Chapter 6

The Storybrooke town hall events room had not been designed for so many people, mostly because Storybrooke was not really a democracy. There were people sitting down- mostly the old – since its citizens were still adept at chivalry - while most of the of the towns' folk stood against the walls, perched on window sills, crowding the aisles, filling every nook and cranny of the place. They whispered to one another, their expressions grim with purpose.

The acoustics of the room were not particularly brilliant either. The whispering of many had become a deafening roar. Or maybe it was just the way her heart seemed to be pumping in her ears. No one seemed to notice her which was perfect. From her wallflower vantage point, the current status quo suited her just fine.

Chaos always suited her just fine.

It would give her time to regroup, to rethink her strategy laid waste by that meddlesome Emma Swan. All was not lost. It would take just a little flexibility.

Ruby shot into the chamber of the cave Regina was kept in. Her hasty entrance woke Emma up with a start, making her reach for her gun, the only thing she'd had a presence of mind to carry when Regina had been taken. She kept Ruby in her sight, unable to process the non threat in Ruby's hands held high and in her breathless wheezing.

"Emma, put your gun down." Regina spoke from behind her. The tone was soothing, as if waking Henry from a nightmare. "Ms Swan. Put the gun down." The bars heated to her touch.

Ruby, bless her, stood her ground, shaky though it was. "Emma… Where's Snow… I… huh… I need you guys to come. Now."

"Home." Emma lowered her gun. "With David… yeah… James and Henry. Why?"

"I need to talk to her. Like NOW. We need to talk now." There was no confusing the urgency in her voice.

"Ruby!" The tone was commanding. Clearly, Ruby had something stuck in her craw and Emma felt tempted to just make her spit it out, because if this was about Regina… Well… The compulsion to defend her was still too new not to feel awkward, but she was just that adaptable.

Wow, Ruby pondered, princesshood befits Emma. "There's a meeting going on in the town hall. She must be there, Emma. You all must be there"

"What about?" Emma's fingers itched on her gun.

"What do you think?" She asked lowering her voice, her chin pointing behind Emma. "Look, to be honest, unless you tell me there is some reason I should care… I really don't. But… hell, King freaking George is there. He's sort of like your grandfather and all, but, geez, Emma, he tried to have your mom killed. And he is already making speeches and I'll be damned if I like it. Snow and Charming… They need to stop him. I don't I like the way this looking. There is just one town and already I can see two kings… "

"And both of them wanting to be judge, jury and executioner by nodded at Emma's assessment. "I need to go. We need to go."

It was for Ruby to be the voice of reason. "Are you leaving her here just like this?" That gave Emma pause. She needed to get to that meeting. She needed to be there, to stop everything in its tracks, or at the very least, try. But Regina was a sitting duck, behind bars, nowhere to hide. And when she looked behind her, it wouldn't take much, it seemed, because Regina looked as fragile as she would ever look, exhausted and drained, as if a stronger breeze might knock her down.

She pulled her hair into a hasty pony tail. She thought better with her hair out of her face. She needed to think, but her judgement as clouded. "Ruby" It was a bad idea in a shit storm of them. "Ruby, you gotta help me on this one."

"Emma..." she whined a little, "she gives me the creeps. You can't be serious."

"I am." Emma held her Ruby's arm and tried to communicate urgency silently.
"What if you need me there?"
"I need you here, Ruby. I'll get my mom and we'll go but I…" She pulled on Ruby's arm to shield Regina form what she wanted to say. In the end, however, there was nothing she could hide. I need you to stay here and make sure no one… Please."

Ruby regarded Emma then. "I knew I liked you, I just didn't know why. Do you know how many times I felt you kick my hand? You were a feisty one even before you were born." She walked towards the bars, trying to prove to herself there was nothing to fear. "OK. Go"

Emma placed a gun in Ruby's hands. "Thank you." Behind them, Regina was trying her best to get up. The heating bars she was using as purchase made it impossible. Emma knelt in front of her.

"It's going to be ok." Emma held Regina's hands over the bars she could not feel heating up. Regina made no move to break he contact, despite the burning. "If it's not, make sure Henry doesn't… don't let him see anything, OK?"

"Hey!" Emma's finger held Regina's chin high. "This is a bad timing to give up! Besides, I'm going to sort this out. I prom_"

"No", Regina interrupted her then. "Don't make any promises that you cannot keep, Ms Swan."

"We're a bit past the surname thing, don't you think?" It was sufficient to make a reluctant and small smile, a genuine true to heart smile, bloom in Regina's face. It was, easily, the prettiest smile Emma had ever seen.

When Emma walked out in her fast, purposeful stride, Ruby approached the bars, still breathing hard.

"Did you run here?"

"Yeah… They all seem in an awful big hurry to… huh… you know…"

Regina did know. Only too well. "Did you forget about your car… we do have those in this land… they facilitate transport and locomotion."

Ruby faltered. She wanted to snark back, because this was not an evil queen in any position to dish out anything thing. But she had truly forgotten all about her sweet, sweet ride. As if her muscles were already aching to stretch and be what they had been. What she could well do without.

"So, how do I address you now? Are you still Madam Mayor? I'm not too sure about the Queen thing. Too loaded, if you know what I mean…"

"That is very thoughtful, Miss… huh… Red."

"Ruby. I prefer Ruby. I like being Ruby better than Red."

Regina sighed. That feeling she understood. The past was a weird place to visit. Being thrown back in it was… well, unfortunate. She pressed her hands to her naked thighs trying to sooth the burning. "Regina. Ms Mills. Whichever one you prefer."

Ruby leaned against the bars, unaffected by the heat, as if she could not feel it. "Here" She produced a plastic water bottle form the small bag across her shoulder. "You look like hell."

"Thanks" Regina bit back more out of habit than anything else. And then "Thanks" in a softer tone that told Ruby that she meant it.

The empathy in Ruby wanted to reach out to Regina and offer some comfort, a soothing touch. Trouble was she had all these memories of Snow dead in a coffin and she didn't quite know how to get over those images. "No problem."

Emma didn't have to go home to alert Snow. She found them hurrying towards the town hall, Henry clutched tightly in her hand. Emma was struck by the family resemblance between her son and her parents. Good lord, she had parents! How had she not seen it before? This was so much like Graham's missing heart she hadn't believed was not there. Henry was a miniature of Snow, with a little James in his smile. Not that there was one going on now. The kid looked as grim as she'd ever seen him.

She was pulled unceremoniously into Snow's arms. She could get used to this. Hell, she had gotten used to this already, because Mary Margaret Blanchard hugged like a mom, all open arms and open heart and easy. Though she had never realised it was her own.

"Henry." She tried to hug him, to pull him into her arms, but Henry recoiled from her into Charming's body. "Henry…" It sounded defeated because she felt it in her bones. She was not used to being the one Henry hated. That fiery spark of emotion had never turned on her like it did on Regina. She hated herself for having revelled in that, even briefly. It felt like a punch to the throat and you simply could not breathe.

The obstinate expression in Henry's face told her quite clearly that he did not want to talk to her, to talk things through. He was in no mood for explanations or an account of her quest. He was not interested in her heroics. And it that was a loss she felt acutely, to have lost her son with him standing right there, staring through her. As if she did not exist. What good was she if Henry did not acknowledge it? Henry was the mirror she saw herself through. If he didn't adore her, if he didn't validate her, what point was there to her, really? A low grade anger was brought to simmer.

And sadly, there was not a moment to invest on that subject. Trouble was brewing, and she could feel it. In the grand scheme of things, though she knew Henry should come first and foremost, this took precedence. God only knew what was being conjured up in that room so full of people that the sound was deafening even outside. Her decision was to act on that first. Henry might need a little time to simmer down, anyway. God knew she could use some of that time too, because she too was confused by the turn of events. Ending up doing what she and Regina had done was not what she had imagined as an outcome.

It seemed to Emma that each and every citizen of Storybrook was in that room. And that they were the last ones to arrive.

"Did my invitation get lost in the post?" Snow's voice was clear, steady and it resonated in the room. There was a hint of snark and a lot of demand in it. The room fell silent. Snow took the opportunity to walk towards the stage where King George and King Thomas already stood. It wasn't really a walk, it was more of a glide that carried Snow forward. Emma's mouth was open in shock. This was not Mary Margaret Blanchard. This was not the timid school teacher she had lived with for almost a year.

"That's your mom, Kid. Amazing, isn't she?" James whispered in her hear before bumping her shoulder to get her to follow Snow. In the crowd that parted silently for them to pass, Emma could see some of her friends had the grace to look embarrassed. Granny and Leroy, particularly. Snow climbed to the stage, easily mistaken for small and fragile between the two men. But there it was, that something Emma had seen in the drawings in Henry's book that she had never seen in Mary Margaret's gaze: the strength of purpose.

"Ah, the House of White arrives. Let the festivities begin." Gold almost cackled, glee barely disguised in his voice. "Dearly beloved! We are gathered here to celebrate… ah, who am I kidding? We are here to observe while three monarchs fight and bleed to rule over the Kingdom of Storybrooke." Gold finished his proclamation with a flourish that curdled the blood of those in the room. There was no objection from the crowd or from those on the stage. The volume occupied by the bodies in the auditorium seemed to diminish as if people were trying to occupy less space, to stand out less. Emma understood then why everyone had told her from the beginning everybody was afraid of Gold. "And to burn ourselves a witch, I suspect." He sighed dramatically. "Bread and circus. Bread and circus!" The thumping of cane was a lot like the little Moliere knocks, reminding everyone of their place in a pantomime.

"Except," Granny spoke loudly enough to be heard over the cacophony of voices, "There will be no witch burning until she has been sentenced. And only the true king- or queen- can pass sentence."

Emma bit her tongue. Her first instinct was to remind everyone that Storybrooke was still not a monarchy, and that the laws of the country would apply even if it was the last thing she'd do, but was suddenly reminded that while the whip come and goes, the back will take some respite. Let them decided to get themselves a king and then she would remind them of the facts. Besides, judging on appearance only and what she had read in Henry's book, neither king- George or Thomas (and Emma would never ever forget that he was the bastard who had tried to sell Ashley' baby) – was a particularly good outcome.

She would have to sort that out. Democracy was the one thing she had never admired until the moment she looked in the cold eyes of the former DA. She intended to uphold it now. Mostly because it would piss them off. Snow stepped onto the podium with James at her heel, leaving Henry to stay most reluctantly by her side.

There were heads that bowed to Snow. Emma made a note of those in the "don't worry about them" column of the balance sheet.

"You have no place here, James. I am not dead; you and your wife are not the ruling monarchs yet"

"Not of your kingdom, no, Father," But may I remind you that my wife is the heir to the White throne.

"She is a woman!" It was a mixture of shock and disbelief that painted both kings' faces.

It was sufficient for the noise to escalate again in the auditorium as roughly half of the population of the x chromosome persuasion seemed to be quite fond of their emancipation.

Typical. Nothing ever got done without hullabaloo. She wondered briefly how long before it all escalated into war. Three Houses, three kingdoms, all full of dirty little secrets. All of them pathetically inbred into an inch of sanity.

Whoever won was not important. The important thing was assured: there would be bloodshed aplenty. Wars were delightfully messy business, always fought at the expense of many for the gain of very few. And no one stood to gain more than she did. Something in her made her want to waltz out and do a little pre-victory dance. Things were going quite all, all considered. Quite well indeed.

She remained seated though. These 29 years in this land had taught her not to gloat, not to demonstrate. They had taught her patience. For one brief moment it all seemed to be lost. But people being what people are, greedy, vindictive and stupid, the task at hand had become considerably easier. Almost too easy to enjoy. Nah, who was she kidding? She would enjoy every single minute of the whole affair. As she always did.

Emma observed too. From her position, she observed how her parents swapped blow for political blow. She was getting bored already, with a headache. She hadn't slept in well, she had forgotten how long, had fought a battle for her own life, saved a crazed hatter and brought back a heart. Had loved more in one single night than she'd had in her whole life. Her gut clenched. Love?

All she wanted to do now was to grab Henry, give him a good talking too- and herself while she was at it, because of what she had allowed and sanctioned Henry to do and be- and take him to see Regina. Or better yet, find a damned good chain saw and hack through the bars. Magic was no match for power tools.

In the end, oh irony, to bring monarchy to Storybrooke, it took a voting. Where she had been half expecting a war- and good grief, t had been so, so close. It took cajoling and feminine charms – one day Emma promised herself, she would learn how to bat her eyelashes that way- and it took Snow's steady voice and a whistle from Snow that made the good people of Storybrooke stop dead in their run to arms.

"There will be no war! There will be no sacrificing of lives."

"Speak for yourself, Madam" King George griped a loud discontent.

"What do you propose, Your Highness?" Gold interrupted from his seat. "Because, quite frankly, after so many years of monotony, I would not mind some action. A taste from home, if you will…"

"I rest my case!" Snow swiped her hand through the air, making sure the gesture included George and stopped pointing at Gold. "Can you honestly tell me you missed that about home?"

There were mumbles, grumbles of discontent. For some, war was all they knew from the old life. A trade as much any other.

"Then may I suggest a much more… civilized… sport. Let there be elections." Gold's tone, Emma realised, denied the qualification.

Whoever said elections were a civilized affair should be committed." Granny commented sitting on the customer side of her diner. There were only nods of assent. There was to be an election in three days and that wouldn't be a moment too soon, in Emma's opinion because she hated elections, she hated the way everybody looked at each other with distrust, as if electing one or the other made them sworn enemies. Of course it suited her to have Snow and James as the ruling monarchs, though if the election would stand the test of endurance only time would tell. But it was far more comfortable to know she could count on some royal support when it came to Regina's trial. There was a lot Regina needed to make amends for. But to Emma it was impossible to believe that killing her would sort anything. It wouldn't send them all back to the Enchanted Forest. It would not restore the time lost nor the ones that spent that time apart when they should have together- case in point: Snow and James- and it would not settle the unrest if a return was not possible. What on earth was so great about the Enchanted Forest that made returning one of the two only things on everybody's minds? Did springs run beer instead of water?

She did give herself a good talking too, but that was more of stalemate than a decision. She stared at the mirror in the bathroom and studied her face until it became a collection of lines, neither good nor bad. The face that stared back at her was the same she saw all the other days before this one and yet everything seemed to be so different. She had seen and done things she had not thought possible until yesterday. Where did that leave her? She was what she believed: about herself, about others and about life. The last two days tilted that belief system on its axis, left it muddled and unable to make sense.

There was magic, for christsakes, there was evil. She had known bad shit and bad times and times where she had wanted nothing but to be the kind that gives up. But pure evil, the essence of it as she had felt it at Cora's hands? That she hadn't known before. It was surreal, like being tossed inside a horror movie. She didn't quite know how to deal with the bone deep certainty that that evil did, most likely live in Regina. Because how could it not?

And there was another rub: Regina. The Regina that had tried to kick her out of town, the Regina she had traded insults and blows with. The Regina she had made love too. And oh, God, the Regina that had killed Graham. How on earth was she supposed to deal with the fact that knowing all those things, still her instinct to stay, her instinct to fight that corner seemed so overwhelming? How was she supposed to reconcile the habit of upping sticks and leave with the need to stay and fight? How was she supposed to balance the hate with that whatever it was that ached to be in that mine now?

Regina was both virgin and hooker, saint and sinner, good and evil. Nothing excused her and nothing blamed her, because, sure as the sun, there must have been a moment where she had stopped being the better part to become the worse. But both were her. Both where in her.

There was no way she could love someone like that, was there? The tug at her stomach, at the very core of her when she thought of Regina, that was lust, right? It had to be. Because love, well, you have to be worthy of it, no? And as far as she could tell, Regina was not worthy and Emma was not capable. No, not at all.

It angered her that she could not say firmly, with certainty. The inability to step firmly either with evil or with good, love or hate, made her nervous. And a little mean.

There was no talking to Henry, though. He locked himself in Snow's room, refusing to come out. Emma sat outside the closed door, her head throbbing from the sheer effort of trying to kick to the surface.

"Henry, come on" Eloquent she was not. She wanted to curse, knock the door down and bring the kid out by his ears. "There are things you don't know about. There is a whole story that book does not tell. Give her half a chance. She's your mom. She loves you. She's loved you all your life."

"So did you." The voice was both belligerent and hesitant, asking for confirmation.

"No, Henry, I didn't. I loved the idea of you. I didn't know who you are. I didn't think of you every day. I did not ache to be with you. I ached to forget." Her nails clawed at the door. There you go kid, here's your ticket for a few more years in therapy. "Your mom chose you. Changed your diapers. Put up with your crap. And still she loves you. I gotta tell you, right now, I don't much like you…" And it was true. It was God's honest truth, not that she knew much about that. Could you even be this honest with a child? "I love you, but I don't really like you, right now." God, it sounded like such bullshit, but it was honest, at least.

"How can you defend her?" Came the angry reply from behind the closed door. "How could you be in bed with her like that?" I hate her. I hate her and I hate you! Go away, Emma!"

The kid had had a point. How could she defend her? How could she stand between Regina and her comeuppance? Her childhood was unjustified, the nights she had no dinner, no warmth, the years she had no one but a monogrammed blanket, the side of the road, all of it was Regina's doing. Regina, the heartless. Regina the bullied. Hells bells! What a clusterfuck.

By the afternoon, Emma felt like she was slowly losing her ever loving mind. She tried to do it quietly, but she was not the type. She drove Snow and James to silence. The conversation that had started as a sort of political pow wow moved with every word towards what to do with Regina. How to handle her. And then to why Emma was so hell bent on saving her life. The way of the Enchanted Forest was the beheading. Get it over with. Give closure to everyone without much suffering. That opened a particularly nasty can of worms Emma was not prepared to deal with. She was unable to deal with what she felt. She thought about facts. Facts were good things. Reliable. But the Enchanted Forest had a whole different set of values that she did not quite understand. The only thing she knew was that on her watch no one was getting murdered. That included Regina. Maybe even Gold, despite the sliminess of his speech, though maybe a little squeeze in that respect might reset the scales

Action. She needed to act. She needed to move or she would be consumed by her thoughts, her ill formed, shapeless thoughts that never quite reached a conclusion without getting side tracked to the sensations and the warmth she could still feel if she allowed herself to.

She pounded up the stairs and stuffed clothes in a gym bag, a blanket. She pounded down the stairs to the kitchen and on impulse, kissed Snow's cheek and hugged David and pounded the flight of steps to the street. She stopped at Granny's for food. Any food. She didn't want to spent time choosing. Anything, she told Granny. Just pack whatever's ready. And then she drove to the mine, heavy foot on the gas pedal, jerky movements on the steering wheel. The journey was over too soon because Storybrook was the size of an egg and there was no distance she could drive that would give her time to settle the nerves in her stomach or to quell the anxiety that had started creeping the moment she had first thought the words make love. Because that was not what Emma Swan did. There was no love in the craft. Ever.

She stopped the bug in a cloud of dust and missed the faces hidden behind the shrubbery that surrounded the old mine. Which was probably good because at that moment she didn't quite know whether she would shield Regina or push her towards the firing squad.

Ruby sat slumped against the bars, her mouth slightly open in sleep. Regina sat against the rocky side of the cave, head lowered, shoulders sagging, like a discarded doll a capricious child had tossed in her haste. Ruby snapped awake the moment Emma's boots crunched the sandy floor, wide awake and in a defensive stance.

Emma took a moment to process the wash of relief and quiet in her body. The agitation, the nerves, the anxiety were all at a normal Emma Swan level, which is to say, all there, but not shouting louder than everything else inside of her. The noise of those things was not quite so deafening in this cave.

On an impulse, she hugged Ruby. Red. Whatever. She hugged the girl. God, what was wrong with her? Emma Swan was not a hugger; she did not easily dispense affection. It was not in her muscular power. Though it might have been a genetic thing. "Thanks, Ruby. I owe you one."

"It's ok. No sweat."

"Take the bug. It's getting dark."

A funny thing happened then. There was a moment of silence that did not quite include Emma. "Thank you, Ruby" Regina's voice came, tired, from the back of the cave. She sounded so far from everything. Ruby inclined her head in acknowledgement and walked into the exit corridor.

It made no sense, that need Emma felt to hold Regina to her. No sense at all.

"I brought you some clothes. They're mine. They're clean." She stumbled through the words she could say because there were others that were not quite so simple and that got stuck in her throat like sticky toffee that does not let you breathe.

Regina struggled herself. Her throat closed tightly, hot and sore as if she had a bad cold, or a case of the flu. Her whole body hurt with the tightness in her throat, because there were things- not much, not really- but things she wanted to say but Emma was skittish and there was an energy around her, and even the way even her hair moved seemed agitated warned Regina to keep her counsel. But holding the gym clothes in her hand, smelling that clean laundry smell, well, that was enough to make her throat close on her and her eyes water dangerously. Having a heart was a nuisance. So she turned to the back of the cave and pulled on the soft sweat pants and the hooded jacket and took those precious seconds to reign in those would be tears and that almost sob. Having a heart was tiresome. Having a heart was a relief. How did people live a heart every day? She took a deep breath and feeling more in control, she turned to Emma.

"Thank you" She sat by the bars, because she craved the proximity to the other body, she craved it for the warmth and the creature comfort. She craved it because Emma pushed away at the loneliness. Emma had left. Since she had met her, Emma had been always been leaving. But she came back. Every time.

"How is Henry?"

Emma snorted. It was unlady like and it made Regina cringe a little. "He hates me." Emma rubbed at her face and paced.

Regina wanted to offer support and kind words. She found she lacked the skill, the vocabulary, the experience. She only had the empathy. She looked up at Emma still pacing, willing her yes to show something, anything that could offer comfort. She got the measure of her failure when Emma crouched next to the bars. "He hates me because I slept with you". The words were spat out. She held on to the bars she knew would burn her hands because maybe then she would feel something that was not this tearing in her heart, this impossibility to breathe.

It was as if Emma's volatile molecules settled then, weighed down by all that was heavy in her heart. She sat across from Regina and cupped her hands over the bars, her thumb rubbing a slow circle on Regina's finger.

"She told me that if you did not desire my kiss, you would not be free. Even with a heart." There was a silent devastation to Emma's words, mixed with accusation and sorrow.

Regina sucked in a hurt breath. Even talking about her hurt. But she found that she could raise her eyes to Emma and say "I did". And that was the truth of it. Even she didn't quite understand where the strength was coming from.

"But look where that freedom has brought you…" Regina looked then. She waited for the regret, for the anger. For the weariness.

She touched her forehead to Emma's fingers.

There was nothing to say. She felt toxic. This was all she ever achieved, hurting those around her. But regret that she had felt again? That she had her heart to feel with, to believe with? Not really. That's why this was OK. "It's OK." Because, it turned out, that being in this cage actually felt freer than she had even been since she had buried Daniel in her apple orchard so many years ago."