan.
"The only thing this little one seems to want at the moment is a plate of onion rings," Zelena practically drooled, staring at the covered meal. But the lid lifted and it was greens once again.
Emma didn't waste any more time listening in. She had what she needed. She had her bait.
Nurse Ratched turned to go, the rejected plate of salad in hand. The moment the door shut behind her, there was the familiar whirr of air and the tingling presence of magic in the room.
"Trust me. If anyone knows what it's like to be pregnant behind bars, it's me." Emma said stoically from where she appeared in front of the barred window.
"The Dark Swan," Zelena said with a mockingly impressed tone, her lips pulling back to reveal a toothy smile.
"To what do I owe this honor," she asked with a squint, holding back a wicked giggle.
"Just wanted to have a little chat," Emma replied, her face still like stone, devoid of any emotion.
"Afraid I'm not in the mood," Zelena sneered, turning her head — but not her attention — away from Emma. Because when the Dark One visits you, you can't truly stop paying attention.
But Emma didn't need her to be in the mood. She stepped forward, and in a second, they were both taken from the cell in a cyclone of grey smoke.
A moment later, they were in Emma's kitchen. Zelena was used to being magicked from one location to another, but it was usually on her own terms, and this place was new to her. She glanced around briefly to be sure there was no obvious and eminent danger, and when her gaze circled back to Emma, she noticed the two brown paper bags she was holding — and the ring of wetness around the bottoms. Grease. One inhale and she knew exactly what it was.
Emma just smiled and set the bags down on the table, opening them to let out the smell.
Zelena couldn't help the smile that was pulling at the corners of her mouth, nor the drool collecting on the top of her tongue. Reaching out to take the offered tinfoil pouch brimming with freshly fried onion rings, she swallowed and sat. "I suppose I could be willing to listen."
"So tell me. What kind of trouble do you want to get into?" Zelena asked, already bringing a ring up to her lips.
Four pouches of onion rings later, Zelena's appetite was only half sated. But Emma's voice broke through the blissful fog of having a pregnancy craving met.
"Eat up. Dark One's don't judge."
A single breathy laugh and Zelena put down the half eaten ring, wiping her hands on the paper napkin stamped "Granny's".
"Despite these greasy treats, I know this isn't a social call," Zelena said, her brow arching upwards as if to invite whatever hellish plan Emma had planned for her. "What do you want."
"Direct. I like that," Emma said in an even tone. "Take a look at this."
She held up the Apprentice's Wand, its viney handle and bulbous knob unmistakably recognizable.
"The Apprentice's Wand," Zelena agreed, to sure where this was headed.
Emma hummed in agreement and turned to look down the bridge of her nose at the wand, the hint of a smile peeking through tightly pursed lips.
"You and I have a short but…complicated history," Emma offered, setting the wand down on the table between them and lowered herself slowly into the chair, crossing her legs.
Zelena rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair, her arms crossing nonchalantly, and with some annoyance, over her chest. "What's your point, Swan."
"Your sister. Now that's a different story," she hummed, leaning forward and twirling the wand on the table. "She and I have a complicated history, too. But the difference between you and Regina…is that Regina has shown some capacity for change."
"Look who's talking," Zelena scoffed, already bored with this conversation, wishing there was another packet of onion rings to busy herself with.
"Does the Dark One think she's better than me?" she chided. "Do you honestly think you're in any position to dole out judgement? Or to talk about change and hope and redemption," she laughed mockingly.
"No," Emma replied coolly. "That's not why I brought you here."
"Then why. Because you and I both know it wasn't for the bloody onion rings," Zelena spat, flicking the empty wrappers to make her point.
"Well certainly it was for bloody something," Emma replied, and with the wave of her hand froze Zelena in her place.
She stood calmly and out of a cloud of grey smoke, conjured a single long needle. Walking slowly around her chair, Emma stood behind Zelena and leaned forward, close to her ear. "It's a shame about that cuff," she hummed, gesturing to the leather bracelet she had been made to wear the moment she was brought back to Storybrooke.
Lifting the needle, Emma grabbed hold of Zelena's wrist and turned to look into the redheaded witch's eyes. "That baby was never meant for you," she whispered — and she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to threaten Zelena.
Aside from a few stifled whimpers, Zelena didn't make a sound. She couldn't. She couldn't move.
"I can't let you destroy her chance for happiness," Emma hummed. "Not when you've already taken so much."
Zelena had caused nothing but destruction since the moment she had come to town. Between the curse in the Enchanted Forest, and nearly costing Snow and Charming their son, there was much Emma had to punish her for. This was the icing on the cake. The ketchup on the onion rings she thought to herself and laughed.
In one swift movement, Emma drove the needle deep into Zelena's index finger, pulling it back up triumphantly. With an ample amount of blood pooling at the tip, Emma had no need for the redhead any longer. A wave of her free hand and Zelena was back in her cell — no longer her problem.
Swiping the empty wrappers off of the table with her forearm, Emma magicked the book to appear in their place, the pages turning on their own to the appropriate spell. Finding it easily, Emma spoke the incantation in a low and hissing voice — and when every word in the ancient tongue had been spoken, she drove the needle, and its blood, down hard against the pages, letting it sink in until it disappeared entirely.
Emma stood up straight, shallow breaths the sign of her efforts. It was done. The spell was cast. Even now she was sure it would be taking hold. She only hoped this brought some bit of peace to this sad, horrible chaos.
Regina shot up in bed, woken suddenly from a deep sleep. Depression was a familiar friend to the former Evil Queen, and as events with Zelena had unfolded, she had taken to closing herself away most afternoons, drawing back the curtains and pushing out all of the light. In the comfort of her darkened room, she was safe to feel, to cry, to scream. But even then, she would stifle herself deep into a pillow to save Henry (and sometimes Robin) from the depth of her sorrow. But this was something else entirely. This wasn't her emotion. This was physical. And magical.
Her first thoughts after the sudden pain were "what now", trying to imagine who — what person or entity — she had offended to earn herself whatever curse or malady this was. She felt as though she were being stabbed clean through her middle with a searing hot poker. Her hand covered her flat abdomen as she doubled in on herself, an elongated whimper escaping her lips.
"Rob—Robin," she choked out, not even entirely sure if he was there — or if anyone was there.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, hoping to make it to the door. For what, she wasn't sure. Who do you call when you're sure someone is ripping you apart and turning you inside out? Emma was certainly occupied. Henry — this wasn't his responsibility — and frankly, she didn't want him to see her this way. Snow. Charming. "Over my dead body," she thought, but then she was certain that's how this would end and maybe it wasn't so bad to call your once-stepdaughter-then-nemesis-turned-friend.
Slow shuffled steps, hunched over, bent knees. Regina was nearly blinded by the pain, her free hand waving out in front of her, feeling for the doorknob. She nearly made contact, but a second stabbing pain tore through her and sent her crashing to her knees, tumbling forward and landing with a crack against the door.
When she came to, she wasn't sure what time it was, how long she had been laying there. But she was keenly aware that she needed help. She could taste copper, and her head was throbbing. Lifting her hand to her forehead, she hissed at the sudden sting. Sitting up slightly, she cried out weakly, her hand moving to her abdomen as she was reminded of how she wound up here in the first place.
Turning over onto her knees, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. She tried to get to her feet but with her returning consciousness came returning pain. On hands and knees she crawled out of her room and toward the staircase. She was halfway down when she heard her phone ring.
She was sweating, and dizzy. And there was a deep and pulsing pain deep in her belly that was altogether foreign and familiar. Determined, she pushed through. Still crawling, she reached her coat, slung carelessly over the arm of her favorite chair. Regina dug deep into the pocket and pressed "accept" without even looking to see who it was.
"Help," she muttered weakly, wincing and crying out once more as the pain returned, tearing through her. The phone dropped from her hand and Regina shivered as she laid herself down against the white tile of the foyer.