Author's note 1: I know that those of you who have not given up on this story probably have your very sharp pitchforks ready and the torches lit to get the lynching mob party started. Let me please apologise first. Having taken so long to update this story, I am not even sure how to begin an apology. I guess Sorry is a good start. So. I am so sorry. In my defence, it took me a while to get the tone of this chapter right(ish). It is such an important chapter in my head because this is Snow and Regina, you know, and for me, this is one of the most important relationships in the show.
I hope it's worth the wait.
Note number 2: Thank you to MarieYotz for the betaing services. Join me in wishing her good luck for the very important thing she has to do.
Note number 3: I decided that it is a good idea to give you a spoiler for the end of Atonement. So there is a 100 word drabble called "Once Upon a Time" published today on another of my series of stories called 100 words (I know, I know, so imaginative...)
Much love
Jane
Chapter 16
The incandescent light over the mirror in the marbled toilet at the town hall was unforgiving. Snow tried and failed to wash away the marks of the sleepless night. Her skin was mottled, her eyes red and tired, made all the more obvious for their clear colour against the dark circles. No amount of ice cold water running from the copper taps seemed to return youth to that skin.
Snow's eyes prickled and burned. Sleep had been eluding her since she'd first dreamt of pregnant Regina. She ran her hands down her face trying to make the blood circulate, trying to reactivate her cells or her consciousness. It seemed to be in vain through. She filled her lungs with air and tried to feel more alert, more awake. She hated this day. She hated it thoroughly. She had hated it since it first dawned on her that her turn would come. This was the day she would either lose her daughter or lose herself. Maybe both. Maybe even more.
She could not omit things because of Emma, to gain her daughter's affections in some misguided way. She had an obligation to the truth. She was one of the good ones. She carried that obligation to the truth. Yet, so many years gone, so much water under the bridge, truths had become… diluted, muddled. Coloured by memory and understanding. Truth was not always black and white. Hell, truth had teeth and it bit at you and, sometimes, it was easier to dance with it than to face it head on.
Truth had teeth and claws and she had done her share of creating new truths. She had done her share of letting things become truth. Coming clean now that those things had become truth? She did not quite know how to do it. But Henry sat there, and he looked at her, not a hint of suspicion in his eyes. To him, she could do no wrong.
How difficult was it to believe that. How difficult was it to make it effectively true.
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Sister Astrid leaned heavily against the wall. She was vaguely aware of the dust stains imprinting on her dark blue habit but her legs failed her. The strength of her faith dwindled. Something was not right. That was not the Blue Fairy she had known before the curse and it was not the Mother Superior she had confessed to during the Storybrooke years. That was a kind person, understanding – if strict. The person that had sat in the witness stand was someone full of hate, her usually serene features twisted in anger. Her smile had been something unnatural, unsettling. Sister Astrid's heart was heavy with a suspicion she did not know what to with. A suspicion she could not even identify the nature of That the Mother Superior was a bad person? How could it be? It could not. Simply it could not. Not the Mother Superior that had clothed, fed and raised the Storybrooke orphans. Not the Mother Superior that had struggled everyday to keep their poor convent afloat.
She only wanted to look Mother Superior in the eyes because she would know. She would see the truth of her in those eyes. She would see the truth there. She had to because her world was crumbling to dust. She believed the Mother Superior. She took guidance and support from her.
She paced again, short, nervous steps. The sunlight hit the habit and heated her up and she was not feeling at all well. The persistent ache in her back like an infected tooth where her wings wanted to be once again. She rolled her shoulders and tried to think of something else. She tried to think of all the children the Blue Fairy had helped, all the prayers that she had answered. Children had the sweetest prayers. When she had been Nova, she had loved the times Blue had let her come along when a child needed help. Children were precious. Blue had taught her that. No. Rumplestilskin was evil and he was just trying to muddle the waters. Whatever Blue had done had always been to help the children in need. She had to trust that. Otherwise, what else was there to believe in? What else was there to love?
The quick steps of the no-nonsense shoes Mother Superior wore startled her. For a moment, the look in the Mother Superior's eyes was a lot like hate and Sister Astrid recoiled. Then she straightened and pulled her habit into its strict lines and the illusion dispersed. It was a trick of the light. Nothing else. Before her stood the sweet Blue Fairy, the good Mother Superior.
"Mother Superior!"
"Sister Astrid." The tone was clipped but then again that was nothing new. Mother Superior was like, her shoes, a no-nonsense woman and Sister Astrid would not start doubting her now. "Mother superior?"
"Yes. My dear?" the tone morphed from impatient to kind within those three words.
"Mother Superior…"
"Sister Astrid. I long to be back at my convent."
"Certainly." But for some reason, Astrid's feet were rooted to the pavement. "I don't understand."
"What?" The tone was brisk and hard. "What don't you understand?" Astrid heard the tone smoothing over again and she wished she didn't.
"Did the Evil Queen not have a Fairy Godmother?"
"Sister Astrid!" Her first instinct was to cower under the weight of the tone. She had done that all this time because she had taken her vow of obedience and before that, because the Blue Fairy was the oldest one among their numbers and that position demanded respect. But now it was the same as the ache in her back and she wanted to know why, an insistent dull pain that refused to go away, that wanted to be acknowledged. "Did she not have a fairy godmother?"
"Sister Astrid! I will not be questioned."
"Of course not, Mother Superior." Damned obedience, drilled into them until the nun habits fit them like a second skin or a straight jacket, uncomfortable, restraining. "I just wondered… that's all. I just wondered."
"Sister Astrid, does my word mean nothing to you?" Blue had this way of being in someone's personal space without being really being there that Sister Astrid felt in her body, a weight, a tightening of the habit.
"Of course it does. Mother Superior." Astrid hesitated and the habit tightened around her throat a little more. "Blue." It was hesitant. And stupid. Mother Superior turned on her and levelled her audacity with a stern gaze. No words were required but Mother Superior spoke them just the same.
"We are not in the old land, Sister Astrid."
"No. Mother Superior. Of course not." And Sister Astrid trotted after her Mother Superior towards the convent, one step behind her as it was proper. "Mother Superior?"
Blue stopped abruptly and faced Sister Astrid. "I do not mean to be rude, Sister Astrid, but I would welcome some time to meditate, to reflect."
"I understand, Mother Superior. Forgive me… But."
"But what?" Her voice lost its musicality and became something hard and unyielding. Astrid wanted to cower in her habit, but the stumps of her wings were there, pressing against the pressed and starched white shirt of the habit.
"My wing_"
"Stop. Sister Astrid, just stop." Astrid's face fell, the smile faltering. "There is nothing wrong. There is nothing sprouting on your back. No wings. There is no magic in this land, remember?" She did. Astrid remembered well enough that there was no magic in this land. And yet, there were two lumps on her back that felt turgid and inflamed, sore against the uniform they were not to remove; there were the the tears cried by a child in need that had never been heeded no matter how much hurt was behind them and, more importantly, there was the anger on the Mother Superior's usually pleasant face. They became lumpy in the back of her mind like the wings that she truly believed wanted to come out on her back. But she was nothing if not submissive, nothing if not a good, obedient nun.
"I'm sorry, Mother Superior."
"Go in peace, Sister Astrid."
They arrived at the convent silent, Mother Superior composed of her anger and Sister Astrid with her questions subdued out of her. Or into the pit of her stomach.
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Snow looked at Storybrooke gathered in the court room. For the last few days, the numbers on the stands had been dwindling slowly as people lost interest, as the fire under them slowly burned out. But when she looked around today, it seemed to her that interest had peaked again. It was probably the novelty effect. They would, for the first time, hear everything from the horse's mouth as it were. She had never told the whole story to anyone. She had never told it chapter and verse. And if she were honest with herself, there were times she had embellished the truth or downplayed her part in it. To others and to herself. For a while she had remained convinced that Regina had given her that apple to bite because she resented the fact that Snow was prettier than her. She had told that lie and, with time, had believed it too. It had become the stuff of legend.
Now, here she stood, facing the consequences of her actions. And there were so many. She was as much to blame as Regina. Emma had called it: evil had triumphed because the good had done nothing while Regina spiralled downwards, unheeded in her pain.
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"Your Majesty." The Prosecutor's bow was stiff, hardly a bow at all, more insult that courtesy, really. But she expected nothing different from him.
She played along. Politics, wars, alliances had all been ingrained into her as she grew up, her father eager that she be a good queen after his passing. She bowed her head, silently, acknowledging him, but giving him no title. Curious how she had forgotten none of her father's teachings.
"Your Majesty. We have heard a lot these past few days. He have heard of the tormented souls and ruined lives the defendant left in her wake. We have heard of children taken from their parents, of magic stolen, of the depravation and murder. We've heard of lovers separated and of marriages forced upon others. We have heard_"
"Might as well save some for the closing arguments, Gramps... Don't wanna run out..."
"Your Honour!" The Prosecutor stumbled on the word. A peasant was a peasant no matter where she sat.
Granny, for her part, recovered the use of her slacked jaw. A latent angered simmered in her generally, but it never failed to bubble up when the Prosecutor spoke.
"If that is an objection, Miss Swan_"
"It is, Your Honour."
"On what grounds?" The Prosecutor smirked knowing he had caught Emma.
"On the grounds of general fuckery!"
There were snickers from the seats behind her. Emma cursed herself for her fly by the seat of your pants approach, but it seemed that both she and Granny agreed on the basic principle description of the Prosecutor's words.
"Sustained." And Granny brought down the gavel. It was going to leave a mark on that pristine table.
The prosecutor swallowed thick but regrouped quickly. Snow studied him with as much detachment as she could muster. There would have to be a time of reckoning with King George.
"For all the accusations brought forth to this court, we still must hear your case. We have heard from you daughter, reluctant though that statement was. But the court, the citizens of Storybrooke, need to hear it from you. They need to hear from you how many attempts there were on your life. On that of your husband. How your throne and your station were taken from you by way of lies and deceit. How you, a child still, were forced into the woods to survive the defendant's murderous intent. Please, Your Majesty, recount for the court. How many times did the defendant try to kill you? How many times did she try to kill your daughter?"
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Regina had lost track herself. She had promised herself, every time she'd failed, that she would stop trying only when she stopped drawing breath. Killing Snow, getting rid of her, getting the score settled, was all that helped her survive. And that was before she realised that her life had never been hers to live. When she did, when she understood that she had never been more than a convenient puppet, killing Snow was the only thing that was truly hers. The only purpose that was her own.
She studied Emma, she regarded the fingers that remained laced through hers, steady, unflinching. She expected nothing but disgust from Emma from here on in. She prepared for it. And still, their fingers remained laced. Like the last of the summer wine, she supposed. She committed the feeling to memory. Nothing good in her life had ever lasted long enough. Memory was all she had. For better and for worse.
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Snow regarded her daughter, studied her, the firm set of the jaw- that came from Snow; the eyes that changed with her emotions, between her blue and James' green. She looked into those eyes and waited for the anger, for the resentment. Her daughter had come back to her already in Regina's clutches. Her fists clenched in anger. There would probably never come a time where she could forgive Regina, that she would stop hating her. Snow wondered what she could possibly say that would not damn her one way or another. Gloss over history and Emma- her Emma- might include her in her life; confront it head on and risk losing her daughter just to gain a little payback.
She hated memory. She hated having her memory returned.
.
.
She dragged herself from her birthing bed. She should have had her baby in her arms and an army of attendants and her adoring husband looking on but all that was left was the plush decoration of an affluent castle, the warmth of the fires that did not reach her bones. Her body rebelled against her, refused her command to move. Only one thought pushed her forward: make sure that Emma made it out of there. Because Emma was their hope and Emma would come back. She would come back and find them and avenge them.
Her body cried for the baby she should be nursing, for the comfort and safety of James' arms. But in seconds all was lost: her daughter gone, her true love dying on the floor. Her stepmother towering over her, demanding her daughter.
Snow felt triumph wash over her, heal her body and her heart: Emma was away. They had won. Regina could do her worst now, but they had won.
She looked up at Regina and through her tears there was challenge and triumph. "You're going to lose. I know that now."
.
.
"I'm not sure. Lost track, I think." Her hand went to her chest clutching at a pendant that had not been there since the day she had met James. The black fairy dust was long gone but it had been a comfort for far too long to be forgotten. Snow looked at her child and there was no condemnation, no anger in that clear gaze. Emma was much more like James than herself. Easy to anger, easy to forgiveness. "Probably about as many times as I tried to kill her myself."
.
.
The Hunter's back, clad in her father's army uniform, was the last familiar thing. When it disappeared behind a tree, all that was left was the fear and a pretty gown that protected her neither from cold nor rain nor the sting of the night chill. For that first night, Snow cowered by a clump of trees, shivering with the cold, with the fear, with the loneliness.
She missed her father, she missed Regina. She missed her mother. The real one, not the one that had given birth to her and of whom she had only the stories and the paintings hanging on the walls of almost every room, but the one that had smiled at her and taught her to ride a horse without fear. The one that had let her crawl into bed with her until her father had opposed it because Snow was a young lady and she should not be mollycoddled, so that she'd grow brave like her dear mother and her father.
She wiped away at the tears that fell stubbornly and burrowed into the gown. She did not feel brave. She was nothing but a disappointment to her dear mother and to her father. She prayed then. She prayed to the fairies to come and take her away to her dear mother or to her father. She wanted Regina. She wanted the safety of her. But that could not be now because of Regina's betrayal. That angered her. She'd thought that Regina would always be hers, would always belong to her. Regina was her choice. She'd always been very aware of her possessions. She'd always worried Regina would do something that would upset father, afraid that he would reconsider letting Snow keep her. She sniffled again and again, for her father, now lost to her, for her mother and for Regina. For herself.
A blue light shimmered in the forest then. Snow wished she had not been in the habit of listening to the conversations of the kitchen maids when they told stories of unspeakable horrors in the forest. She was certain that such monsters would be coming for her now.
But when the blue light materialised, it was no monster. It was a fairy.
Snow would never forget her first encounter with one. The fairy had told her all would be well, but that she should leave. She should make haste and leave her father's kingdom where she'd never be safe from the Evil Queen.
It shocked her then. She knew of course, that Regina had ordered her dead and why. And yet, this was more shocking, to hear Regina referred to by that moniker for the very first time. To hear that there was no chance for her to go back. That they would never make amends.
She felt silly, very, very silly because in her heart of hearts she had imagined that Regina would regret her actions, would come after her and take her home amidst tears and cries of forgiveness. As the fairy spoke, she was told to protect herself. That the Queen would always be her enemy, that she should never be trusted, that every word the Queen had spoken in kindness to her had been a lie.
Snow hated Regina then. She hated her with all that she had in her heart. The fairy told her of weapons, of a substance so powerful that it could reduce anyone to a bug that could easily be crushed with a sole finger. Told her where to find it. How to get to it. What to barter for it.
And when Snow had been too afraid to let go of her tree, to stand and walk in the direction the fairy pointed her to, The Blue fairy simply conjured up a crystal vial with a silver stopper.
"Do not hesitate, child. If the opportunity comes, seize it. Do not waste it. It is very rare, the last in our land." Snow took the vial with a solemn expression on her face, a fierceness in her heart. "Remember, child, the Queen is Evil and she is your enemy. Do what you must to survive. Call for me whenever you need help."
Snow repeated like a mantra: Regina is bad. Regina is bad. Regina is bad. As soon as the fairy twinkled out, she sat on the wet ground, hugged her knees to her chest and told herself that none of the embraces or kisses, none of the soothing words or the encouraging smiles had even been true.
And she resented Regina even more. She clutched at the vial hanging from a silver chain at her neck. She would use it if she had the opportunity. She thought of her father, her kind, kind father dead, cold in that coffin. And she swore that she would use anything- everything- she could lay her hands on to… defeat her. The Queen. She would defeat the Queen.
It would be years until she let herself think of Regina as her mother again. Twenty-eight of which were spent under a curse.
.
.
"Your Highness. I understand these memories are painful, but we do need to hear from you. Silence is not acceptable."
"Huh." Snow shrugged as if the movement of the shoulders could push away at the bitter taste in her mouth. "I wonder why, though..."
"I would appreciate if the witness could simply reply to the question. Questioning is for the court, not for the witnesses." Snow shook her head, a pained look of disappointment.
"I thought we were here to get answers. All of us."
"Your Majesty." The Prosecutor's patience seemed to wear thin. "May I respectfully remind you that one this one occasion, you are a witness for the court whether or not a Queen." Snow nodded and that seemed to appease the Prosecutor. "Your Majesty." The tone was an entreaty to start again. The Prosecutor's patience was back, the voice kind. "You were quite young when the defendant first tried to kill you." It was not a question, not really, but the inflection on the Prosecutor's voice claimed a reply.
"I had turned 16. Right after she had my father killed."
"The defendant," And his finger swept the room to end up pointing at Regina. "Sent you into the woods with a guard from your father's army with instructions to slaughter you and bring your heart as proof."
"The Huntsman. He was not of my father's guard. But he was a good man."
"One that died here in Storybrooke."
"His heart failed him. He had a good heart but it failed him."
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He would never not protect Snow. That was the way of things, how he was designed. What the Huntsman had told him so long ago, he'd kept to himself. What good would it do to Snow to carry one more burden? He never told her that the Queen took the Huntsman's heart as payback. Or that the man had factually forfeited his freedom for hers. What good would it do?
He spared her all he could.
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"The time to remember the Huntsman's death, our late sheriff, will come. Let there be no doubt," The Prosecutor turned his back to Snow and addressed the crowd. "Because he died at the hands of this murderer. Not 29 years ago, but less than a year ago. When all the excuses had run out. But the time for the Huntsman to be heard will come. For now," He returned his gaze to Snow, and grown woman or not, she could not help the shiver of apprehension. "Let us concern ourselves with the usurpation of your throne. She sent you into the woods, to your death, because she wanted the throne that was lawfully yours." The Prosecutor's voice oozed sympathy for the pathetic orphan he wanted Snow to be seen as.
Snow thought she might throw up if he dared touch her to complete the picture of the sympathetic man. "She wanted you gone because you were the first in line to the throne. Because you were… are… well, prettier than her."
The trouble with lies is that they have short wobbly legs and they cannot run for long. Snow's eyes lowered to James' ring, to all that it meant.
She gave me a poisoned apple because she thought I was prettier than her.
She found James in the room without having to look for him. They had that. Maybe that was True Love. Or it was just that they had this awareness of each other. His green eyes smiled at her. So much like Emma, so quick to anger and quick to forgive. She drew strength from them.
.
.
Snow wanted to confess. She spent an in ordinate amount of time rehearsing the words, hoping for a forgiving combination of them that would let James see that she was just a child, that she had not done it on purpose. That it was Cora that had truly killed Daniel. That Regina was mad with grief and could not see her mother as the true culprit.
They were starting their married life. There should be no secrets between them. Secrets would drive them apart. Truth was their glue. That ring on her finger, his mother's last sacrifice. She wanted to be worthy of all of that. She wanted to start their life with truth, as the sex would not even be a novelty between them at that point. But by then, she was the only one that actually knew Regina. For everyone else, she was just the evil that persecuted poor Snow White.
Charming believed that she was shaken by the appearance of the evil queen. His anger was righteous because Snow was just someone that needed protection. So when James made his way to their chambers, she found it better to fall into his arms, to keep her secret. James was so strict with his lines about good and evil and secrets were, she had come to understand, the key to a solid marriage.
Of all the words she had rehearsed, the only ones that came out were the easy ones.
"I love you." How strange - she had helped destroy a life by telling a secret and now was starting hers by keeping it.
.
.
"She gave me that apple because I told her secret. " A cold silence fell in the room. She closed her eyes. Tears rolled silently down her pale cheeks. She could feel the eyes on her, the judgement, the condemnation. Or maybe it was all in her head.
"Not because you are prettier than her?" The Prosecutor intoned incredulous, the acid again churning in his stomach.
"No."
"Because you told her secret?" The Prosecutor fingered the roll of Tums in his pocket. He hated weaknesses such as this one but the acid in his stomach burned all the way up to his throat.
"Yes." Snow took the tissue Granny handed her with a soft smile.
"No secret in the world is worth a life." Screw it, the Prosecutor decided and did quick work of the pack of Tums, slipping one into his mouth.
"I told her secret. I told her secret and she lost her love. Because of me."
"But what about your father?" The Prosecutor smoothed his hand over his exquisite silk tie, enjoying this one little success: the anti-acid was working. He was going to have to pack a few bags of this Tums business if they ever went back home.
"My father was not her true love. Daniel. His name was Daniel. He died because I did not keep her secret."
Snow thought of Emma and her hand on Regina's pregnant abdomen and felt dizzy, sick. Angry. Jealous. Something akin to when her father used to send her to her chambers; when her father looked at Regina like a prized mare and told her gently to go to her chambers and locked the door behind her.
Snow had felt something from the very beginning she was not exactly proud of: Regina belonged to her, like a thing, a chattel, a doll.
"She gave me the poisoned apple…" She could not look at Regina in the eye. She could not stand to go back so many years and feel the wide eyed love and fascination give way to so much resentment and hate. "I took her true love from her. She gave me that apple because she was forced to marry my father, to love me and care for me, the one that cost her everything."
Was that enough truth?
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Something tight clenched in Emma's chest, something a little mean, a little vulgar, a smallness of the heart that she hated even as she could not stop herself from feeling: jealous. How stupid was it, to be jealous of a dead guy. Someone Regina had suffered so much over. But he was the someone she inflicted so much pain over. The linchpin to all of this. Hearing Snow confess, doing the math in her own head, well, that was just… a pile up of 20 cars on Love Highway- and where had that thought come from? She would never be loved like that. She had never been loved like that. And she goes and falls- oh shit- for the girl that actually felt it, that actually had the been there done that to say. Her fingers stilled, her mouth dried like a desert. For once, she had something that was only hers. And yes, she was quite aware of how childish and selfish and obnoxious she was at that moment. She worked to swallow the knot in her throat but the damned thing just grew and tightened and took more and more of her space to breathe and settled on her chest as if it were the size of an elephant. Because coming from Snow, the words Daniel and True Love were just a rusty spoon that was having a very good go at ripping her heart out.
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Regina felt Emma's fingers still. She felt them going cold and felt the distance between them grow and widen. Snow's voice grated, was salt in every wound. Regina let it fade into the background, little more that a swarm of bees, vaguely annoying, vaguely threatening. The damning of Snow's testimony no longer registered. Everything about this trial was a foregone conclusion. It did not worry her, because there was a twisted comfort in knowing your end, far easier that living day in, day out, loving someone and not knowing when that person would be ripped from you. This was easier by far, knowing she would not outlive Emma. It was reassuring. She could do it. She could do it as long as Emma held her hand through the process. She had promised herself she wouldn't lose herself in teenage fantasies of valiant Knights and miracle resolutions. She could live on whispers of happiness as long as she remembered who she was and what her role in the story was. But it all hinged on Emma not letting go. Just as long as Emma did not let go.
But Emma was there, fingers still, cold, as if she was somewhere else, lost to her. Look at me Emma, please look at me. Lost to her. Please Emma. Where did you go? Snow's voice was still droning and all Regina could think was that she had lost again. That Emma was lost to her and she could not find her. Even if their fingers were still laced together.
Her free hand clenched at the arm of chair, the wood unforgiving to her short fingernails. She swallowed thick and raised her head, chin pointed. She'd stand. She'd keep on standing but only because it was a life time habit and her body would not bend.
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"Surely, Your Majesty, you were acting in self-defence." Ah, yes. That was a handy concept. She never did leave her father's kingdom. That would have been self-defence. She never did so much as leave the woods surrounding the palace, the black fairy dust dangling from the chain on her neck. Truth was, she wanted Regina to see her. She wanted to be the one to kill the Queen, face to face, the ultimate intimacy.
She had stolen from the Queen's guards, and from the nobles that swore fealty to the Queen. Self preservation was a very handy concept indeed. Like an arrow shot from a safe place.
"Self-defence. Yes."
The Prosecutor was talking and the sound seemed to come with un-synced with the movements of his mouth. All Snow could see was Regina standing so close to Emma, their fingers touching.
.
.
"Go now, Snow dear." Her father was a good man. She was well aware of her privilege in life, to be so well loved by her father. Any other king, any other man would have stopped at nothing for a male heir. Her father was content with her alone. He sat her on his knee and taught her to be a queen. They were the world to each other since her dear mother had died. But she was also well aware of the things she could not be to her father. The kitchen maids spoke loud and in rambunctious tones even if they respected their king, loved him dearly. But they spoke.
They spoke of the Queen and of her scared doe eyes when the king passed her by. They spoke of her bed clothes and of her intimate clothes and how the queen would bear pretty children. How they all hoped for a boy.
Snow hovered around Regina, willing the mystery of the bed clothes and the intimate clothes to be revealed. She did not understand what they meant, they spoke in half words instead of the loud brash tones they used for every other conversation.
She wanted to know if that had anything to do with the way Regina's fear gripped at her whenever her father told her to go to her chambers and to be a god girl. She wanted to know why her father looked at Regina that way, that way that made Regina's eyes lose all light and chased away at even the smallest smiles Snow managed to conjure out of her. Snow wanted to know if it had anything to do with the way Regina's fingers tightened around the arm of the chair or the clothes she wore as if she was trying not to drown.
But Snow was a good girl. She was a good daughter and her father was good and kind and she walked to her chambers because Regina was not hers alone.
Then one day, something was wrong. She was not allowed into Regina's chambers. Cora's voice whispered from inside. She had grown to fear Cora from the deepest places in her heart. Snow was ingenious. She knew her castle well (indulged in every single whim) and she entered Regina's chambers by the secret door. She regretted it the moment she could see anything. There was so much blood, all of it on Regina. She thought this is it, she is lost to me. I'm losing another mother, but Cora was there, patting her hand while Regina's fingers tightened around the sheet so tight they were white, white, white as snow. There was red blood and white fingers and black hair. That was all.
Snow ran. She ran as fast as she could until she reached her chambers. Then she sat, perfectly composed, perfectly poised trying to unsee all the red. She picked up books and read, took lessons and walks in the bitter cold rain that seemed it would never stop. Anything not to see it. She did not want to see her. She studiously stayed away from the kitchens where everyone was talking in hushed tones. She lost her battle on the second day. Her father was sitting in Regina's chambers, by her bed. She peeked through the door. There was still white and there was still black. But no more red. She made her way in but could not find the words in her, anything kind to say. She remained silent even as her father patted Regina's deathly pale hand. "Don't worry, dear, I still have Snow."
Two good things came out of all that red: she never did get around to having a baby brother and Cora disappeared never to be seen again.
.
.
How different would Regina's life have been had Snow not been on a spooked horse? Those fingers would have caressed instead of killed, her voice would have sung instead of cursing.
Snow wanted to cry. She wanted to be out of here. This was private. This was hers. How could she possibly choose between Emma's happiness and Regina finally being punished?
.
.
The days leading up to Emma's birth had been fraught with preparations for the birth and for the curse coming. Snow led her people in this as she did in everything else. She was a Queen and her father had taught her well. But at night, in the dreams she never told Charming about, she remembered Regina. The one with the vacant stare after she had miscarried her child.
She often wished she was not in the habit of listening to the maids' conversations in the kitchen. She had hated them all. For saying that Regina was useless. What about her? Regina was supposed to take care of her, to be her mother. Surely that should be enough? Why wish for more? Why was it so important that Regina produced an heir? She was enough. And this was, surely, a sign that things should remain the way they were. She ran up to Regina's chambers, a tray with tea and a rose. "You don't need to worry, Regina. You still have me." And she smiled. She was fifteen and she smiled because she was sure, in her heart of hearts that she was enough because Regina loved her.
Regina did not drink that tea. She did not smile a kind smile again. Only a mockery of that smile, something twisted and angry, violent.
And in those weeks leading up to Emma's birth, Snow finally understood that she could not have replaced Regina's baby no matter what. It took someone growing inside her to understand that Regina's loss that day had no possible salve, no tea could make better, no words could sooth.
By then it was too late.
.
.
A baby. Regina's baby. Life was cruel and wonderfully inventive. A baby. The Prosecutor spoke on and on. The tone was dramatic but she could not, for the life of her make out the words. She just couldn't. She knew everything that he would say. She could guess everything he would ask. And her heart was not in it. Regina had become evil. Maybe that day that Cora had locked herself with Regina in her chambers. She could almost pin point it to that day, so yes, maybe Regina had become evil, not always been that way.
But the fact remained and was history now: they were here, they had been cursed. Her daughter had grown up an abandoned child that would never fully heal and she had missed all that time with her. She had lost her father. No matter what he had done to Regina. And she had lost her home. No matter what had happened to Regina. It did not matter. Regina had taken it all from her. Extenuating circumstances or not, she had taken it all from her. Surely that warranted some punishment. She needed Regina's punishment.
Something in her chest shrivelled, shrunk in embarrassment, in self loathing. But retribution was needed. That was the way of things.
"Your Majesty, I can see you're quite unwell and that your sense of honour dictates that you too have some blame in her choices. But answer, I beg you, this very simple question: does she deserve to go free or does she deserve punishment?"
And it was like being back listening to the impertinent maids speaking about Regina's shortcomings in such unkind way. She was her Regina, her choice and no one else should be allowed to speak ill of her. It was an old, infantile anger, but Storybrooke held its collective breath when instead of answering the question, Snow White simply turned on her father-in-law and asked, softly but with deadly intent "Just about as much as you, King George, for purchasing babies from Rumplestilskin, for having them killed facing off killers for money. For trying to kill them. My Husband. You tried to kill my husband, your purchased son. For cursing me to never conceive a child. You cursed me to never conceive a child. Your heart was broken so you cursed me to never conceive a child of my own. Are you willing to stand trial as well?"
The Prosecutor was too experienced to choke or to let the colour rise in his face. But he stood there, unable to formulate so much as a dismissal, the Tums turning to chalk in his mouth.
"I believe that it is your turn now, Sheriff. For the defence, I mean." Granny called out to her, and there was a light of battle in her eyes.
~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~
Emma stood and eyed the tub of Tums on the Prosecutor's fingers. Maybe she could lift one without him even noticing. There was a time she'd had mad skills and nimble fingers for lifting interesting property. She was definitely interested in the Tums.
"Snow… who was Daniel? I mean, I think I got the basics by now, you know, male, True Love, losing him drove her crazy… so, yeah… the basics. But for the peanut gallery, please, who was he?" Maybe she should send out for a truckload of Tums because even saying the name out loud was causing the acid to flare up in her stomach.
"The stable boy."
"Not a prince or a powerful wizard or something like that?"
"No. A stable boy." At least that: nothing much of a guy. Emma Swan in a nutshell. No inferiority complex on that front.
"Right, okay. Good looking? Wait, never mind. Not important. Stable boy. What was that in today's currency?"
"Emma?"
"You know, if it was today, he would be what? A doctor? A lawyer?"
"More like… a school dropout working at the local body shop."
"The greedy Evil Queen's- the one that only wanted to get rid of you for your throne- true love? A lowly stable boy?"
"Yes." Emma stuck her hands in her pockets and her expression was one of doubt that pinched at her nose.
"Okay. So… she loses her true love. Is forced – at seventeen - into a marriage with an old guy, to care for a child that was not her own and… right, okay. Peachy little life." Snow nodded. "How did you cause her to lose Daniel… her true love." God, no matter how she chose to say it, it burned in her tongue all the way down to her stomach. "You told a secret. How did that get him killed?" Better. 'Him' was easier to say.
"I told Cora. I told Cora. Oh God, I told Cora."
God, what was it with this people that even when they cried they looked so pretty? She herself looked like crap, red, swollen, bruised, her mouth at an ugly angle. Crying did not look perfect on Emma. What was that all about? "Okay. You told her mother. Then what?"
.
.
Regina looked like the perfect doll in her white gown. Except the smile was gone.
"But… I thought… You were in love."
"So did I. But I was wrong. Daniel has run away. What I had with Daniel wasn't real. It was an infatuation. You see, that's the thing about love. It can come in the most unexpected places. Your father and I have something even more special, because it's not just about the two of us. It's about all of us. We're going to be a family."
.
.
"Then Regina was trying on a wedding gown to marry my father. She said Daniel had run away."
"So she didn't tell you the truth. Why do you think that is?"
Snow shook her head. She'd thought about it often, in the beginning, in the woods. She thought that Regina had started her evil plans to kill her, to kill her father, right on that day. "I don't know."
Emma stopped her pacing and looked at Snow, studying her. "Snow…" Mom.
Snow looked up, a baleful stare. "It has taken me a while and even now I'm not sure. I was a child, Emma. Just a child. And Daniel was dead. Her true love was dead. You should have seen the way she spoke about true love…"
"How, Snow? How did she talk about true love?" Welcome to Jealousyville Amusement Park. For the price of admission, you get the inferiority complex, the heartache and a splitting headache."
"She said it was the greatest magic of all. She had stars in her eyes."
"And then Cora…"
"And then Cora ripped his heart out. In front of her. The very next night."
"So she did not tell you, a privileged child, that the love of her life had been killed by her mother and that her only shot at happiness had died with him." She waited a beat for Snow to catch up. "Wow... ruthless, heartless bitch…"
Snow stole a glance at Regina, trying to find that girl from so long ago. Emma snuck one more glance at the Prosecutor's Tums. Hidden by his briefcase.
"Some bridges, Emma, we cross on our own, no matter who drove us to them."
"Meaning?" Emma spoke, her back to the prosecutor, just wandering around the room.
"Meaning... I can feel sorry for what happened to her. I do. But I don't think I will ever forgive her. I don't think I will ever… not hate her for what she has done to us. To all of us. To me. To you. I don't think I will. I cannot find in what we've heard so far a justification for any of it. I'm so sorry."
"You and David… James… It's true love, isn't it?" Gotcha! She closed the tub of Tums in her palm before walking to face Snow again.
"Yes, it is." She smiled at James, a private little smile, unhurried, so much time ahead of you kind of smile. Emma popped the first Tums into her mouth.
"What if he had been killed? What if his heart had been ripped from his chest- from you- before you had even lived?" Snow's smile extinguished. Emma chewed her Tums praying for it to do what it said on the pack. "I hear that not having someone you love can make you do unspeakable things…"
Snow did not speak. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Emma touched her hand in sympathy. "I think I don't have any further questions, Granny." She spoke through a voice that had gone gravel.
~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~
"Will you stay tonight?" Regina's voice was small. She needed Emma and she was not used to needing anyone, not like that, not so hard that it was physical. Snow's tears had brought her no joy, no satisfaction, just weariness to her bones. Emma was distant, strange and that hurt.
"I need to speak to Leroy, check on Henry, on Snow. I need to prepare. We're next." The weight of the fairy dust running out was heavy on her mind, on her heart; the need to start talking to people, to get some to testify for the defence… time was running out and she was lost as to what to do, how to tip the scales. How to save Regina. But it was more than that. Emma was tough. She was born tough and had developed thick skin. But she had some tender in her. And that tender bruised easily. And tonight, she wanted to work, to do something that would let her work away the acid still churning in her stomach despite three peach Tums.
Blue closed the cell bars once she had removed Regina's collar and her stare was almost a raised middle finger that had little business on the face of the mother superior of all fairydom. Emma gave the fairy a pointed look. She approached the bars and leaned her face against the rusty iron. "Not tonight." Regina's heart was breaking so loud she could hear it from where she stood. She touched her face across the bars and Regina simply leaned into the touch, against the bars that immediately heated up to her touch.
"I'm sorry, Emma."
"For what? For loving him?"
"For not being better… good."
"What are you talking about?" She felt it more than saw it, the fairy hovering around them. Emma held Regina's hand against the bar and shot the fairy a dirty look. "Do you mind?"
The fairy's face twisted in anger. Emma tossed her the tub of Tums. "Help yourself. Outside." Blue had the good sense- or the sense of preservation- to walk away then, the look on her face one of tempestuous grievance. "Regina, what are you talking about?"
"All of it. I'm so sorry. I didn't expect you'd last this long."
"Regina, dumb it down for me, please."
"The staying. Everybody_"
"Leaves, yeah, I know, you said that before. Is that what you think I'm doing?" Regina merely nodded because if she had uttered so much as a sound she would be doing a Snow, crying big fat tears too. "Oh man! No, listen, no, it's not that at all."
Regina bit her tears down, fiercely. "I don't blame you. I know what I've done. Your mother is right, you know? Some bridges we cross on our own no matter who pushed us there." And this was a goodbye, Regina knew it in her bones, in her breaking heart. "But I am sorry. For once I regret what I have done."
Emma pushed against the bars, already regretting her decision to not stay. She was not good with words, total crap, actually, and now words were all she had to sort this mess.
"Regina, I'm not going to gloss over it. You had some fucked up shit going on. And you made your choices and we are all living with them now. But… shit… Tell me something: what's the difference between Snow and Jefferson?" Regina could find no words, no air to reply. "No? The way I see it, my mother screwed you over far more than he did, didn't she? But here's the thing. You took it all from her. Her kingdom, her true love, her daughter. Her happy ending. You took it all." This was it. The end. A single tear ran down Regina's cheek then. Emma touched it with her finger as if it were precious. "Jefferson remembers everything. Every single day of those 28 years without his daughter, seeing her there, every day. It nearly killed him. But Snow? She did not remember a thing. She never missed it, she never grieved it. She simply did not know. That was a small mercy a mother gives a daughter. I know you, Regina. I know what you did. I'm not going anywhere."
Regina's heart was beating fast, fast, fast, painfully fast in her chest. "You were pulling away. What happened today?"
What was the point of pretending? "Daniel."
"What of him?"
"He's your true love. Like… I mean, it's not enough that you lost the guy you loved- who was kind and sweet and perfect- he's your true love. And he's dead. He's never going to screw up, he's never going to say the wrong thing, never going to have bad breath... You did all of this for him. I'm just… me. How am I supposed to compete with that?" Emma cupped Regina's cheek in her hand and touched her forehead to Regina's. "He was everything to you. And given the fact that he died for you, I'm pretty sure you were everything to him. And I just…" She sighed, unable to continue.
Emma was jealous. Of what, dear god, of what? What was there in her that deserved or warranted that? "Oh Emma… Daniel was everything to me. When I was worthy. But you are… more." She shrugged because she did not speak of feelings and it was really bad timing to start now, with no practice to fall back into- when she had everything to lose now. She sucked in air. "The hope that you have given me… nothing else, Emma... no one else. Not even Daniel...She shrugged because she did not rea Because the bigger the despair, the more difficult the hope." She swallowed through the lump in her throat. "I'm all used up Emma. I'm sorry. I wish I could be bright and new for you. After the life you've had because of me, you deserve something better. Something new, without defects, without baggage and compromise and all of this. I'm sorry."
"Regina, you're not some hand me down shoes."
"I know."
"No, you don't. I'm sorry I made you feel like that. You're not the only one with issues, alright? I just… god, I'm an idiot, alright? I feel this here," Emma rubbed at her chest almost violently, "and I don't really know how. I mean, I don't know what to do with it or how I got it, you know, I just … I got this here and I wish you had it too because I don't know how to get rid of it. But you had him and you did all of this because of him and no one ever did anything for me and I can't help it but to wish that you'd curse a world or two because of me. Just so that I'd know how it feels to be loved like that. But of course you won't. It's just that it's here…" Emma rubbed at the burn in her stomach, her throat, her chest. She should buy some shares in Tums, make it work for her. "And I wished you would have it too so that I could ask you what to do with it…"
"Emma…" The bars were burning into Regina's hands and cheeks but it hardly registered, it was nothing compared to the dull throbbing in her heart, a mixture of pain and relief that Emma was not yet trying to pull away from her, that Emma was confessing to something so… something she too did not have words for and she couldn't help it but to want this, to want it so, so badly that her body pressed even more into Emma's though there were bars between them.
To Emma it sounded like the beginning of an admission of incapability. "Don't worry Regina." And it was vital that Regina did not say the words, that she did not take from her this hope. "I don't need you to feel the same. He was your true love. And, man, I can't believe I keep on saying that out loud. I can feel it enough for both of us, alright? I am not embarrassed. Only rarely is it painful."
"Emma, I would if I could." Emma looked at her as if she could not understand the words. "If I could still curse worlds I would do it if you asked it of me." Diffidence coloured Regina's smile .
"You would?" Emma's smile was slowly brilliant, radiant and, like a magnet, it pulled at Regina's smile, making it more defined, surer.
"To somewhere horrible. Absolutely horrible"
Screw it, Emma thought. If you cannot bury your skeletons somewhere safe, the least you can is to make them dance. "Say that with an evil cackle and I'll bring you the most decadent breakfast I can think of tomorrow."
Regina didn't so much as look around to ensure privacy. She simply let it rip, an evil cackle that echoed through the cave. "To somewhere horrible. Absolutely horrible."