Chapter 8

Storybrooke did not have a court house. There had never been any need for one, but of all the things Storybrooke did have, she couldn't remember having designed or wished for any of them. Things had turned out that way, designed by the curse- or the curse maker, not the curse caster. Whichever way, Storybrooke did not have a court house, so there was room for some improvisation: The Evil Queen's case was to be heard in the events room of the town hall. There was a large desk for the new Queen to sit – though there had been bitter arguments by Cinderella's father-in-law that she should not preside over the trial on the grounds that her daughter was the defendant's bed mate (though god knew what adjectives were used in more private setting to describe Emma). There were two smaller desks for the Defence and Prosecution teams and a chair for the witnesses.

All in all, it looked almost like an episode of Law and Order.

Though, most likely, Law and Order did not have backstage fights to get to decide who would preside over the proceedings or how to call witnesses or even how to organise the process. It seemed that the only thing of importance was that the outcome here be Regina six feet under.

When Regina thought about it, there was some comfort to the inevitability of it: it saved her having to defend herself. It saved her getting her hopes up. No Hope, no disappointment. If she had thought she stood a chance, she would have tried. This surrender was a peaceful one. She was tired of the struggle. Knowing the outcome in advance of the play, meant she could relax. Meant she could concentrate on Emma's presence at her side.

Emma did not trust the fairies. She did not, more specifically, trust the Blue Fairy as far as she could throw her. There was something about the woman that made her left pinky finger itch. And that was never a good sign. But the moment the fairies magically opened the bars of Regina's cell, she could have kissed every single one of them. And she did gloat, a little at least, when the Prosecutor saw the bars opening. It turned out, fairy dust was a real asset and the fairies had a small, small stash that they agreed to use. Even if it made them jittery about releasing the Evil Queen into the midst of Storybrooke.

Her particular dislike for the Blue Fairy was only accented when the woman put an implement around Regina's neck made of the same metal (forged and tempered with the same magic as the bars) around Regina's neck. It was designed to impede magic and it looked incredibly like a dog's collar. It made her so angry she could barely breathe.

It burned. The collar around her neck was heavy and it burned her skin like the bars did. The Blue Fairy gave her a knowing look and lingered fastening the collar, waiting for a reaction from her. She adjusted it over the black turtle neck that Emma had brought, but the heat soaked through it. She breathed deeply.

"I trust Your Majesty is comfortable?"

Regina couldn't quite push past the knot in her throat, so she merely nodded. Let's play. And kept the burn secret from Emma.

Regina blinked and stumbled against Emma when the first rays of sun hit her at the entrance of the mine. She took a clean, fresh, deep breath of air and holding on to Emma's arm, she climbed onto the school bus that had been designated her transport during the trial. It was occupied by former White Kingdom soldiers, designated to guard her- well, to guard everyone from her. Most of them she knew, not only from Storybrooke, but from her days at the White kingdom too. She never forgot a face. And these were hard set with hate and not a little fear.

She let herself be pulled into Emma, tucked against her White Knight. She wanted to enjoy it while it was offered. Once the litany of her crimes had been read out, Emma was unlikely to offer her a tissue ever again, let alone this warmth radiating from her that made Regina forget that, more likely than not, in a couple of days, she would food for worms.

Snow wished for a dimmer switch for the noise coming from the room. Every one – and that meant EVERY SINGLE ONE of Storybrooke's citizens was sitting in this room, built for a tenth of the present occupancy. It was making her edgy and she still couldn't quite shake up the bitter taste that dream had left in her mouth.

Her head ached, her ears buzzed, her stomach hurt from the acid churning in it. She was desperate for all of this to be over and done with. There weren't, after all, many options available.

She knew when Regina walked in because the room went utterly silent and then it all exploded in a torrent of insults and catcalls and some butts left their seats, eager for the lynching portion of the proceedings. She saw Regina stealing herself and raising her head high, her features serene. She couldn't help but feel even if just for a second, a little jealous, a little proud of that composure. And then she looked at Regina's midsection, hoping and praying she would not find a hint of a bump. She studied her features, her walk. Nothing seemed to have changed. Nothing at all. She told herself, over and over, that it was not possible, that biology would not allow for it. But magic… well, magic did not heed to biology, did it?

The din of the crowd was threatening to bring the house down. Emma stilled her progress and pulled Regina into her protective arms. Unnerved by the sight, Snow whistled the crowd quiet.

It was satisfying to see them obeying. She would and she could get used to this power again. It felt comfortable, a right fit to her hand.

Startled by the unqueenly whistle, the crowd stilled the abuse, falling silent. Emma and Regina made their way to their assigned chairs and sat bereft of briefcases and paperwork that the prosecutor seemed to have in spades.

Snow approached her microphone and spoke to the crowd. "This is not really an appropriate room for this. The acoustics are poor at best and there aren't seats for everyone. I understand the frustration. We all deserve to be here. However..." She paused briefly to let the word sink in. "Make no mistake: the next person that speaks out of turn, the next person that makes me do that again loses the right to be here."

"Now, let us begin. The prosecution, please."

Not for the first time Emma admired Snow. This was not the same woman she had been living with for the better part of a year. And not only because of the obvious deference people extended to her. There were subtle shifts: the tone of voice, the deportment, the light in her eyes. The sheer pluckiness of the attitude. Emma liked this woman. She liked the assertiveness and decisiveness that Snow wore so easily. And yet, she missed Mary Margaret. She missed the woman who, for all her meekness, was less threatening, more approachable.

Regina's hand searched hers out, finding comfort. The first miracle had happened: Regina had been removed from her cell, the very same bars they had been told would not open ever again, had opened. Emma was able to put her arms around Regina and hold her close.

Her semblance was steady, her gaze unwavering, she did not flinch. But through their hands laced together, through their bodies connecting, Emma could feel the bone deep tremors fear was causing.

She wished she could offer better comfort, a hope, But they both knew such words would be a lie.

The prosecutor took to the front of the room. The play was about to begin. All the players and all the audience were at their prescribed places.

"We are gathered here to, together, find some peace. There are things we have lost. People. Years. The magnitude of our loss cannot be atoned for. The magnitude of our loss can only be avenged. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. The prosecution will call out every single one of Storybrooke's citizens. We were all spat into this land by a vengeful, criminal, remorseless heart. We all deserve to bring our case before this court. We all deserve to be heard. We all deserve to be a part in bringing down the monster that sits before us, hiding behind the simple affections of a princess who, herself, was cast into a cruel world a new born babe, with no one to fend for her.

The prosecution will expose the crimes, the manipulations, the aggravations inflicted on the people of Storybrooke for every single one of those crimes must be documented- not to justify our decision, our request for the death of the perpetrator, but so that we all have what has been done to us brought to light, so that future generations may understand how evil operates, how evil corrupts. How evil must and will always be defeated.

The prosecution asks for the death penalty, Your Highness."

It was involuntary, it was a spasm of her hand, Regina told herself. She did not fear anything. There was nothing to fear. Death was just a moment. There was nothing she hadn't already lost. But her hand still squeezed Emma's hand, a convulsion of the muscles, a twitch, really. And yet, to the Prosecutor, looking directly into her dark, dark eyes, nothing transpired. Though he had wished it so.

Emma felt it, that fear that made Regina's muscles spasm. She felt it acutely. "It's ok to be afraid, Regina." And in front of the whole of Storybrooke, the White Knight kissed Regina's forehead, a silent vow, and stood when Snow said, her voice just a little hoarse, "The defence".

"I wish I had decades of practice at screwing with people just so that I could stand here and make a pretty little speech asking to have someone killed…. Dear old Gramps, who just fed you the good old burn the murderous witch crap, seems to have an awful lot of practise at that, what with trying to kill James- my dad- and my mom in the same turn of phrase. Comes easy to him, it looks like…"

Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, others shuffled their feet. That's right, don't get comfortable, this is not Jerry Springer.

"But you know what? I actually don't. I don't want to dismiss a life so easily. Good does not triumph when it takes lives. It just surrenders. Someone told me, a while ago, that evil is not born. Evil is created. I don't think there is an excuse good enough for what happened to you. To all of you. All of us. I don't believe there is justification enough. But I do believe –strongly- or I would not be here, that there things that we should know, things we should understand before we go ahead and met out a punishment that will bring no peace.

"An eye for an eye and we'll all be blind in the end. I cannot understand how it is that killing a woman will bring back what you have lost. I cannot understand how you can possibly believe that. You all look at me for a saviour. God knows I have very little idea of what that is and that I have been scared plenty by it. But I am not that confused that someone would have space enough to hide behind my emotions. The heart wants what the heart wants. Mine wants Regina.

"You know the one thing worse than the devil himself? The way we portray it. Maybe by the end of this 'trial' you'll learn a thing or two about that."

Emma was still for a moment, centre-stage, unable to decide if she had said enough. Then she simply moved to her seat, feeling defeated from the outset. It was like trying to win at poker with someone else counting the cards. But Regina slid her cold hand into hers, quietly, where the crowd could not see it and whispered to her "It's OK. It's OK to be afraid, Emma."

Henry could hear well and clear from the outside, perching on a tree branch, occasionally peeking inside. He could hear the little break in Emma's voice. He could hear the things they shouted at his mother when she walked into the room. And he could see, well and clear, how she held her chin, how she pretended all was OK, that nothing hurt. There had been a time when he scraped his knee in the tarmac and had to be taken to the hospital to have it cleaned and dressed. It had hurt, hurt so much until all there was was that throbbing knee. And then there had been his mom's warm hand on his forehead and a whisper in his ear: pretend it is ok. Pretend it doesn't hurt. If you pretend hard enough, it won't. It wasn't really true. It still hurt. But he pushed past the fear of Dr Whale's touch and it really wasn't that bad. He hadn't cried, he hadn't screamed. It was only just a little flinch really. Just like his mom's when Emma's sort of granddad finished his speech. She was pretending it didn't hurt.

He climbed down and sat hidden by the foliage of the maple tree. He hugged his knees and rocked a little. The motion was soothing, helped him think better. His mom was the Evil Queen. Everyone knew that. So why did he miss her so bad?

The heart wants what the heart wants, he heard Emma saying.

"You may call your first witness." Snow found it difficult to hide the revulsion in her voice. None of the memories she had of King George were of a fair man, neither in this world nor the previous one. He seemed to enjoy seeing fear and his shoulders squared a little more. As if fear fed him.

"Your Majesty" He inclined his head to her, but it seemed more like an insult that a deference. "The Prosecution calls Emma Swan, the Sheriff of Storybrooke"

Praise the gods that chivalry was easily remembered in this land as it had been in the last, she thought. It did ensure she had a seat. A seat that was as good as centre stage. From there, she could see Snow's unease when she looked at her stepmother (it was as if she was looking for something so very intensely), the slight hitch of the Evil Queen's shoulders, she could hear the Saviour's stormy breath, her gasp when good old George called his first witness. She could feel every pound of the saviour's booted feet when she stood and walked towards the improvised witness stand. George was a sadistic bastard (and well she knew all his proclivities- as she did everyone else's) and this was his typical aggressive opening move. Oh, this was far, far better than Shark Week.

Emma felt much like a dear in the headlights which, she reasoned, was much the effect the old bastard was going for. She was, perhaps, being childish, but her expression was sullen and her feet stomped the floor when she walked to the witness chair. She was not vengeful by nature, but this he would pay for. Like he would for that little chit chat with Mary Margaret. She steeled herself to remain calm and not to let him get a rise out of her. That was how he had gotten Mary to practically confess to a murder that had not even existed.

He approached her with a paper in his hand. He pretended to study it.

"This is you at age 3, is it not, Sheriff Swan?" And he showed her the picture. He was going for shock, she reminded herself. This was like a game of pool. You had to break hard and fast because if you did, your opponent wouldn't even get to play. He turned the picture to the crowd. "You seem happy in this picture." He was not even looking at her. Just concentrating on the crowd. "I believe that there weren't many days like this, with pretty dresses and balloons." He gave her time but she remained silent. "In fact, this was taken on one of the very last days with this particular foster family was it not?" There was an attempt at sympathy, a lowering of the tone of voice, an emotion that he tried to convey, not for her benefit but for that of the crowd. "It appears to me, from briefly reading through your file, that three years seems to be a maximum any one family kept you around. Must have been incredibly taxing…" Again with giving her the space to talk. When she didn't, he gave Snow the picture. If he was trying to punish her for her silence, he succeeded. Snow's eyes glazed over the picture, her finger traced the hem of the frilly pink dress, the strands of blond hair in the aged photo.

"Do you need a moment, Your Highness?" But it was not really about her mother, was it, because the moment he felt the crowd measure Snow, pity her, he took the picture and he slammed it under his palm on the table in front of Regina. "I wonder what you, Miss Swan, would have become had you not been taken from your parent's tender loving care. I wonder what you would have made of yourself if you hadn't been passed around like an unwanted package for 18 years of your life. I wonder," And he unfolded a front page of the Daily Mirror with her arrest photo, showing it to the crowd, "if you would have birthed a babe behind bars at a time you yourself, were little more than a child. I wonder if you would have had quite such a destitute life, so deprived of the innocence it is any child's right." It seemed to Emma that that picture of her at 19 would forever be coming back to haunt her. "But I don't have to wonder, do I?"

Regina's disorientation was hard to witness. She was pale, almost gray. Emma thought for a minute she was going to throw up. She saw her swallow and saw her fingers trace the image on the photo, so much like Snow's had done. Like she had something to say, something that was bubbling in her throat and made her repeatedly try to swallow. It was not a happy place for Regina where that picture had taken her.

To Emma, it was an irritation to have her picture exhibited, exploited, like it had not happened often enough before in catalogues of orphans printed to pull at rich heartstrings. But it was sheer abuse, to see both Snow and Regina so turned inside out by something that could not be changed that got Emma riled up.

"Was there a question for me in that speech or am I in this chair just to decorate the room and illustrate a point?"

"Your Majesty, I do believe this witness may be hostile and I would thank you for your permission to act accordingly."

"No"

"Your Majesty?"

"No, you do not have my permission to abuse my child. I don't quite know how to put in legalese for you. I missed a lot of episodes from Law and Order, but have a care, Counsellor."

Snow too observed Regina. She observed her carefully. She observed the way her hand trembled when she saw the photo. She observed the way her eyes had glazed over, the way her throat worked over something that seemed to be stuck in there. That's right, stepmother, understand what you have destroyed.

It took him less than a second to regroup his thoughts, but slightly more to disguise the hate in his eyes. "I will rephrase, since it seems I have not been understood, then. It would benefit this court to hear it from you, how her actions" he pointed aggressively towards Regina, "made you suffer beyond the endurable, how the loss of love and protection and status that were your birthright made you struggle through life, how they have caused you to be so little when you had been destined for greatness. That is what I would like to know."

Her heart ached. It retched in her chest, it beat violently, it punished her, punished her for all she had done. She had expected shame when she had to face Emma about everything else. She had not thought of this… regret. She had not thought that there would ever be a moment she could ever wish to take things back. Not even for her father. But this was it, looking at that photo of Emma, so small, so bright. So very alone. She carved her nails into her palms, hoping that she could avoid making a spectacle of herself. Hoping that she could- even if she did not really deserve it- to keep her regrets, her sorrows private.

And then she looked at Emma whose eyes blazed in anger.

"You know what? It would so very easy. We got ourselves a scapegoat, so why look further? But there is this: my mother and my father" She looked at Snow then, because this would hurt. She did not castigate people, she did not hurt people on purpose, but the truth was waiting. "my mother and my father put me in a wardrobe- which was the same as leaving me by the side of the freeway. They put me there not knowing where it was going to take me. All in the hope that I would come back to save them. To save you all. They sent me god knew where, for god knew how long, in god knew what conditions just on the word of a fairy that it would all work out. Guess what? I would rather have stayed. No matter how hard, no matter how poor, no matter how long. But that was their choice. Their choice alone. Regina cast the curse, but the decision to send me away- the decision to abandon me was theirs. Theirs alone. Do not blame this on anyone else."

Snow's heart broke. Irremediably. It was crushed to dust, because it had always been Regina's fault. Since she had surrendered and sent her baby away, since she had remembered their lives, losing her child had always been Regina's fault. How could it not be? She had been left without choice, had she not?

"The same way that having Henry, giving him up was my choice alone. Do not take that from me. That was my choice! No one forced me into the back seat of a car but the bastard that got me in there. No one forced a decision to keep him once I took that pregnancy test. And no one took him from me. Those were my choices. Mine. No one else's. You have already called me stupid and now you are calling me a victim. I am neither. So save the platitudes. Save them and, while I am being hostile, shove them."

"I think I'll take that minute now", Snow excused herself before taking the gavel and hitting her table when Emma fell silent. The silence in the room was just a formality. Everyone's thoughts were shout out silently. Unsteady on her feet, she pushed from her chair and walked until she could find a restroom where James found her, on the floor, her face a mess of tears and sadness and rage and unscreamed words. He pulled her to him because it was the only thing he could do.

Emma wanted to follow Snow and James wherever they had gone. She wanted to make things ok with them. There was no use insisting on guilt. Her life was fact, not a battle ground. Assigning blame and handing out guilt was not going to make any of the old wounds go away. But she could not leave Regina sitting in the middle of the Events Hall and expect her to survive. She wanted peace. She wanted her parents, even if she didn't quite know what to do with them, how to relate to them, how to be a daughter. But she wanted to learn. She wanted to learn about being a daughter, a mother, a lover. She was done with the alone part of life.

Snow retuned, her face macerated by tears and anguish but still queenly. She sat again, flanked by James. "We will adjourn this session until tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I have taken as much truth as I can take for one day. Tomorrow at the same time."

The same palace guards surrounded Emma and Regina, ready to take them away. As they would have pulled Regina to her feat, Henry moved towards them, and placed his book on the desk in front of Emma, looking at Regina dead in the eye.

"You will need this. When they start saying things, you will need this." He fidgeted, shuffling between one foot and the other. Clearly, there was something stuck in his craw. But he was just not going to have it out today. The guards pulled Regina to her feet, making her stumble against them.

"Careful" Henry screamed. He did not quite reach for her, did not touch her, but he didn't have to, did he?

Regina's hand instinctively reached for her son but he pulled back, denying her the contact. Her hand fell against her leg and stayed there until the guards took it to pull her away.

She tried to occupy the least space possible, tried to reduce her body mass to an insignificant portion. To disappear, perhaps. Her body ached for the dark of her cell, for a remote corner of those stone walls to blend into. She wanted to make her peace with that file regarding Emma she had obtained when Emma was only Henry's birth mother, when all she wanted was a weapon to drive the annoyance away. The things she had read, the sealed records, the school reports, arrest pictures they all put a new weight on her heart. Emma was a wonder of survival instinct, of adaptability, of humanity.

The heart wants what the heart wants. And mine wants Regina. No one, not in her very long life, had actually said that out loud. No one had wanted her so actively. And it was jarring that this want came from Emma who, no matter what she said, had been condemned to her life by her actions, her choices, her anger. Her hate.

She wanted to let Emma hold her and feel her heart beating against her. She wanted it so very much, but she felt she had no right to it. That, more than anything, kept her from eye contact, from the touch of a comforting hand. That begged for that dark corner in her cell.

"Lock me in there with her" Emma addressed the Blue Fairy.

"Princess… That is inappropriate." Emma did not bother with a reply. She shoved the fairy and moved into the cell. "This is against the rules, Princess!"

"Call me princess one more time and I swear_"

"It feels we're making the rules up as we go along."

Emma and James spoke at the same time. She pulled the door bars closed and it sounded like hot metal hitting cold water when the iron bars closed.

Snow approached the bars close to where Emma stood. "I'm sorry. Emma I am so sorry."

Emma held on to the bars feeling, for the first time, the heat they generated. "Snow… Mom. Please don't. We make choices. That's it. We play the cards we are dealt." Emma reached out her hand cupping her mother's face, drying the ever falling tears.

"Did we make a mistake?" James asked.

"I can't help but thinking that you did. I spent too many years believing that no matter the circumstances, you had made a mistake in abandoning me for it to be easy now to say that you didn't. But there is no point now. I love you any way. Just like Henry loves me. We made our choices but to dwell on them moves us no further, does it? I love you."

"Were you going to kill her?" The question was for Regina, even if Snow could not really look away from Emma, even if she could do nothing but picture a little girl in a pink dress all alone in the world because she had not fought to keep her. "When you cast the curse and stormed the castle, were you going to kill Emma?"

From her dark corner, Regina clutched at her heart. Before it had been so simple, those half truths, the lies by omission. Today- now- it seemed impossible. "No." She knew what Snow needed. She needed a life line, a justification for sending her baby away into the unknown. If she could say that sending her child away had saved her life, it would somehow justify it all. For a moment, for Emma, and even for the child Snow had once been, Regina almost said Yes. She almost gave Snow that out. But it was not true. In her heart, that was not true. "I was going to keep her. I was going to take your baby… your happiness. I was going to take her and keep her."

The voice came disembodied from the back of the cell, soft and naked of sarcasm and cruelty. There was just truth in it, James could tell. Emma had come by her supper power from her father's side. "You could have had your own…"

The sob was soft, almost inaudible.

"No, no she couldn't." Emma, the paladin.

"You wanted me." There was no question. It was an assertion about an act of will.

"Yes."

"And not because you wanted to screw with her."

"There was a part to it, Emma. I wanted to take what was hers like she had taken what was mine. I wanted her to feel the loss. I wanted her to suffer."
"But you wanted me." Again an assertion.

"Yes. I wanted a child. I have always wanted children. I wanted to be a mother more than anything. It's ironic, isn't it, that I did get to have a child through Snow, through you. Even if he hates me so much."

Emma pulled her to the narrow cot on the cell and draped herself over Regina. "Oh, Regina, it would be so easy for him if he hated you…"

"He came to us." Emma's hand soothed Regina where she could through the narrow space: she rubbed her arms, the skin warming to her touch.

"That he did. Now sleep."

"You want me."

"Yeah, I do."

"It's not easy for you, though, is it?" Emma sighed because it was not. It was difficult and it bit at her flesh and ached in her bones. "It can't be. I'm evil and there are all these things that I've done. Truly horrible things and there isn't a single redeeming quality to hold onto. It's just going to get worse. With every single person they call to that chair, you're just going to find some new horrible thing that I've done and it's going to eat away at you, that you want me. It will go against that moral code you have."
"I know" Emma only snuggled Regina closer to her, breathing her in.

"Thank you. For all of this so far. For wanting me. For making me real. You make me feel real. No one ever did that before."

The cot was not really made for two, let alone two facing each other. But Emma turned Regina to her because certain things you look in the eye when you say them- words don't really say enough, you see? "I haven't felt like bolting yet. And I know what's coming. Sort of. But you are wrong about one thing. And I am going to prove it to you. Cross my heart. Now sleep." And her lullaby was the lightest of kisses on Regina's exhausted lips. "Sleep because I will look after you."

Author's note: Sometimes, this fandom feels so young… Or maybe I feel too old. So I feel the need to explain why this chapter came out this way. From the very first episode, no matter how much I like Snow, I have disliked her intensely for letting go of Emma. I can't forgive her that. I have a daughter, you see, and I cannot understand Snow at that moment because, despite everything, I have always carried my daughter with me, in my teeth when I needed my hands to walk. I understand Regina suffocating Henry. I do not understand Snow letting go. No matter what, Snow is never going to be a better mother than Regina.

(Rant over, sorry guys)

Much love

Jane.