A/N: Sorry for another cliffhanger! I promise to tackle the confrontation- one of!- you've been waiting for next chapter, but I was struggling with how to bring things together, and feel like I've finally set a scene I can work with.
(Also, I know I've said this before in another fic, but I will once again apologise for my description of rats! As the mother of three sneaky ladies myself, I must say the Queen is at fault in her opinion here, not me :p )
"Emma?"
A familiar voice gets carried by the early morning fog from the direction of the rose garden, and the blonde stiffens. Taking a sharp breath in through her nose, her lip curls back to show the angry set of her teeth before she rounds on the woman pinned to the grass court at her mercy.
"What the fuck did you do?!"
She demands; fury so abundant in her tone that her voice cracks.
"Nothing! Do you think I did this!? You think I want this?!"
The Queen snaps back, her own words coming out in a desperate croak that has a lot more to do with the way she cranes her neck to watch the viper sliding slowly over her left thigh. Whether Emma believes her or not appears not to matter, as the younger woman throws her a murderous look before plunging them both into a veil of shadow.
"Emma?"
Regina calls, stopping beside the empty jousting list and studying a long-forgotten lance half-buried in the sand.
How many summer evenings were spent out here; commanding all those around me to enjoy themselves as I willed it?
She sighs, recalling several occasions where she'd had her father make a discreet list of those in her company that had let their smiles and manners falter.
I had everything so wrong...
Yes, she can see that now, but she feels the uncomfortable knot of unease in her stomach grow ever tighter as she understands that the version of herself the Saviour has been spending time with doesn't believe she'd any mistakes at all.
So stubborn. Foolish.
She thins her lips unhappily, realising just how drastically things have changed. Now, rather than forcing her companions to do and act as she pleases, she spends the majority of her evenings hoping they will show up or invite her over so that they might decide on an enjoyable pastime together. Something small. Something innocuous. No airs and graces, no bloodshed- well, for the most part, Miss Swan does have a habit of collecting clumsy nicks and scrapes with a frequency to rival Henry's!- no forced merriment.
No...
When she spends her time with Snow, with Mal, with Emma, they share a drink and idle chatter spoken quietly, amiably, usually accompanied by laughter. She no longer feels the need to assess and analyse every comment, every reaction; searching for the bad, the insult, the negative connotations behind kind words. True, it had taken some getting used to, not just for herself, but for the others too, but she's been lucky to have found herself such understanding teachers; willing to let her falter- willing to let her fail- without revoking all further invitations to try again.
Who would have thought Emma might have it in her to teach another how to be friendly?
She smirks; so used to the blonde's prickly moods by now that she barely pays them any notice, and close enough to the younger woman that she's permitted to tease her without fear of crossing the line.
No. She lets me pile it on pretty thick when I want to, and rather than bristle or call me out, she usually just ends up grinning at me, and it's so hard to believe the way I used to feel towards her. She lets me wind her up something rotten, and in spite of her best attempts to convince people otherwise, she is friendly, you just have to earn it.
"Please be alright."
She murmurs, with no way of knowing she mimics the Queen's words used to lure the blonde down to meet her in her house in Storybrooke. The words used to coax out an admission she would never dare ask for herself; far too wary that the younger woman might simply laugh at her.
Or, worse, that she would offer no response at all, save for slipping quietly out of her life.
Continuing down the path further out into the grounds, she begins to wonder if she'd actually heard anything at all.
Yes, you heard something. You heard someone shouting... Screaming. You heard a scream.
She swallows as she quickens her pace, and she supposes all that's keeping her from breaking into a sprint is an uneasy certainty niggling at the back of her mind.
That wasn't Emma. I've heard that woman shout, whoop, crow, and cuss to high heaven, and I know it wasn't her... Yet I recognised it perfectly.
Not knowing what to do with any of the unsavoury scenarios this train of thought threatens to take her to, she pushes it aside and continues her brisk pace as she heads towards the games area; coming to a sudden stop at the top of the steps leading down to the croquet-court.
The grass here has been trimmed where its surroundings remain hellishly overgrown, and she spies a dip in the lawn where blades wet with dew lie flattened.
Strange...
Yes, strange, but nothing compared to the silver hoops driven into the soil at suggestive points around this visible indent. She rubs her finger nervously over her lips; her dark gaze fixated on those four accusatory hoops before a sound to her right shakes her from her trance with a shriek.
"Get back!"
She pleads fearfully of the snake slithering slowly towards her; its scaley body black and smooth, its snout blunt and triangular.
Oh, god, get back! Get back!
She continues to scream at the beast in her head, before common sense overcomes her fear and she drives the serpent away with a series of sharp bursts of energy. It takes the hint and slips off into the weeds, but not before raising its head to offer her an angry flicker of its tongue that seems bizarrely true to character.
Emma's character.
"Where the hell are you now?"
She grumbles as she turns back towards the castle; certain that the snake had been Emma's doing. Certain that the others are close.
"Really, dear?"
The Queen coughs, pushing herself up from the dirt floor of the dungeon with a snarl. Dust settles around them as the thick smoke that had engulfed their journey dissipates slowly.
"You know, you don't have to be so dramatic about it every time you do that."
She scolds, eyes narrowed as she notes that once again Emma stands free outside the bars of the cell, while she's trapped inside. She considers criticizing the blonde for her lack of ingenuity before demanding what she plans to do next, but it's clear from the way the younger woman paces uneasily back and forth that she won't have an answer.
"Given that I learned most of that shit from you, are you really surprised?"
Emma grumbles, coming to a halt and standing with her hands on her hips facing the stone steps leading up into the darkness and the servent's quarters beyond.
"What the fuck?"
She demands, although the question appears to be rhetorical, and the Queen imagines that, ordinarily, Emma's displeasure might lend her a smirk, but she remains shaken by her recent close encounter with the viper, and she's not all too enamoured with her current predicament either.
"How is she here?"
The younger woman turns around to ask, and the brunette splays her palms with an irritable huff as she points out
"The woman separated me from her very soul, how on earth should I know what she's doing here?... I doubt it has all too much to do with me, anyway."
"Not too much to do with you?!"
Emma frowns incredulously.
"Indeed. I believe a more likely bet is that she's here for you, dear. Hurrying to your rescue..."
The Queen allows the words to drip from her tongue like honey; not at all surprised when, rather than relief, the blonde's eyes flash with something far more dangerous.
"I don't need to be rescued. I'm not the one whose number is almost up."
"So you say, yet you've been stalling something rotten about finishing me off."
The brunette muses, allowing herself just a hint of a smirk as the double-entendre tickles her.
"Aren't you in a bit of a foolish position to be bitching at me? I conjured a snake, I'm sure I can manage a few rats."
Emma warns, and the Queen thins her lips with a sullen expression; longing to bite back at the idiot blonde, but despising vermin above all else and unwilling to risk sharing her cell with such rotten beasts. She supposes that at least with rats, she might be able to use the hard sole of her boot without the risk of being ambushed by poisonous fangs, but the thought is utterly nauseating, and she's not sure she has the stomach for it.
Curiously, it would seem she's not the only one suffering in this department.
"Are you alright, dear?"
The Queen asks without any notable concern, watching as the blonde leans on the pitted wall she had previously been fucked against. Emma offers little in the way of response save for a withering glance, but the brunette notes that she looks remarkably pale- a feat that's almost impressive in itself- with her lips appearing bloodless and the skin beneath her eyes seeming almost grey. For a moment, the Queen wonders if the blonde's viper might have lashed out at her creator during their little disappearing act from the court, but she imagines that if this were the case, Emma would be on her knees and howling in agony by now.
A delightful thought.
"You look sick, Saviour."
She muses, and Emma shakes her head as she throws her a shaky grin.
"Not at all."
The younger woman counters stubbornly, but the Queen remains thoroughly unconvinced.
You are, I can sense it. Not just by your pallor and the way you're leaning so heavily against rough stone... I can feel it. You've yet to relinquish your bind over me- over my magic- in spite of where we've ended up; perhaps out of mere forgetfulness, but perhaps- and it pains me to admit that I think this more likely- you're not as foolish as you come across. Perhaps you're uncertain whether this cell works in quite the same way as it initially did, now that I've broken its seal with your blood...
The brunette licks her lips as she's forced to allow the younger woman her due.
Well, we wouldn't both be here in one piece if you didn't possess at least a little cunning, Dark One.
She watches curiously as Emma pushes her newly silver curls off of her forehead with an irritable puff of air directed up as though in an attempt to cool herself down.
"Are you perhaps regretting your little show with the raw meat, dear?"
The Queen asks sweetly; stalking towards the door of the cell and curling her hands around the bars. She applies just a little pressure to test the give as she glances down at the heavy lock, and she finds that while the bar across the opening keeps her trapped, there's some detectable movement from the door's hinges where there should be none if the cell's enchantment were in full force.
"Feeling just a little foolish?"
She coos in a mocking parody of sympathy, and when the blonde stalks stiffly into the corner to retch, she feels the bind the younger woman has cast over her power flicker erratically before disappearing altogether and takes the opportunity to test her magic and coax open the lock.
"Oh, dear."
She shakes her head with a loud tut as Emma wipes at her mouth shakily with the back of her hand.
"If it's any consolation, I was mildly impressed you expanded your palate beyond the colour beige."
The Queen simpers, basking in the glower the blonde fixes her with, and she sighs as though growing bored of her teasing and gives a slow flick of her wrist.
"There."
She shrugs, pointing to the glass of water that has appeared beside the younger woman's boot.
"Just how stupid do I look?"
Emma growls, and the brunette raises a brow as she waits to find out the answer for herself.
"It's not poisoned, don't worry..."
She assures, receiving another dirty look which she reciprocates with her best smile.
"No, probably something worse."
Emma agrees, making a motion with her own hand to conjure a tall glass of water which she swallows half of in several large gulps. When she finally lowers the glass, the Queen waits curiously as she begins a slow count in her head, and she's just hit five when the younger woman throws her a startled glance before looking back at the glass by her feet in horror.
Well, my dear, to answer your question, you look pretty stupid indeed.
The Queen smirks, vaguely aware of the sound of shattering glass as Emma drops the rest of her water on the floor, before she collides with the younger woman head on; punishing her with a powerful blast of magic and wrestling the dazed blonde into taking her place in the cell.
"But... The enchantment?!"
Emma gasps, choking on a mouthful of blood before coughing it up to spray down the front of her corset. She seems a little unsteady on her feet, and the Queen wonders idly what internal damage she's done with her harsh blast of fury.
"The enchantment, you bitch!"
The blonde repeats breathlessly.
Evidently not enough damage.
"Don't go calling names, dear, it's uncouth... And you knew yourself you were toeing a thin line expecting that little trick to work twice. Serves you right for being complacent."
The Queen reasons, feeling a great deal more like herself now that she's stood on the side of freedom without a serpent or mallet in sight.
"Fuck you."
The blonde spits; lips a bloodied shock compared to her remaining sickly pallor, but the darker woman takes no offence as she merely primps at her hair and observes her prey curiously. If anything, Emma's resort to simply cussing her out comes as a welcome surprise; harking back to what feels like a lifetime ago when she'd been shackled to her bed and ordered to serve them dinner. Back when she was simply the Saviour. The Sheriff. Regina's- how did the foolish wretch put it again?- best friend.
"Really, dear."
The brunette rolls her eyes, raising a brow when the younger woman pushes hopelessly at the door.
"The enchantment, you bitch..."
The Queen mimics the blonde's dismay with a low chuckle, and she takes a couple of steps back with her hands splayed out to her sides to allow Emma to study her fully.
"That cell has already held one Dark One; it will hold you, Miss Swan... Pity for you that you were reluctant to ruin your spoils."
She muses, sure that she wears some of the Saviour's blood from their previous escapades, but none of her own.
She'd taken care of that.
"You should have had me bleed on that court, dear. Then, perhaps, you'd be in a better position."
The darker woman smiles, inwardly admiring Emma's position just fine as the blonde stands with one hand clutching her side and the other caught in her messy curls with her face a picture of disbelief.
"I'll figure it out."
Emma snaps, and the Queen stares her down in bemusement before pointing out
"You know, the fact that you refuse to take anything lying down would be a lot more impressive if it actually got you anywhere, dear... As I told you; you're all angst and no fun."
"I think you've had your fun with me plenty!"
"At your expense. Against your will of how those situations should have gone, dear... Pardon my saying so, but you're simply proving my point. You held back, and now you're going to pay for it."
"You held back, too."
The blonde growls irritably.
"Not for the same reasons."
"Fuck your reasons! Have you forgotten our fun in the stables already? Maybe I should have fucked you harder..."
"Oh, I don't think I would have liked that."
The brunette replies thoughtfully.
"No, I don't think I would have appreciated you doing so at all, but I wasn't exactly in any position to stop you, was I? And yet..."
"You were in the exact position I wanted you to be in! Don't forget that!"
"Hmm. You seem remarkably fearful that I might be hazy on the particulars of your carnal dominance... You know, sometimes that's a sign of over-compensation."
The Queen confides pleasantly, and Emma shakes her head with a roll of her eyes.
"You're not going to get to me that easy, Your Majesty."
"Pity."
The darker woman sighs, feigning momentary disappointment, before reapplying her smirk.
"Oh well, I have other ways."
"Yeah?"
Emma scoffs.
"Yes, dear."
"Don't you think your time might be better spent dealing with whatever Madame Mayor's doing here?"
"Oh, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
The darker woman smiles, stalking into the centre of the room and observing the blonde pensively, before repeating the Saviour's crude order the last time they were down here.
"...Strip."
"What?!"
Emma snarls, looking at her captor as though she might be insane, which the Queen finds deliciously humorous.
"You heard me. Obey, or I'll make you. If I have to cut your clothes off of you, I will, and I'll cut deep."
She mimics the younger woman's previous threat, her expression suddenly deadly serious.
"I am not playing this game right now! Sooner or later, Regina's going to take her search down here!"
The blonde hisses impatiently.
"Why else do you think I'm asking you to strip, Saviour? I've seen the prize, and, lovely as it is, I've never been one for monotony, and I certainly wouldn't deign to sink so low as copying your move unless doing so for a potentially delectable reason."
"I-"
"-You wanted to know what your precious Mayor thinks of you- what she truly thinks of you- and now's your chance to find out."
"Go fuck yourself."
"I'm sorry, dear, but I believe I'm on the side of the door that makes the rules... Strip."
The brunette orders more forcefully, and for a truly glorious moment, she wonders if Emma might be on the verge of tears, before the blonde clenches her jaw with a wounded glower and begins yanking at the bindings to her corset with a wince.
"You think I care? You think I care about any of this?!"
"Oooh, that's an easy one. Yes."
The Queen grins as she watches the blonde tug stiff leather from her slim frame with little finesse. The inner rods and creases to the lining have left imprints on her skin which the darker woman drinks in appreciatively as she motions that Emma should continue undressing until she stands bare.
It would seem this is not an endeavour the blonde finds agreeable, as, rather than removing the tight leather of her pants, she folds her arms over her chest and glares icily back at the Queen through the bars; her breathing ragged, wet, and suggestive that there's more at stake than just her pride if the cause isn't dealt with soon. Curiously, however, she seems to pay her physical state little mind beyond striving to maintain a sense of modesty.
"I warned you."
The brunette points out, but she allows no further time for the younger woman to reconsider her insolence and instead slashes the remainder of the Saviour's outfit to ribbons with a cruel flick of her wrist.
"Ah!"
Emma hisses, fresh blood trickling down her legs from a number of crude lacerations, and she swipes her hand over a moderately deep cut to her hip as though checking that her newly sustained injuries are real, before snapping furiously
"What the fuck!?"
"Careful now, some of those wounds look nasty, and while you're stuck in there, there's not a thing you can do about it..."
"Oh, what, and I'm supposed to believe you will if I'm a good girl and play nice?"
The blonde growls, several drops of blood pattering down onto the dirt floor to create scarlet dimes, but she seems neither to notice nor to care as she seethes with rage in the face of her smiling captor.
"Oh, no, dear. Not me..."
The Queen shakes her head, touching the tip of her tongue to the centre of her upper lip as she appreciates the scene on offer. Making a small movement with her fingers, she instigates a second frenzied attack; this time slashing the blonde's discarded corset to pieces, lest Emma get it in her head that she might use it to save her dignity.
"Hey!... I don't... Why are you doing this to her?"
The younger woman asks wearily, knowing she's not going to get any more of an answer than when she's asked the question before.
"Because I can. And, because I don't care a single iota for that miserable bitch's feelings... What about you?"
The Queen tags on quietly, surprising the blonde for just a second before Emma simply shrugs.
"No... I don't care."
"Good. That's good, dear. Why create drama when you can have fun instead?"
"I don't want to have fun. I want you dead."
Emma counters miserably.
"Well, one of those things is in your current realm of possibility, while the other very much isn't. Your move, Saviour... It changes very little so far as I'm concerned."
The Queen advises, allowing herself an openly lecherous study of pale flesh before she points a finger towards the ceiling. A series of muffled thuds and what sounds like a large vase or statue breaking welcomes this smooth gesture, and she doesn't need to explain her motive for Emma to understand that she's luring the Mayor down into the bowels of the castle to find her bloodied surprise.
"I will have your head."
The blonde hisses reproachfully as she steps back from the bars to retreat to the far corner of the cell; leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake. The Queen shows no interest in this threat she has heard several times now, and she merely presses herself up against the younger woman's doomed cage and bids her a fond farewell.
"Have fun now, Saviour. Dark One. Don't do anything I wouldn't do..."
And with that, she's gone; leaving the blonde alone in the gloom of the dungeon for a minute- perhaps two- before the door at the top of the stairs is wrenched open and Regina descends hesitantly down a couple of the crumbling steps.
"Emma?"
She calls uncertainly, beginning to feel a little like a broken record, and she almost turns back around to continue her search, when she catches a flicker of movement down below.
"Emma!?"
She takes another couple of tentative steps as she strives to affirm just what she's seeing, before flying the rest of the way down.
"Emma!"
"Regina..."