Chapter 3
Of the world of tight spots she had been in, this one ranked particularly high in her scale. The Mayor had just confessed to matricide and crap crap crap if she was not surprised with the inclination to add aiding and abetting to her own list of crimes. She couldn't even say that she would do it for Henry. Not when everything in her cried out in solidarity to another woman who had –probably- been through hell.
No, this had nothing to do with Henry and all to do with Regina.
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The cave emptied slowly as if the unfulfilled bloodlust of the people leaving created friction and resistance to their passage. Feet were dragged and eyes were cast back to the ones remaining by the bars. The air felt toxic in their wake.
Regina and Emma huddled with the bars between them. Snow and James leaned into each other in longing and need for skin comfort. Against the stone wall, Henry did his best impression of a shadow. Except that Regina was the first one to see him there, her eyes drawn to her child like a magnet.
A blush covered her face. In all the ways she had seen herself letting him down when she had first picked him up, a squirming, red bundle of desperate wailing, this was not one of them, but in the end the feeling of not being good enough was the same. She wanted nothing more than to hide from him, because he was- had been- right all along. You can fool yourself. You'd think it is impossible, but you can fool yourself. For a while, it had been the easiest thing for Regina to believe that she was not- had not been- the Queen. It was the easiest thing to do.
Now, she could do nothing but let him see her. Because she owed him that much. It told him, she hoped, with the words she had no voice left to say, you were right all along and I'm sorry. Sorry was such a hard word to utter. But with Emma's hand under hers she said it. "I'm sorry". She sobbed it, mumbled it, snorted it out of the depth of her general ineptitude. "I'm sorry, Henry."
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Emma went back to the book they had found at the library. And then to the library when the book ran out of answers. She regarded this as any other bail bonds job: you look at the details, you check the habits and the known associates and, eventually, something will shake loose. This time, though, she had more than money riding on her hunch. And she knew she would find something. That was the kind of person she was: like a blood hound, she would be at it until she found it. Trouble was, she thought, she was quite sure finding this particular prey was more than likely to be only the beginning of her problems, not the end.
She sighed in frustration: this was not the type of place she would look for her usual prey. She was more used to scouring casinos and brothels than libraries. In fact, this might well be a first. She kicked at the dusty bookshelves in frustration. But unlike Henry, she just could not see the forest for the trees. Every book seemed to have the potential to tell her something she needed to know. And with each one she picked up, she understood the value of frustration.
If she were the gambling sort, she would say that the odds were pilling against her. And then Gold walked into the library, the uneven two paces and one muted thump of the cane announcing him. And she was so not in the mood to try to keep up with his games.
"What would you be looking for, Ms Swan, I wonder, skulking around a closed down library…" His fingers ran through the librarian counter he was leaning against. He studied the dust in his slim fingers and his nonchalance was a fabrication, of that Emma was sure.
"None of your business, Mr Gold." The candidness of the reply threw him off, used as he was to people treading lightly around him. He recovered with a smile and she hated that about him and Regina, because to her, everything took longer and she resented them for being so fast on the recovery. Made them good players and her always at a disadvantage.
"Well…" Gold moved towards her, "I find that I am unaccustomed to your particular brand of… manners, Ms Swan" The smile of his face was pained in a way that could only be described as a load of bull. "Perhaps, though, I could huh… assist, as it were, with anything from my shop. I like to think I can cater for every need in Storybrooke."
"Yeah… I sometimes wonder about that… But not in this particular occasion, Mr Gold." Emma gave him her own version of his all rounder of a smile.
There was a moment she believed Gold was stumped as to how to proceed. Clearly he had something to say, but she had not presented him with the occasion. She had only to manipulate that to her own advantage. And hot dog, she was incapable of doing that. Manipulation was not in her list of abilities. She had always found it the territory of week people with an inability for the truth and its consequences.
A weapon of the weak, it seemed. And though she did not think of herself as strong, she had been in the habit of surviving and rising to the occasion. Maybe it was about time to re-evaluate.
"Say what's on your mind, Mr Gold. I don't have any time to waste on manipulative sorts" And she was out of patience to start now.
Gold had the grace to look pained. "Ms Swan, I find that one does not get ahead in life charging straight ahead and destroying everything in one's path. What you call manipulation I would describe as… engineering an outcome."
"Potato, potahto…"
Gold smiled ruefully, as if humouring a child. "Be that as it may, Ms Swan, be that as it may… In the spirit of not wasting your time, though I would- respectfully -"Gold actually curtsied lightly " impart some information you might find useful." Emma stilled her page flipping to which she was long past paying attention. "There is nothing more to be found about Mayor Mills' family in this library. You'd be better advised to seek another source."
"I'd feel better about having this conversation with you if I knew what outcome you are trying to engineer…"
"Well, just because I decide to play by your rules, it does not mean that I need to reveal all my secrets, Ms Swan. That would be ill advised. However, I should stress that the information you need does not dwell in this place. Nor in this town." Gold crossed his hands over the head of his pretentious cane signalling the end of his wisdom impartment moment and turned on his polished shoes to leave.
"Yeah, but why would I play into your hand? You don't strike me as the most trustworthy of Storybrooke's residents."
"Ms Swan, I understand the how the absence of a family will leave an individual severely lacking in social skills, so I will excuse that rather crass shot. And you may not to believe it, but, at times, our goals may cross and overlap. I believe this is one such occasion where your objective and mine are the same."
Emma opened herself to his intentions. He was telling the truth. The trouble with truth is that, generally, it is far too wide and if you don't ask the right question, you may be getting the wrong part of the truth. It seemed though, that surrounded by books that did not want to give her anything but dust mites, she might well take Gold's advice.
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Henry was paralyzed. He wanted to feel happy. This was his victory. The Evil Queen stood behind bars, alone as it should be. It was his victory. He was right. He was not a basket case. So how come it felt… wrong… was wrong the word he was looking for? It felt uncomfortable, like a half truth. It certainly did not feel like a victory. And less and less so every time she said sorry and less cozy with each sob. He stood against the wall as if it could provide him with solace and answers.
In the end, Henry thought that being a kid was at his advantage now: he ran home though it quickly dawned on him that he wasn't quite sure where home was anymore. For better or worse- generally for worse, he used to think- it was with Regina. He stopped at the cross roads in Main Street and just stood there, with his hands hanging by his side, unable to make a simple decision: go right or go left
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The only person outside town limits was Jefferson. The mere geography of it made her question why Gold wanted to actually go there. Or how Jefferson could tell her who Regina's mother was or, better yet, where Regina's mother was. Of course, she hoped against hope for something like "the woman that owns the bakery on Main" or "the woman with the pink Cadillac", but that was not only unlikely, but ridiculous as hopes went because Regina, put mildly, did not look like she could cope with the notion of the woman, let alone face her existence. "I killed her" were words still reverberating in her bones and giving her skin goose bumps. For a moment she considered going back to the mansion and get her answers come rain or high water, but the half-baked plan fizzled out as she thought of Regina at her worst. She would rather not deal with that at the moment, because this is where she was a coward: other people's emotions and woes, their needs and sorrows. Like a shark, Emma moved forward. It was not prime detecting, it was not her best work and mind you, she had never been concerned with elegance and grace, only with results. She moved forward. She drove to Jefferson.
She wondered what he could tell her, pondered what she could ask him. He had seemed thoroughly unbalanced. But, back then, she had been committed to disbelief. Back then, Henry had been a troubled kid, Graham had had a heart and everything else was just a town.
Sooner than she imagined she was at Jefferson's. It wouldn't do anyone any good to just delay the inevitable by sitting in her car. Still unsure of what to ask, she knocked on his door that opened without a creak at the touch of her knuckles. Unfazed, Jefferson called out to her from a room.
"Join me in the parlour, Sheriff" Hell, the man had a parlour to go with his crazed mind.
"Join us for tea, Sheriff" He motioned to the stuffed toys around the table in high chairs like children. Emma ground her teeth.
"No, thanks."
"Do my friends concern you, Sheriff?"
"No, actually. Your choice of tea does, though."
"Ah, holding a grudge, I see."
"No, not at all." She moved into the room studying it for possible emergency exits and weapons and trying for nonchalance. "You really should keep your doors closed. Anyone can come in, you know…"
"Ah, Ms Swan, no, not really. No one can come out of Storybrooke and I am still within the town limits that no one can come in… But friendly advice is not why you're here. Nor to arrest me…" He sat and took a dainty porcelain cup in his hand. He studied the flowery detail as if he'd never seen it before. "No, you're here for something else. You're here- and stop me if I'm wrong- because you've run out of answers in town."
The time for surprises was gone. The sooner she started rolling with the strange world Storybrooke was, the better. You stand a better chance of keeping your balance if you stop resisting the motion.
She sat next to Jefferson. It was a bad joke but all the cookies in the tea set said EAT ME and there were what she assumed to be cucumber sandwiches. "Ok, then. I want you to take me to Cora Mills". It was the only formulation she could think would cover any eventuality, would leave nothing to chance.
His hands shook. "Ah, well, if that is all you want, Sheriff…"
"Do you know her?"
"You should be asking if there is magic enough to take you there. Or if I want to take you there." His eyes closed and the sigh was sad. "I'm all out of magic, Ms Swan. As you should know."
"No, not really I don't. I'm still not sure I understand what you needed from me when you kidnapped me"
"Those who do not believe in magic will never find it, Ms Swan."
"So what will you have me do, Jefferson? Click my red heels and say there is no place like home?"
"Home is over rated, Sheriff"
"You're full of platitudes today, Jefferson"
"Even hand-me-down ideas are sometimes truths, Ms Swan." Then he stood and moved through the room holding his head as if he was afraid it might fall off of him. "Need is a great motivator, don't you think?" It sounded like a threat, but the set of his shoulders, slightly slumped in discouragement told her it was a statement, neither good nor bad. He opened the door to his hat room. "Make yourself at home"
It was perhaps an inevitability that she should find herself in this room again and try against all she knew to make magic. There was no magic in her, no fairy godmother and she was hopeless at the whole arts and crafts thing. But she had a whole lot of black cloth and not much of anything else besides Regina's big empty eyes in the back of her mind. For whatever reason, she felt a compulsion to help, something that just was, despite herself. She wished she could fill that emptiness. She hoped because she had decided that all she had learnt in the "real world" so far was an ill fit here. So Emma started with hope. If hope was a ridiculous prop in Boston or New York or Huston, that's where she would start here. Sometimes, you need to break all the bones in your head to think in a different way and hope was all she could think of.
Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there's no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for the most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.
Emma took a ratty old hat, something ugly and frayed and she held in her hands and thought of how much Henry need Regina because, let's face, what did she know about parenting and that Regina needed a new reality, a heart, a smile, a kindness. She took the frayed old hat and a needle and took to mending it, and even though she didn't know the first thing about pins and needles, she knew a desperate soul when she saw one. And Regina, Henry and even Jefferson were all waiting for a miracle she was hell bent on delivering.
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Emma chocked on the notion that she had brought all of this raining down on Regina. Doing the right thing, bringing her back her heart had caused the curse to break, of that she was sure. And yeah, sure, this was a grave dug with Regina's own hands, there was no ignoring it, but ultimately, had she left it well alone, had she not been poking a bear with a very short stick, the curse would have remained intact. Regina had paid for her act of kindness. She wanted to cry and wail for Regina and for Henry and the innocence lost that day, but those were not her tears to cry. She owed Regina some decorum. Hell, she owed her somewhere to draw strength from. "Can we open these?" Mary Margaret's gaze was desolate. She merely lowered her eyes. "Please… Mom" The words felt extracted from her throat as if with a fire poker. They left a bad taste in her mouth because she was pulling the Mom card as a trump and she hated herself for it, but Regina's tears were now silent but sliding through her fingers and making her hold on her slippery.
Snow fell to her knees and tried to hold Emma to her because there was no amount of pain she would not spare her daughter but this was beyond her. In the end, it was Regina who spoke.
"She can't, Emma. There is no key."
"What do you mean there is no key? Of course there is a key."
"It's a magic prison, Emma. There is no key." James knelt by the bars, his hand on Emma's shoulder, trying to pacify her. And he wasn't telling her the truth, not all of it anyway.
"Magic… what kind of magic? Do you mean it opens by magic or there's a beam-me-up-Scotty kind of lock?"
"It …huh… it stops magic happening here." James voice was so calm and reasonable Emma wanted to smack it out him. "It drains it out of the… huh… prisoner." Emma felt bile rise in her throat. There was more. She looked from Regina to Snow to James. There was more. "It does not open."
Emma struggled with the very idea. "So how did they get her in here? Who built this? Who was the twisted sicko that built this?"
"Emma," James' tone was entirely too reasonable. "Rumplestilskin… well, we built it for him…" It was that one word, the we so well hidden among all the other words that cracked Emma.
"We? You mean that you had a part in this… hellhole?" The anger vibrated in each of her veins, in each of the cells, in her skin and Emma felt like she was barely holding on to reality. "Who's we? You and who else?"
"Emma, you need to understand, sweetheart… Rumplestilskin was such a great threat… this was built to… contain him." Again with the voice of reason.
"Because killing him would be too good for him?"
"Because good people do not kill other people…" James believed what he said. She could see it in the earnest way he regarded her, no malice or undertones in his reply. And that was the only thing that mollified her.
One thing Emma had learnt from an early age with each family that took her back because it was "for the best": that good intentions are the paving stones of hell. "No, you just leave them to die on their own, locked in a cage, trial and jury be damned." The anger subsided as if words were a pressure valve letting off steam. "So how did he get out?"
That gave them pause, Snow, James and Regina.
"The curse…" Snow ventured.
"But how?" James had his hands on Snow as if he could not stand to lose the contact, as if it grounded him to this new reality. "Regina?"
If Emma had been compiling a list of all the things she admired about Regina her ability to overcome herself would probably rank top five. "Sidney was released from the mirror…"
"Did you choose to release him?" God it would have been so easy to start collecting brownie points, but she could see her heart in Emma's hands and that made it so damned difficult.
"No. Not really. He was just there when… when we… woke up. Gold too"
"Gold?"
"Rumplestilskin"
"So you didn't know the curse would have this effect?"
Regina sought Emma's eyes. "I wasn't thinking much about details. I just wanted it to stop hurting."
"So when you designed the curse…" Snow's voice broke a little. "You didn't care about…" How could she even complete the sentence? She stumbled for anything to say, for an answer she could get, an explanation, something to make sense of the last almost 29 years. She came up short, because she did not want to start the blaming game. She remembered still her part in the change Regina had gone through.
"I did not design the curse" It seemed to Emma that there was shame in Regina's words as if she was confessing to a great incapacity or flaw. "Rumplestilskin did."
Emma did not get the implications. Not really. She had not, after all, know what Rumplestilskin was capable of, she had not lived in fear of him and his power. But Snow and James did. "Oh God!"
"What did he ask in return?" Snow's voice was urgent and it shook under the weight of what might be said there."
"Nothing. He didn't want anything"
"He just gave you something? Without a price?"
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During the night, Jefferson looked at her hands, at the hat turning in her hands. Need was the greatest of motivators. It just turned out that the first time he had brought the Savior here he had banked on the wrong kind of need. There was something new about the Sheriff, some new purpose. He could feel it in his bones, in his stomach, from the balls of his feet to the crown of his head: there was magic in that hat. And much as it pained him to know it, magic he could not access because all that was in him, all the magic he had once had, was wrapped in Grace, tightly. There was nothing left for him to use.
The hat came to life in her hands. It was the only explanation, nothing else would do. It was the magic of life and hope and it felt at home in her hands. She looked at Jefferson, something between a grimace and a smile in her features. A knowing deep in her flesh and bones that she did not belong to this, but desperately wanting to.
"That will do, Ms Swan. That will do just fine". And there was incredible sadness in his eyes. "Now off you go, the day's a wasting"
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Since the moment Regina had heard of Snow's pregnancy, she had been beyond all reason. A child was the ultimate happy ending, one that was to be forever denied to her. The pain had been maddening. She had wanted to scream and wail, tear her hair out, destroy everything within her reach. But as usual, she was her mother's child, and only silence came out of her. Between the scream inside and the silence outside, something broke then, fractured beyond repair.
She did not question it when Cora offered, in the sweetest words, to make the pain go away. She did not second guess when Rumplestilskin gave her the key to cast the curse. She cared nothing about his one request. She had not believed that he would remember when he himself had designed the curse to forget. She had thought of nothing but of feeling something other than pain.
"I was a fool" And because she now had a heart to feel it with, all the misery became present instead of past, crushed her, made it impossible to breathe, to let the air out of her lungs, making them too full, to the breaking point. But pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire... Pain arrives, and there it is, it crushes you. It's real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish at best. Weak. And there is nothing you can do, there is no cure- safe ripping the very heart out of your body. Unless there is someone who understands how you feel. And reaches out a hand to help.
Back then, there had been no one.
"Chin up, Madam Mayor. Hindsight is 20/20." Emma gave her a smile that could not be real, because they were in a mine, separated by magic bars that were never going to open with a town that wanted nothing but to kill her or leave her here to rot, whichever one was worse.
"And you cannot ride a horse backwards and still hold its reins." Snow did not quite smile, but warmth rolled out of her.
"We'll figure it out." Regina had never noticed it before, but David's- well, James's- smile was just like Emma's: open and frank, nothing hiding behind except, sometimes, hope and need. She had never seen a smile like that except in Henry.
"Make no mistake, though, Regina" Snow rose and stood, Regina effectively on her knees at her feet. "This we'll do for Emma. Because for some reason I cannot fathom, she believes that you deserve better than this and she is willing to risk everything to make it happen. But if you disappoint her, if you hurt my child in any way…"
It was a new experience for Regina to respect Snow. But she understood, being a mother herself, even if to a reluctant son, that a mother will do anything to protect her child. That there is nothing a mother will not do. She was just not quite sure she would include forgiving in the things she would do for her child.
When Regina slept, unsure of whether it was day or night having lost all sense of time elapsing, it was with a heart beating inside her chest, full of fear and self loading for how low she had allowed herself to get, manipulated by a mother that should have cherished her and by a man that should not have beaten her at her own game. But there was no loneliness, because across the bars, sleeping on the floor with her, was Emma. Emma of the misfit smile, Emma of the open heart. Emma of the devastated childhood that had not shaped her into an ugly excuse for a woman. Emma whose hand was still in hers saying I'm here. I don't care how angry you were or how you've destroyed my life or if you need to cry, I will stay with you. Saying, quite possibly, I love you. There's nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you. And the kick in the teeth was that… that goodness, that forgiveness did not spell out weakness. It was what made Emma so strong, so capable of destroying her loneliness curse. What made Emma her knight, her savior as much as she was Storybrooke's.
That spell of sleep, Regina did not fear death or prison or being left alone behind these bars. She dreamt of two tiny little feet stretching the skin on her taught belly, two perfect little feet dancing to the rhythm of her heart. And that was happiness.