A/N: Here's more trash for you. Dr. Noceda is from Disney's The Owl House. If you haven't watched it yet and you are a fan of this story, I highly recommend you do. And yeah, I'm aware that I have written in one of the tropiest of tropes. But it is one of my favorite tropes - especially for this particular pairing. And if you don't like it, well...I'm not sure what to tell you. Thank you for reading and commenting. Your comments bring light to my days.
Chapter 8
Do you want to know a secret?
What a silly question. Of course you do.
Lucky for you, I happen to be the absolute worst at keeping them.
Unlucky for you, I'm the absolute best at disappointing people to death. And they are so afraid of it too — death, that is. Not Regina though. She believed that anyone who was afraid to die was wrong to be. After all, life is the trap. And we are all just stuck within it. Quantumly entangled between the web of existence and this world all because we as a species have the innate compulsion to come together and create an overabundance of ourselves. Death is the release.
And now you're likely thinking, is that the secret, Author? Death? That's all you've got for me you depressing bitch?
Is it the secret to life? Absolutely. Is it my secret? Not even close.
Tired of me toying with you yet?
How many times have you had the urge to skip over entire sections of this story just to get to what you perceive to be "the point?"
Maybe you already have once or twice.
And if you haven't, well…Whatever you do, do NOT skip ahead and read the 51st paragraph after this one. If you do, you will be placed in the bad news room for one hundred trillion years.
Welcome to the bad news room. Where nothing is good and everything is the absolute pits. This is where your hopes come to die and where your dreams are only ever nightmares.
buT auTHor, I diDN't eVeN skIP ahEAd to rEAd anYThiNG. I'M a goOD lITtle reAdeR!
Well, the way I see it, only one of two things is true here: 1) you're a liar liar pants on fire, or b) it doesn't matter anyways because you stumbled upon it and now you're here and you aren't getting out anytime soon. One hundred trillion years, if short term memory serves me correctly.
And before you go all fairytale on me. No, this isn't a curse. You can't get your true love to swoop in out of nowhere and kiss you awake. You are doomed to serve your sentence for the ascribed amount of time without possibility of parole. Just one of those things the kids these days like to refer to as "reality."
And the reality of it is, that you've already been trapped here this entire time. From the moment you opened up this story and read the very first sentence. You've been dangling on every word and didn't even notice that the bad news room had swallowed you up whole. And now you could be here for…well…(*checks nonexistent watch) forever.
I guess that's not entirely true. You are still presumably human.
And while it's true that the words on this page have the potential to be immortal, the flesh itself also has but one unbreakable curse. And that, my friend is Death. The soul is caged in the flesh. Your hopes and dreams are nothing more than machinations of the soul — a way to cope with the brutality of being alive. And at the end of the day, no one cares about your hopes and dreams if you haven't already secretly sold your soul to the devil for less than a tenth of its actual worth.
And so here we are. Back to secrets again then. Specifically mine.
A bit of good news for you, here in the bad news room, I am not the devil. And I don't deal in souls nor do I want yours.
Back to bad news for all you current residents of the bad news room: the secret is that there is no secret.
It must be repeated: there is no secret. To life or death or anything in between. Science and nature do not keep secrets. They are almost painfully transparent if one is capable of opening their eyes and mind to it. When someone asks what the secret is, it's meant to be rhetorical. A question that you and I and everybody else already knows the answer to. Do not ask what "the secret" is. It will only disappoint you.
Much like reality, I suppose. A special kind of chaos. Where good news can exist in the same bad news room that you are forced to live in for a hundred trillion years. But life is also chaos though, isn't it? Unpredictable. Confusing. With Death just another ripple in the pattern of that underlying unpredictability.
I speak in philosophical musings and theoretical conjecture, of course because I have no way of truly knowing anything really. But I do believe there is a certain beauty to chaos. An order to it that we may never be fully capable of understanding. A worth despite the cost.
Like when I warned you — in, which chapter was it again? Ah yes, literally the second chapter of this story. When I told you that magic wasn't the only thing that had a price. That it would cost me. And it wouldn't be anything good — or even a price worth paying. And you likely just thought I was being cheeky or irrational or random. Do you remember?
This is the cost.
Only life may pay for death. This is not random. This is something you very much should have seen coming. Should have been obvious from the start, really. From the very first time I bartered for Regina's life so that I could continue the story past the first chapter. Hell, even the mother of death herself stepped in and granted the one thing that is not in her nature to give. And you just thought what? That she was doing us a kindness? That she wouldn't feel the need to collect on it?
This is a deity that eats, sleeps, breathes, literally birthed death itself from her very womb. And you just thought to yourself "well, maybe she's being gracious to us since we really want our main character to live so that this story can continue. And there will be no repercussions or expectations of us whatsoever because why would there be?"
Every action has a consequence. Everything has a price and it will be paid. However you want to frame it, it all boils down to one thing: Chaos. And chaos dictates that a single change (no matter how small) in the state of one deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. That's how the flap of a butterfly's wing in Texas can cause a tornado in Brazil.
So, let's see. What would our cost be now? If my math is correct, I believe we are at a total of 5. 5 times Regina was supposed to die. And 5 times we successfully prevented her death in this story (so far). And if you subtract the gingerbread man from that — he was an easy character to off and sacrifice for our cause — that would put us at a total of 4. And before you start flipping back through all the other chapters looking for deaths to reduce the total we owe, I will tell you now that Tovah's doesn't count. She was dead before I started this story and therefore does not qualify — though wouldn't it be great if we could coast on little loopholes like that. So that leaves us with a total of 4. 4 more deaths to pay for the 4 re-alives we granted.
It's almost like a setup for a joke. A savior, an Evil Queen, and a mute little wasteland girl walk into the story. And I'm the only thing that stands between them and death.
Though less funny than the punchline to one, I guess. Given all the effort that's gone into keeping one of those characters in particular alive long enough to tell a decent story.
You know what else is chaotic and not at all funny?
Storms.
Especially when they're like the one that takes form over the town of Storybrooke. With its winds howling over the rooftops. A cascade of cold air blows through the town streets. The same streets that have left an unidentified but altogether extant number of scuff marks across the bottom of Regina Mills's blood red Manolos. Somewhere in Sherwood out in the wasteland that is now The Enchanted Forest, those same Manolos drown in the flood of a wrathful downpour. Abandoned by their owner, one has been skinned alive with entire sections of its rich silk satin peeled back to expose the leather underneath. The other was hanging onto its heel by a single strip of suede elastic. They miss her hopelessly. And at the same time, if they are ever reunited…A dark pool of mud as red as blood pools around Regina's bare feet.
It's almost as if the storm from that world had bled across the portal with them into this one. And it was even angrier than before about having to do so.
Because they had, in fact, crossed a portal. That much is obvious as Regina makes a quick glance around her, taking in the town center of Storybrooke. While she couldn't remember exactly how the portal had opened, she was almost uncomfortably aware that it had and that they had, in fact, made it through. By they, I don't mean every member of their ragtag party, of course. "They" consists only of a savior, an evil queen, and a mute little wasteland girl.
What they don't know is that the way they arrived wasn't the way they were supposed to come back. A tidbit of information that died with the Gingerbread Man. And now, only the Gods know his master plan to get them home — Gods rest his soul. Perhaps they all would have made it back (alive) had they listened to the greatest lesson the Enchanted Forest had to teach. Which is, "don't go wandering aimlessly through wooded areas that you don't know like the back of your hand."
Because in doing so, they had unknowingly stumbled upon a peculiar group of trees. Not just any old trees, mind you. But the kind that don't understand the concept of fairness. The kind that, if not watched with one eye open, were always up to no good. They glare down from the skies in a ritualistic circle. Arching a shadow over the doors carved into each and every trunk. I believe the closest representation of this is in the 1993 stop animation classic A Nightmare Before Christmas. But it was the Romans who first put a name to the phenomenon: "Semper ubi sub ubi" which translates roughly to "always where under where." A Latin phrase that regularly tickles the modern English-speaker's funny-bone. But that predates them by — I don't even have an accurate count of how long. Simply put, it is a hub of portals to many different worlds.
Though no one truly knows who created it or how it even got there to begin with or for what purpose. The only discernible facts anyone has ever observed about the mysterious circle of trees is that: 1) it appears at random, 2) the doors contain portals (each to a different world), 3) the doors often like to open of their own accord and take pleasure in sucking those nearby into portals, 4) after doing so, the entire thing has a nasty habit of completely disappearing into thin air, and 5) it never appears in the same place more than once (making it impossible to find should you actively go searching for it).
So you can see. One. Eye. Open. At all times.
Now you can also see why three of their party are here and the remaining three are not. What this fails to explain is why Regina Mills is crouched in the middle of the street wailing like a Banshee of the old Irish countryside. That's what had drawn out all the citizens of Storybrooke from their homes and businesses to begin with after all; outside into the crashing thunder. It booms so loud it's as if the buildings are collapsing all around them. It's the sound of an already mangled heart breaking.
Rain falls as if to suppress the anguish of the screams. And the mud leaks into puddles that are forming beneath a dead woman's feet. They're all that's visible of her beneath the pile of wooden boards and several large boulders. Well, that and the droplets of rain that slip down her cold cheeks. All of which had been wreckage pulled over through the portal. Her name was Sarah. And she is not the reason for Regina's outward display of grief in the streets of Storybrooke. In fact, not a single person gazing upon this scene even notices her there.
Boulders…death…disregard…wretchedness…sounds a lot like you.
Regina is reeling. Gasping for air. Though that is not because of you. Time stands still around her as the sounds of the Storybrooke streets fall silent in the distance. Her full attention is absorbed by the small child cradled motionless in her arms.
I CAN'T FEEL HER ANYMORE! The thought makes her bones rattle around inside her, like the skeleton of some poorly maintained building on the verge of collapse. She leans over the girl's face, ear close to her small nose. The faint whistle of breathing can be heard. Inside her chest, Regina's heart beat stills with the after-effects of it. She imagines if she could harness the power of it. Send it pulsing even more life back into the small body. Like magic.
She can't sense any though. Not like she could in the Enchanted Forest. Perhaps there was magic in this world once, but not anymore. What little, if any, that remains feels to her like no more than the wisp of smoke that lingers in the air after the flames of a massive fire have all but exhausted — and even that is fading.
"Hey," Emma says through a torrent of rain, placing one hand on Regina's shoulder and the other with two fingers pressed to the little girl's neck, "Her heart is beating. She has a pulse. She's probably just in shock from the jump through the portal."
She helps Regina to her feet and even tucks the small girl safely beneath the red leather jacket, shielding her from the rain and curious gazes all around them. Not a muscle moves in the former Queen's face, yet beneath there is only turmoil. As she looks down at the helpless little bundle in her arms, she wants nothing more than to breakdown and cry. To just fall apart. But the look in her eyes as they meet the Sheriff's conjures up an understanding. For her, having command of her image is the most important thing. She can fall apart later. Fall apart in private. Like she would if she were the type to pray.
"Come on. Let's get her to the hospital. Dr. Whale will take a look at her and she'll be up and running around before you know it. Everything's gonna be okay," Emma reassures her as she guides them away in the direction of the hospital with a gentle hand to Regina's lower back.
Hours later they are still sitting in the waiting room of that hospital. It's empty except for the two of them. And it's been that way almost since they got there. It was the three of them before a nurse came out and took the small child on a gurney through a pair of double doors marked "Staff Only Past This Point." And so they both sat. Not anywhere near patiently. Not with the way they had left things back at the center of town. Where the smell of the breath of death was so close. Even all the way over here — in this place of healing — there is a drop of death in the air. A spectral smell that haunts this hospital. And it smells like…well, some kind of antiseptic mostly. Because it's a hospital. Years of sickness, of death and disease are grounded beneath the expedient cinderblock walls of its sovereignty.
It's foreboding somehow. Like no news can be good news in this place.
A Dominican-American woman that looks to be in her late 30's in a white lab coat pushes through the closed doors; her eyes locked on the clipboard in her hand. The word "Mills" can be seen in the reflection of her glasses, which has Regina and Emma to their feet before she can even call out the name to the near-empty waiting room.
"Mills?" She asks for clarity.
"Of course, who else would it be? There's literally no one else here," Regina snaps, her arms out wide gesturing to the very empty room around them. It's absolutely uncalled for. But she's not known for expressing her worry in a healthy, understated kind of way.
"We did a full examination and Noemi is doing just fine. She's asleep, but stable and healthy. We moved her to the children's wing to recover from what I can only assume is an extreme form of fatigue or exhaustion. We plan to run a few more tests to be sure. Has she been through some major event recently?"
"I'm sorry, who are you? Where is Whale?" Regina questions with a raise of one eyebrow.
"Oh, how rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Camila Noceda. I'm new to town — well new to this realm I guess you could say. I specialize in veterinary medicine, but Dr. Whale needed help around the hospital so —"
"A VETERINARIAN!?" Regina shrieks, "What even qualifies you to work here? Maybe you hadn't noticed, but this is a hospital. For humans. And that child in there is not some dog in need of flea medication or whatever it is you do!"
"Yes, I see how that could come off as a bit of a concern. Dr. Whale mentioned that there were quite a few individuals in this town who are hybrids between more than one species and made it clear that my expertise would be much appreciated in these matters. I've also specialized in the medical care of those with magical dispositions — as I've traveled many realms and studied many different anatomies. Seeing as we're stuck here for a while while my daughter figures out a way to reopen a portal, I figured I could help out where I can for as long as I'm here. I assure you, Noemi is in the best of care. I will look after her as if she were one of my own."
The former evil queen tramps away from them, frenzied as a starving hyena, her hair swirling. She stops at a small trash bin. She wants to kick it. So she does. It's unsatisfying. Painful even. Among the stunned silence of the other two women, the ringing sound it makes is almost deafening, though not quite hollow. The bin seems to be full. Full of itself. Content. Happy with her failure in whatever it was she had set out to do by kicking it. That sneering trash can is having the time of its life.
[The 51st paragraph] "You see, this is exactly what I like about you. It's that defiance. That fire in you. Such a little rebel to the very end. Too bad defiance always has consequences. You should probably go back and face yours with a little more grace, your grace. Before this builds into something much worse," Az chirps, picking at their teeth in the reflection of a nearby vending machine.
Emma's still standing with the doctor, her posture unusually rigid. She's used to this sort of thing. But she's not particularly comfortable with being used to it. "Sorry, Doc," she says to Dr. Noceda, "It's been a long couple of days for us and we're a little on edge. We really appreciate everything you're doing for us and hope you don't take any of this personally. We're just gonna take a sec and then we'll be back to see her. Thank you again."
With that said, the doctor leaves — an intense level of understanding never leaving her eyes. Emma turns the rest of her attention to the brooding evil queen hovered over a trash bin in the corner of the waiting room.
"Hey," she says quietly, hand extended out but not quite touching the other woman's shoulder as if doing so might be the thing to finally break the fragile statuesque façade.
"Emma." The way Regina says it is so utterly broken. It's almost impossible not to pick up on that something real in her tone. Like she's no longer putting on an act. It's so unlike her. It's hard to know what to do when she's acting so not like herself, "I just want to help her. She's already so small and afraid. And now she's here alone and I'm, well I'm…" She looks at her freezing hands before hiding them in her jacket pockets — the same jacket that belonged to Emma. She'd like to keep her voice casual and businesslike, but it trembles ever so slightly. Until it peters out into pure emotion and she's doing everything she can to keep it from leaking out her eyes.
It startles Emma how easily the older woman falls into her then. Her hands still relegated to her pockets, but her head pressing tight into the blonde's shoulder as if the pressure alone could keep the tears at bay. The sheriff doesn't understand what this means. What she's supposed to do. Not only because it was Regina in her arms, but because these kinds of displays of affection were not something she'd often been exposed to in her life. And the times she found herself partaking in them always had her second guessing whether or not she was doing it right at all.
Eventually her hands come up around the distraught woman and the disarray of her mind settles into just how right it feels to hug Regina Mills tight.
"It's okay, Regina. She's going to be okay. We'll figure this out. She is safe," she thinks she should say, but as she says the words out loud, they feel like lead, heavy, like they're coming from the bottom of her. She's said them a half a thousand times, to a dozen different people, only this time it feels like a spell.
Three floors up and five hallways to the north, in the children's wing of Storybrooke General, Noemi *the child* with no last name (that we are presently aware of) rests under a heart monitor. A yellow triage sign hangs from the bottom of her medical chart — stable, it means, though still under explicit observation. Regina watches the monitor beep, as the lights inside pulse red and steady like a glowing heart. It makes her think back to all the events that led to her sitting in this chair, absolutely drenched. In this bleak hospital room. Next to this little girl with the bleakest outcome. And her own bleak as fuck soul throbbing for freedom beneath her skin. For the first time in her life she wonders if everything she knows about portals turned out to be wrong. That she should have never messed with them. That they are dangerous enough to take the life of an innocent child. That she is responsible for ever having opened one to begin with.
"Don't be stupid, Regina," Az's sultry voice slithers into her ear as she stares at the flickering red lines of the heart monitor, "That's not how it works. You know as well as any that portals are merely doors. They can hurt should you slam your finger in one, but dying is expecting a bit too much. All you can do now is pray to whatever god you believe in and wait for this to pass…"
A warm hand envelops her own — the one not clinging to that of the small unconscious girl in the bed beside her. It belongs to Emma. Whose grip is firm and reassuring, like holding a fully cooled piece of bronze — safe and well-armed. She tilts her head as she looks up at the other woman with maternal disquietude.
This is weird. Regina thinks to herself. Not necessarily nice weird, but acceptable.
Just then, the door handle clicks as the door is pushed from its frame somewhere beside them. Both women look over their shoulders questioningly when the sound of the door opening so loudly disturbs the calm quiet of the room.
Is it the doctor? A nurse? The mother of death herself?
No, it's worse.
It's the Charmings standing in the doorway like a pair of intermeddling idiots. Their mouths open and close like a fish gasping for air. The way they're just standing there. Dumbly. Staring at the two women as if they have snakes bursting out of their chests sends a pulse of compulsory shudders through each of Emma's limbs. By that point, it's not even her in control of her own body as reflex takes over and has her jerking away from Regina, dumbfounded and immediately startled by her own reaction. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes again.
Regina rolls her eyes. She's surrounded by them. Idiots.
It's Henry that finally interrupts all the fish gaping.
"Mom!" He cries out, pushing between his grandparents.
And for a moment, Regina forgets. Instinctively looks up at him as if he had called out for her instead. It's only when she watches him crash into Emma's body and wrap himself around her as if he never intended to let go again does she remember. He's not calling out for her. Why would he. He hates her. She is no longer his to call out for. To worry after.
Suddenly, the chair she's sitting on has become the most uncomfortable chair in the world — defiling her entire backside. Henry doesn't so much as glance her way. But there she sits anyways. Proud, rigid, and alone like a sheet of cracking ice atop a frozen lake.
"Geez, kid. I know we were gone for a few days, but why such an enthusiastic greeting?" Emma finally says as she's squeezed in her son's arms.
"A few days?" Snow practically shrieks, "Emma, it hasn't been a few days. You weren't even gone for the length of a full shift at the station."
"Come on, there's no need for the dramatics, you guys."
"It's true, mom," Henry chirps.
"I can also confirm. I saw you go down that well at about 10am this morning. You were back here in the street outside Archie's office before dinnertime," David explains.
"Who is that?" Snow asks, looking toward the bedridden child, "Where's Ruby?" She then demands before anyone can answer her previous question, "What happened?" She then questions before allowing a response to any of her other questions.
"Hold on. Back up. Can we go back to the part where we were gone for several days, but for you guys, it was only a matter of hours?"
We could go back to that. However, it involves a long boring explanation about the inner workings of time dilation and how time moves faster in one location relative to another based on the speed at which each location is traveling away from one another. And for me to explain it in explicit detail and in a way that is as captivating to you the reader as much as it makes sense would require me to write an entirely different book with a vastly different theme and plot. I feel as if I derail this current story enough as is. And I've come so far, I'm not looking to lose you now. So, I have graciously chosen to keep this particular explanation brief. The direct, unequivocal, and scientific explanation is time dilation.
Though that's mostly just between you and me.
(winks terribly again)
"Sorry to interrupt," Dr. Noceda says, tapping the knuckles of her fingers lightly against the already open door, "But I have some updates on Noemi's health that I'd like to discuss with her parents."
Parents? Her mind had gone to the conclusion that best fit the scene before her. That doesn't necessarily mean she's wrong though.
She turns her direct attention toward the Charmings, "Alone, if you wouldn't mind leaving for a moment. This information is private. And without permission from the girl's parents, I'm unable to disclose any of it in the presence of others. I'm sure you understand."
Regina shakes her head very slowly, her dark hair brushing her shoulders, "We're not —"
But Emma cuts in before she can finish, "— Going to tell you again, Snow. We all need some time to recover and deal with this. Please go. We'll catch you guys up in more detail later. Please."
She exchanges a quick glance with Regina. It's a look that suggests that it would be best for them all to go along with this assumption — for now. Regina opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but doesn't. She's not sure of the other woman's angle, but she respects her judgement enough to go along with it for the time being.
Snow White, however, is everything except ready to leave. Not when so much has been exposed in such a small amount of time and she has absolutely no understanding of any of it. She moves as if to enter further into the room but David grabs her by the arm and spins her back towards the door before she can.
"I think you're right, Emma. We should get going and we can talk about this later," he's practically shoving a frozen solid Snow White out of the hospital room door, "Come along, Henry. Let's give your mothers some time and space to deal with this."
They leave. And the door clicks shut once more. It's dreadfully quiet again, as if someone unplugged the entire world outside those walls. With only one thing grounding them here to this moment. And that being the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor machine in the corner. It serves as the constant reminder of why they're all here.
"After lengthy observation, much analysis, and a number of different tests, your daughter appears to be healthy as can be. After discussing your recent realm jump with you, I believe her unconsciousness is due to extreme exhaustion. My own daughter and her girlfriend have done quite a bit of realm-hopping and I've noticed how much it drains them every time they do. I can only imagine the toll something like that might take on someone so young and not as magically and physically developed," the doctor says.
"Well, that's good news, I guess," Emma replies, "It makes some amount of sense considering we brought her through a portal from a world with magic to a world with absolutely none."
"Oh, quite the contrary, Mrs. Mills —"
Regina's eyes shoot wide open, "We are not married!" She says in a pitch so high the windows vibrate with it.
"Actually, it's Ms. Swan," Emma corrects, shooting the other woman a withering look.
"Sorry, Ms. Swan. As I was saying, there's an abundance of magic in this realm — as is true for most realms I've been to. It's just that magic always seems to be different in each location. That's what can be so draining for one who possesses magic. Not that they are losing it, but that it channels itself differently than their bodies are used to and it can take some time to adjust if they've not yet been exposed to that difference."
This information does nothing to reduce the size of Regina's eyes — as they are practically bulging from her head at this point. Even though a small part of her, in the deepest depths of her mind, already had a sneaking suspicion that there was some kind of magic in Storybrooke. The shock of hearing such claimed out loud is almost too much to handle. She falls gracelessly back down to the chair behind her. Needing some kind of support that only the most uncomfortable chair in the entire world seems capable of offering right now.
"Of course, it's always magic with these people," Emma sighs, brushing a hand through her unruly blond hair, "Is there anything we can do for her? You know, to relieve some of the symptoms?"
"Well, it's interesting that you asked. Because in my studies, I've discovered that a person's magical essence is a lot like DNA in the sense that it is unique to the individual and is comprised of roughly half the magical essence of each of their parents. All that being said, my current hypothesis is that each parent should be at least a half a magical match to their child. And I've not had the opportunity to test this yet, but I believe that if this is true, there might be a way for a magical match to transfer their magical energy to the child and speed up the healing process. But again, this is untested. Especially in a world like this where the properties of magic are much different than what I've studied thus far. I wouldn't be able to say with any amount of certainty that it would work or that there wouldn't be unpredicted and/or irreversible side effects to doing so."
Regina jumps back to her feet. In her desperation to help Noemi, she forgets — for a moment — that she is not this child's biological parent. She shared a connection with this girl. They spoke to each other through magical energy. Surely that could be enough to qualify her as some kind of match. It has to be. Because outside of that, there is nothing else. And it's not fair. It's not fair that her actions have to have such devastating consequences for everyone around her all the time. Especially for one as innocent as Noemi, who isn't even old enough to have ever even caused misery to anyone much less to Regina in the short time they've known each other.
"I'll do it. If it means we have a chance to help her, I'll do it," there's desperation in her voice now, a little catch that wasn't there before.
"Regina," Emma says between clenched teeth. Giving the other woman a look as if to say "have you lost your mind?"
Mistaking this for just another lover's quarrel over risky medical circumstances that is in need of further discussion instead of the poor attempt at pretending to be a child's parents that it was, Dr. Noceda turned to leave and offer them some privacy, "I know this is a lot to take in. I will leave you two to discuss. I should be back in a couple of hours for another checkup and we can walk through your decision then."
Emma waits. Watches the door like a hawk to make sure the doctor is far enough away before saying anything. Then her head drops between her shoulders. She snaps around with surprising speed. "Have you lost your mind!? You can't volunteer your magic. You aren't actually her parent!"
"You're the one that didn't correct Doctor Noceda when she incorrectly assumed we were Noemi's parents and then stopped me from correcting her!"
"Regina, I did that because the way healthcare works, a doctor can't legally discuss the medical information of a minor with anyone other than their legal guardian. Given that she's two, unconscious, and won't even speak when she is conscious. She deserves to have someone to look after her until we can get her back to her real parents. The doctor made that assumption and I was trying to do the right thing. Otherwise, I don't know what would've happened to her and I wasn't gonna stick around and find out!"
"I'm the mayor! I could have figured out a way to keep her safe and make decisions on her behalf without her parents or the need for lies."
"Not anymore you're not! And what would you have done, Regina? Stomp your foot and wave your fingers until everyone had no other option but to bend to your will? This isn't the enchanted forest, your Majesty. This is a world with laws that most sane people follow for the safety of themselves and other people. And if you seriously expect Doctor Camila to forgo the law and safety of her patients over your own agenda then you aren't as smart I thought you were. On top of that, it was made perfectly clear that this procedure requires a very specific match and that trying to go through with it anyways without that match could and would lead to some dangerous consequences for both people. How do you plan to protect her if she's dead? Or if you're dead?"
Regina's shoulders tense. She shuffles back only slightly; bewilderment and irritation root her in place. A tightness catches in her chest, narrowing. A crown of blood vessels being choked to emptiness. She's not angry because of what was said. She's angry because she knows that Emma's right. The safety of this small child should come before anything else. And she was a fool to act on anything outside of that. But it hurts to be wrong. To do wrong.
"Look. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Emma says after a few seconds of silence, "I know you care about her and you're just trying to do everything in your power to help her. But you need to accept that we — Dr. Camile and me — are too. You're not the only one that cares, Regina. And you don't always have to be alone in that. Yeah, it would be so much easier if you were her parent or if we knew her biological parents, but that's not how things work. Things don't come easy for people like us — "
"It's a very good thing you are the child's biological mother then, or she's not wrong, things would be significantly more difficult," Az says as they poof into existence lounging on Regina's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?" Regina interrupts.
"I said things aren't easy for people like us. Like, some people are just born with shit luck — "
"Not you!" Regina screams at Emma, whose mouth immediately snaps closed.
"You!" She continues, pointing at the little demon on her shoulder, "What did you just say?"
"I said that it's a good thing you are, in fact, the child's biological mother. So that everything doesn't have to be so difficult like it always seems to be with you."
"Are you messing with me right now? Surely there can't be any merit to this."
"What reason would I have to lie?"
"And you're absolutely sure it's true?"
"Darkling, I'm an ancient omnipotent being. I don't need to tell you just how sure I am," Az replies, curling a lock of her hair in between their tiny fingers.
For the very first time, Regina looks down at the girl through the eyes of a mother. She sees just how much of herself is reflected back in that small face. And she just knows. The monitor beeps with the beating of the girl's heart. It sucks the air right out of Regina's lungs suddenly. And it burns like trying to breathe under water. Already she's adjusting to the weight of it, her nervous system and mentality calibrating, until the very idea that she isn't Noemi's mother seems silly and distant.
Her hand wraps around the girl's delicate cheek.
"You're her mother, Regina," Az whispers in her ear, "You can help her. And only then will you truly be free...Free to love her like no one has ever loved her before. You will be her hero, and because she is yours, she will be unconditionally devoted to you. If you make this one last sacrifice, you will finally know true happiness."
There's always a little devil on our shoulder telling us what we can and cannot do. It's a test. From whom? For what purpose? Not even the Gods themselves actually know. But one thing that is almost always certain, is that it's a test you're meant to fail. Because most times failure is the only way we learn. The only way to move forward.
Regina's eyes jump up to the door. If she hurried, maybe she could catch Dr. Noceda in the hall before her next rounds. There's no time to waste. This has to be done now.
She bolts out the hospital room door, leaving Emma in her wake.
In an even more gracious bout of luck, Dr. Noceda hadn't gotten far at all. Success. She's standing at the end of the same hall, clipboard in hand, discussing something of varying importance with one of the nurses.
"Dr. Noceda!" Regina calls out, the other woman's eye immediately catching her own, "I'll do it. We have to try. I'll do it."
The doctor acknowledges the decision with a small smile and a nod of her head, then writes something down on one of the pages on her clipboard.
"Give me an hour to prepare and we'll get it done," is the only thing she says before she takes off down the hall.
The former Evil Queen returns to the hospital room a (once again) changed woman. When she looks at her baby girl, she feels — happy isn't the word. You can be excited about motherhood. And at the same time, there's no way to ever be satisfied with the fact that you missed two whole years of your child's life and may miss even more if you aren't careful. So her current state of mind doesn't invite any analogues to joy. But at the same time she also feels…swollen. As if everything in her fills with impossible longing all at once.
"Regina, what's going on?" Emma asks gently, pausing only to listen. With her broad hunched shoulders and those thick arms crossed against her chest.
"Asmodeus says that —" she stops herself. Not sure if she can say it out loud. Not sure if Emma would even believe her if she did. The lull is bracing. Anticipation hangs in the air. A cool draft from the air conditioning unit pushes at her, smoothing the fine baby hairs at her temples. Suddenly it doesn't matter what Emma will believe. It doesn't matter what anyone believes, "Asmodeus has brought it to my attention that Noemi is mine."
"Regina," it's said with an extravagance of condescension, the way a parent would speak to a young child that didn't know any better, "How — "
Regina will have none of it.
"You needn't concern yourself with how, Ms. Swan. And don't you dare speak down to me like some misbegotten child. I'm well aware of how this entire situation appears. And I couldn't explain it to you if I wanted to. But something in me feels — knows that there is truth in this."
"Regina, I wasn't trying to judge you or anything. I told you before, I believe you. And I meant it. I just — this is a lot to take in all at once, you know?"
"Do I know," she repeats with a scoff, "The level at which I know would break your brain into a million fragmented little pieces. Finding out I have a daughter is probably the easiest thing I've had to process in decades."
"Well if you liked that, your Majesty, then you're really going to love it when you find out who sired the girl," Az says, black eyes glittering.
Emma doesn't know how she knows. It's not written on the other woman's face, nor is it in her voice. But she had clearly just received more important news from her invisible friend.
"Was it Az?" Emma asks her, "What are they saying?"
Regina mumbles idly as if in a trance, "They know who the other parent is."
Then Az is cupping a small claw to her ear. And she's leaning in closer to listen. They may be lying, but if they are, they're damn good at it. No squirming, no rushing, no needless details. Just two words whispered into her ear. A first and last name. The demon sits up immediately, their eyes wide with amused appreciation; a honeyed smile permanently attaching itself to their lips. The moment Regina discovers the answer, her face cracks open into a silent scream of terror.
"Regina, who is it?" Emma asks again and again.
But the older woman only stares out the window, mouth agape, not really hearing the words. At this point even the darkness is holding its breath inside the room.
Funnily enough, the demon had expected the relaying of this information to be more rewarding. I mean, telling Regina both the dam and the sire of a pup that, until recently, no one even knew existed? What a doozy. Pure informational gold if you asked Asmodeus.
You know what Az should do if they want to get rewarded?
Tell more than just Regina. They should tell the entire world. Play a loud aggressive song to really drive home the intent of the moment. To make them listen. Fucking brand it into all the walls so that every person who sees it has no option but to see the truth directly in front of them.
And that's precisely what Asmodeus the D.I Specialist fairy-god-demon intended to do.
I'm your dad
The guitar thrums rhythmically throughout the small hospital room.
I'm your dad
Emma knows this is Az. Knows the demon is trying to communicate something. But she doesn't actually understand what any of it means and now she's just nodding along like the dumb idiot she is.
Oh, I'm your dad
"Az! I know this is you! What are you trying to say?" She screams over the scream-pop tones of the GRLwood song playing loudly around them.
But only the song replies back.
Oh, I'm your daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!
"Jesus Christ, Az! I don't know what that means!"
The song stops. Like a derailed train finally crashing into a solid wall of stone. A large dry erase board hangs from the wall next to the heart monitor. One by one, in small shaky letters the words YOU'RE THAT BABY'S DADDY, IDIOT are burned in fire into the board.
Az nods their head in satisfaction. The words have been spoken. This board will now silently repeat the message. For a few weeks or so, until a janitor comes in with a replacement, relocating this one to the large overfilled dumpster out back. Next to where it will sit idly on the ground for days and broadcast out to the whole of Storybrooke.
"What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke? Oh, Haha, really funny. I'm dying of laughter," Emma responds. Though — it should be noted for the record — that no actual laughter is anywhere to be found.
The words IT'S VERY REAL. AND TRUE. Are burned into the space beneath the first message.
"Okay, then, smartypants demon fairy. You're telling me that Regina and I — two women — somehow created a 2-year-old kid that neither one of us birthed who we met for the first time in another realm entirely a few days ago. Explain to me how something like that even works? Hmm?"
There is one final message burned into the board. It is simply the word STORK.
"Stork?!" Emma screams, "The fuck does that mean?! Regina, what the fuck is Az talking about? What does stork mean?"
And that, my dear readers, is where this chapter ends so that a new one may begin. Though worry not, I shan't leave you without another one of those moralistic sign offs you do so dearly love.
Let's see here…
(Flips mindlessly through repertoire)
Ah, yes. How about this one.
(Clears throat)
In the words of a very wise tweet I once read, "The difference between a hero and a villain is that a hero will give up love to save the world and a villain will give up the world to save love."
So which one are you?
Self-indulgence is the beating heart of happiness. Your self-indulgence is the reason you keep reading this story regardless of what happens and who it may harm, so does that make you a hero or a villain?
And what does it even matter if you're already dead?