A/N: Howdy. Just so you know, I did not edit this chapter as thoroughly as I typically do. I kept getting frustrated because no matter what I did, everything about it just felt so disjointed. But then I realized that this entire story is disjointed - to an almost comically intentional degree. So, given how difficult my life is without me making it even more difficult, I cut myself some slack for once and said, "Hey, self. Listen here. Don't worry about it. The readers will never criticize you as hard as I criticize you." That being said, if you do not like this chapter, please break it to me gently. Am still baby.
Song is Bad for You by Chappell Roan
CHAPTER 6
The first time Regina wakes up it feels like sleep. She is finally silent and still. Or maybe somewhere in between like a fine irony her occipital lobe has failed to process. It's a shrub of daphnes. Whose berries are ripe and rosy and toxic. A sensation, like cold hands gripping at her throat. Where all she can see is a mourner in faceless lines against a bright sky. Moving away from her. As the flowers that have been uplifting her in requiem slowly wilt. There are no thoughts to be had. No scenes of her life playing out before her eyes. Only calmness. The way she imagines a deep sleep is supposed to feel.
The second time Regina wakes she's alone. Wandering a cursed meadow. Calling out to the night. But there is no answer. Only the flutter of a bird's wings. Somewhere high above – to the west she thinks. She can hear it light and faint – like a winnow through a small crack in a board of wood.
And there it is again. The scent of daphnes. This time mixed with the scent of woodsmoke – a sunset bonfire full of burning maple leaves. It smells like the end of some "once upon a time" summer. The forests of some other realm. From the height of ruin. Too long ago. On an island of time she can never return to. Where she sends out messages in the shape of her screams. And one is hoarse and in the shape of a jackdaw. But it never flies away. It just stays there perched on her shoulder until everything fades to black once more.
The third time it happens, it's to the sight of two cold eyes looking at her – through all that early morning humidity and panic. And a bow is raised, aiming point blank at her chest. The man behind it releases the arrow…
The moment it's loosed, her lungs fill with thick moist air. And somehow that breath she takes is more real than the last. Her eyes are finally open. She knows because water has gathered there, and through the liquid film she can see the shape of another person standing over her. It's not him. It's not a him. It's a her. Not just a her, but…Her her. She can't quite wrap her mind around the woman's name. But that face – those eyes – are interwoven into her very consciousness. Tall, blonde, and unbearably beautiful. Nothing could make her forget, not even if she wanted to.
Nonetheless, her unblemished skin is almost burning to the touch. The person inside still not able to register much more than that. Only that it's not him. Someone else. Someone safe and familiar. Then the flicker of light in her eyes is out as she collapses back onto her makeshift bed.
The fourth time is when being awake finally starts to settle in.
"Noemi."
She thinks she says it out loud. The words taste like static in her mouth.
But then again, maybe she hadn't. The static grows thicker like a heavy rainfall. Until a female voice cuts through. And it's gratifying and clear somehow. It's not her own, but it nestles somewhere inside her head as if it could be.
"Here. Drink."
She inhales the water. Sucking it down until it feels like even her lungs are filled with more water than air. It doesn't even matter that it's choking her. The smoothness, the satisfaction. How it flows down her gullet like a cool caress. Like the sea, she thinks. The way she was meant to leave this world.
"Geez, slow down, Regina. You're gonna drown yourself," the voice reprimands, as the almost empty cup is pulled away from her chapped lips.
"Noemi," She tries again. And this time she knows she said it out loud. Her voice rough and grating on her own ears.
"She's here. She's fine. She's with her parents."
'Here' is an abandoned cottage somewhere on the outskirts of Sherwood forest. After their reunion, the group had travelled west until nightfall. It was complete and utter dumb luck that they found 'here.' And even more so that 'here' had remained abandoned.
Regina can't remember the travelling – or maybe she can. But only in bits and incomplete pieces. The last thing she can remember is lying in Emma's arms with an arrow wound through her gut. It certainly feels like she'd been shot through the stomach with an arrow.
She pats at her torso sluggishly. Just the simple act of raising a hand feels like lifting a 38 pound cinder block. But there is no blood, no wound, not even a tear in the fabric of her shirt. Maybe she had imagined the entire thing. Passed out due to some other unknown reason. She didn't really need one greater than the burning aching fever that has her head feeling 10 times larger than it actually is sitting on her neck. Perhaps she's just delusional.
But then she remembers the cuff around her wrist. And she sees it. Still there. Still cold and tight against her skin. She hadn't imagined anything. It had happened. The sparks and red delicious apples. The smell of wasting away – of how quickly she had rotted in the light of the morning sun. It's there. And it is real. Forever imprinted onto her brain.
This cuff. This burden around her wrist. It was the cause of all her troubles – likely even the reason she took an arrow to the stomach to begin with. If only it weren't there. She hates it. Wants it off. But her hands are still too heavy. Fumbling weakly as they scratch at the bronze outer etchings on its surface.
"Oh, um. Russ mentioned that you had magic here but that you wouldn't be able to use it," Emma says, noticing the way Regina scratches at the cuff, "Somehow you removed the arrow and healed yourself anyways. Though, we think maybe that was more externally than internally or something like that. I'm not much of a doctor. But you've been out like a light for several days with a pretty high fever. Your body is clearly fighting off something."
She holds her wrist to Regina's forehead.
"Still warm," she says, "But it seems like the coriander Ruby found along the way is bringing it down a little. How are you feeling?"
She is a pale husk of a woman, every line of her face etched with exhaustion. And even now, flush with fever, it only seems to make her more beautiful. Her cheeks are a burning shade of red. Her eyes have this bright, wild heat to them as she gazes back at Emma. It's the eyes of a soul on fire. A soul that has decided to fight for life and maybe even truly live.
"Like I was hit by a dump truck and then backed over once again for good measure," She says, shifting so that she can sit up and as a result, losing the comfort of the other woman's touch, "But that's not anything I'm not already used to, dear."
It feels like it might be better like this. With a little distance between them. It makes her head feel less foggy and more like she can actually think. Something that was already made all the more difficult by the fever coursing through her and the amount of energy it takes for a body to recover. In the distance between them she can sense more and more of herself coming back. And for a moment, with her cuffed arm raised and her eyes squinting, she sits in it.
"This cuff suppresses magic. Though it can't get rid of it entirely. I still feel it there inside me," She wonders aloud, more for her own sake and understanding than the other woman's, "It's all muddled. But I remember apples. And blackness. And a spark. Like I was using my own magic to pull energy into me. I think," she shuts her eyes tight, really trying to piece together her fragmented memories amongst the fever, "I tried to use a healing spell."
And it hurts. The way having a 5,000 page magical tome might if it were suddenly dropped on her head.
"I guess it worked," Emma says through a smile.
"Well. Mostly," and, despite her obvious pain, Regina smiles back.
Something is there – between them. Something hidden. And it's no longer just this thing in the distance on its way. Even if it is beneath the surface, it's still very much there. Very much present. And it's close. She can feel it in the air on her shoulders, smoothing them over. It's the kind of something that could have her divulging all her secrets if she wasn't careful.
And here they are talking about magic as if this were Sunday brunch and they were two old friends sipping on mimosas. But magic is too personal. Magic is as much a part of her as her hair or her eyes or her past. And this is exactly the kind of conversation she didn't want to have with just anyone. Not even an old friend over Sunday brunch. If there's anything that made Regina Mills uncomfortable, it was talking so openly about herself. She'd struggled enough doing so with Dr. Hopper. And now? When she's already so raw and flushed with fever? No. Not happening. It's time for a change in topic.
"Emma, why are you here?"
Though this direction might not be much better…
Emma doesn't notice any of that though. Because Emma is thinking about how she likes the way her name sounds coming from the former Mayor's mouth. Sitting there. Staring at the other women with that look in her eye, like she's trying to figure out if there's a way to get Regina to keep calling her by her first name only. But no, there's not. She would keep calling her "Ms. Swan" when she was angry or annoyed – and "Sheriff" when she wasn't. These "Emmas" were in short supply. Which means she'd better hang onto them. Because there was really no telling what they meant in the times that they were offered. Or when or if she'd ever receive another.
Regina is staring back at her, expectantly.
What was the question again? Is weaved into the twist of Emma's brow. The corners of her mouth dropping suddenly as if to say, Oh, yeah. I remember now.
"Uh, I'm here because Archie came down to the station and reported that he saw some guy carrying you out of his waiting room and hauling you off into a well. Me and Ruby went to go check it out and jumped in–"
"No, I mean…why are you here helping me?"
She won't look at the other woman. It seems like it might make things too personal again. So she averts her gaze to the open doorway of the room instead. Where a bunch of wooden shards lay scattered about the floor in the place where a door should have been – facing inwards. Whatever broke through did so from the outside. As if, in a fierce discharge of adrenaline-fueled energy, someone had kicked it in. If she would just look at Emma – at the laces of her boots – she would know exactly who's responsible.
She doesn't – look that is. She has no want or need for confirmation of something she already knows. Because Regina Mills did already know. And now, the information would live on silently as nothing more than a memory in the splinters of broken door collected on a pair of boots.
Emma's boots.
"Come on, Regina. After everything we've been through together. I'd like to think we're at least acquaintances."
This pulls her from her thoughts. It's not what she was expecting. It's lighter while still flirting on the edge of some truth that goes directly unsaid.
In her sessions with Dr. Hopper, he'd been talking a lot about doors lately. About how she had so many of them. And how she goes out of her way to keep them shut so that no one can come in and see the real Regina. And how a huge part of the healing process is learning how to open those doors again – to let the outside in.
This moment – between her and Emma – seems like a door. But is it a door that's worth opening?
"Acquaintances don't give each other special dances, dear," it is merely a truth. One that slips from her mouth naturally, without condescension or self-consciousness. Much later she's just as likely to blame it on the fever. But as of now…
Damn, if it didn't feel good.
Regina's heart starts pounding. And not because of the fever or any other medical condition she might use as a convenient cop-out. Was this…flirting – without nefarious intent – just for the sake of…flirting? Whatever it was, she should definitely do it more often.
Especially with Emma who flows right into the easy banter with graceful ease.
"Well, that's the beauty of acquaintanceship though, isn't it? We, the only two people involved, get to define what it is and what that means."
Regina laughs, a sultry and seductive sound, then says, "Is this you propositioning me for a lap dance, Ms. Swan? Because if so, I regret to inform you that you've already had your last."
Emma's responding laughter is throaty and warm. And it rhymes with Regina's heartbeat and the crackling of the firewood in the hearth. It makes her feel – deep down in her chest – that it definitely shouldn't be.
"No, this is me telling you not to rule out things like 'special dances' over something as stupid as putting a title to this new…why don't we call it a 'tentative relationship', between us."
"Ah, but you forget, sheriff, there is no relationship between us."
"Yeah, well there also isn't not one, either, madam mayor."
She takes her time saying it. And Regina can't help but wonder what else she'd take her time with.
But what she doesn't know is that Emma would take her time with anything this woman is willing to take from her. Whether that be a fight. Or more witty banter. Or a good long hard fuck.
Because Emma's so mesmerized by the cracks running across the face looking back at her. Like little fissures opening the flesh. As if, in one sentence, she had reached up and ripped the mask away. It's not the evil queen or the mayor there anymore. This is someone new. Someone Emma hadn't had the pleasure of getting to know yet – grinning, flirting with her. In this moment, Emma couldn't think of a single thing she'd rather be doing more. And she would spend forever – if that's what it takes – if it meant she got to see even more.
There is a wall still standing between them – almost defiantly at this point. But there's an inviting gleam of something else coming from the depths of the deepest graves below. Something thought long since dead and buried. And they aren't the only ones wandering off-balance on the brink of some chasm. Everyone is. It's this place – the Enchanted Forest. It has a way with people – it's way with people. With it's very own intentions. And this rag-tag band of – well, I'm not sure what to call them really. But they were all there looking over the side of it's chasm. A chasm of consequence. Where the unidentifiable shapes below appear orderly and neat, but beneath them is unrest, fear, and disarray.
"Sheriff! I think I found it! I found the oven," Russell is calling out as he enters the room unannounced holding out a brittle piece of paper that looks as if it had been ripped out of an ancient tome, "I need to leave at once – "
Another more well-known chasm is the one located between Russell Pierniki's ears. And really, this guy has the most exquisitely tuned show-up-where-you-weren't-invited-at-the-precise-moment-you-aren't-wanted receptors Emma thinks she's ever been subject to. She doesn't let it show, but there's a limit to how many unwarranted outbursts she'll allow to cost her this long pursued alone time with Regina.
"Absolutely not. You're wanted for attempted assault and kidnapping and I have a warrant for your arrest. You aren't going anywhere, my dude, that isn't out of this room and to the spot you'll be sleeping in for the night," Emma says firmly, standing to her feet in case he got any funny ideas, like running. Wouldn't be a first for the Gingerbread Man.
"Like I said, I didn't kidnap or assault anybody."
"Yeah well, good luck arguing that in court after Archie takes the witness stand and talks about how he watched you beat his patient over the head at the exact moment she was expected for an appointment to see him. And then the several other witnesses who watched you haul Regina's unconscious body to a well. Oh, and let's not forget Red who said that when she tried to stop you, you screamed out 'you'll never catch me. I'm the gingerbread man!' before throwing Regina and yourself down the well. The evidence trail is thick and damning, my friend."
"You can't stop me, sheriff. We've already established that you don't actually have a warrant."
"Yeah, well we've also established that it's the very first thing I'm going to have the second we get back to Storybrooke."
"Yeah, well I'm the only one that knows how to get back to Storybrooke."
"And…"
"And I'm not going back without that oven."
"You're also currently in my custody and I'm not gonna just let you run off and do whatever the hell you feel like after what you did to Regina."
"You don't understand, Sheriff. I can't go back without that oven."
"Oh yeah? Why is that?"
"It's part of the deal I made with Gold. He gave me a way to control Regina's magic and told me how to get back to the Enchanted Forest and I have to return with my parent's oven. That was the deal. And you know what he does to people who default on a deal."
"Really? Why would Gold want a stupid old oven?"
"I can think of lots of reasons. It's magical, for one…"
"Oh Yeah, while we're on the topic of magic, how do I remove the cuff?"
"You can't. It's bound by blood magic. My blood. Only I can remove it."
"So basically, we can't go home without you, you won't take us home until you get your magical oven, and you're the only one that can remove the cuff from around Regina's wrist that is blocking her magic. How about this…How about I beat you senseless and then we see how willing you are to cooperate afterwards?"
And so it goes for far longer than this particular author is willing to entertain. And long enough to make the throbbing in Regina's head all the more worse.
Emma is a fighter. She would give her that. It's the one thing Regina both loathes and likes about the young sheriff. But now was not the time. And someone like Russell Pierniki was not at all worth the effort. She musters what little strength she has and brings a hand to Emma's arm.
"That's enough," she says, "The both of you. It's late, we're all tired. We can sort this out in the morning. Or better yet, when we get home."
Emma relaxes into the grip on her arm. Russell clenches his fists. Behind him the window has been boarded up. For only a second, Regina is aware of the boards creaking and warping. And some kind of anger in his tense shoulders. Then he's sending one of those fists through the boards and a chill washes over her. It's the wind from outside blowing through the newly formed hole. And it's lashing at her for trying to split them up.
No, not the sheriff and the gingerbread man. The other thing. The fight she tried to take out of Emma.
And Emma. Stoic, protective, ever-stubborn Emma. With her hero complex and her innate sense of justice moves even further between the former Evil Queen and Russell's ire. Standing there between the two as solid as a rock. Watching him with her most intimidating gaze until he storms out of the room.
It could have been the fever. It could have been the chill of the night. It could have been the way this woman defended her with such conviction when she had absolutely no reason to. Whatever its cause, Regina shivers. And the action is violent enough to grab Emma's attention.
"Don't worry about him. He's a terrible criminal. Not any real threat to you or anybody else really," She says softly.
And Regina shivers again and again. Each one more severe than the last. It's only on the fifth or so Emma realizes that there are no blankets – nothing but the fire for warmth. Her mouth opens. Likely to say something stupidly obvious such as "oh, you must be cold." But thinks better of it. Biting the words back before she removes her jacket. It falls off her like leather armor, heavy and warm. It's the warmth of too many days spent keeping the streets clean and safe.
"Here," it's said in a whisper as she lays the jacket over the shivering woman, making sure to cover as much of her as she can before she turns to leave, "I'll be just outside the doorway if you need me."
"Emma, wait!"
Regina knows she's supposed to say something else. Something more to accompany the fact that she told this person to wait and is now holding them physically hostage by the wrist. But she doesn't. She wants to. To tell Emma to stay. To not leave her alone. To not leave her with herself. How that would be the worst part of being left right now. That it would always ever only be alone with herself. But she doesn't have to say anything else. Because the request is there clear as day in the brown of her eyes.
She is incredibly beautiful. Wispy. Like a sylph. And the pleaful look in her eyes is disarming. So much so that Emma couldn't withstand its glorious assault even if her heart wanted to. She climbs onto the bed of hay and lays down next to Regina. Face to face. Close enough that when she exhales, Regina is breathing it into her own lungs.
And she's honest-to-god smiling. She couldn't tell you how it started. Or why it's there. But it doesn't even matter anymore. Because she's worn that smile into her face and now it will never come off.
The sounds of hammers striking the strings of an old baby grand piano wrap them in the haunting tones of G minor like a blanket.
Goddess
I'll be your goddess
Lace your fingers round my neck it's pleasure I can take
Regina sighs. Her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. Emma cocks her head to the side unsure whether she's hearing correctly right now.
Bet I know exactly what you're doing when you're alone in your room
When you're alone in your room
"Az. I swear on all the magic I possess if you do not stop this at once, I will…" Regina threatens. But the volume of the song only increases, drowning out the rest of what she meant to say.
Darling, tell me if you're having trouble and I'm sure I could help you
I'm sure I could help you
"Uh, Regina. What's happening right now?" Emma asks looking around the room for whoever it is the other woman is talking to but finding it empty except for them.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Oh, forgive me
for I love being bad for you
"ASMODEUS!" The volume of the music is once again increased to suppress the anger in Regina's screams. The little vein in her forehead starts to protrude.
Oh, forgive me for I love being bad for you
It is at this point the little demon feels they've had their fun. And for a moment – but only a short moment – there is complete silence.
"Yes, your majesty? You rang," Az breaks that silence, appearing suddenly on her arm with a nail file in hand and boredom in their eyes.
"Gina? What's going on?" Emma asks again.
And believe it or not, Regina is so frustrated and so tired, she doesn't even notice the shortening of her name.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Really? I travelled all the way to an alternate universe where animals can talk and everything wants to kill me because you were kidnapped by a guy that also happens to be the gingerbread man who is out for revenge about some crazy shit you did 30-some-odd years ago to a bunch of fairytale characters. And you think I won't believe you?"
"It does sound outrageous when you put it that way, doesn't it?"
"Come on, Regina. Who's Asmodeus? Why does music keep randomly playing?"
She only hesitates for a few seconds before deciding that she can't think of one single lie good enough to coverup or outdo the truth, "I'm being terrorized by a demon who was sent here by Gods-only-know who to 'guide me through the rockiness of my life' and they think that playing specific songs at certain points in time is how one establishes a human's personality and motivations to others."
"Oh, and tell her that I was top of my class in human studies too," Az tacks on, pinching at her arm as a way to goad her into doing their bidding.
"They also want me to mention that they were the top of their class in human studies," She continues after a rather long defeated sigh.
"Okay…" Emma begins, trying to process everything, "So…you've got this…what…fairy god demon–"
"D.I Specialist," Regina and Az both correct her at the same time.
"Uh huh. Yeah. Okay. So…A demon…is interfering with your life and it plays songs at random to establish a person's personality and motivations?"
It really is a lot to take in. I, personally, think Emma's handling it better than most, all things considered.
"I knew you wouldn't believe me." Regina turns her face away, hiding behind the palms of her hands.
"No. Come on. I never said that," Emma says, already missing those eyes as she tries to coax them back with a gentle tug at the other woman's wrists, "It's just….a lot to take in is all. But I believe you. Of course I believe you. Where is this demon. I'd like to have some words. Asmodeus! Show yourself!"
She's able to pry Regina's hands away from her face. They peel away like petals on a flower that blooms into the sweetest, softest smile. A contagious kind of flower that has Emma's own face blossoming into a grin.
"I'm the only one that can see and hear them, unfortunately. But they can see and hear you."
The words are so softly spoken that it actually comes off as shyness. A trait Emma isn't all too used to seeing in the former Evil Queen. She transforms when spoken to this way – into the kind of person that carries someone out of a burning building and climbs down a crumbling mineshaft to pull someone from the rubble.
Assuming a person needs saving just because they sound shy about a topic. Now, doesn't that feel a bit too presumptuous?
It feels wonderful. It feels like being needed. Like having a purpose. Like giving purpose to someone else. Emma wasn't good at many things in life. But she could start and end and resolve a conflict like nobody's business.
"Hey. Asmodeus! Stop messing with Regina. She's had a rough day and really could use some rest–OW! Fuck!"
What's that thing everybody always says about fire? Something about playing with it and how it cares little for who or what it burns? Emma's entire body jolts almost 6 inches into the air as if she'd lain on a hot coal.
"Something just bit me!"
Az is spitting off to the side, the obvious 'something' that had done so.
"She doesn't taste as good as she looks, that's for sure," they say.
I highly doubt that's true, the thought pervades every space in Regina's mind, unbidden. So intrusive, so irrational that it made her long for the opportunity to explore it further. But instead, she put a stop to as quickly as it had come.
They would never be lovers. As she did with all things, she would have to let the other woman go long before they'd ever make it that far. For she knew that part all too well. In time, the moss and ivy would grow across the images of those fantasies until she no longer had to transition in and out of feeling of wanting and being wanted anymore. That was just the way of her world.
Archie told her that she could be ready for something like this. That he believed in her ability to be. But she still wasn't quite as convinced. This wasn't a door that one could just simply open or close. This was the kind of thing she'd spent a lifetime being denied and then denying herself – not because she wanted to, but because it was all she'd ever known. It wasn't this straight and narrow doorway that you could just fit yourself through ever-aware of the safety that was on the other side. This was a hurricane blowing in and ripping the door off its hinges. This was a tornado swallowing you up and carrying you off miles away from your home then dumping you in the middle of nowhere with no means to get back.
It would take a lot more than a slow song and a few kind words from a beautiful face resting next to her in bed to get her to cross that particular threshold. She isn't closing the door. But she isn't going to step through it either.
"That's enough, Az," Regina answers, the weariness finally seeping into the marrow of her bones, "Leave her be. She's right. I need to rest."
"You two are no fun. I like you both better when you're drinking," Az says and then poofs out of existence as if they'd never been there to begin with.
"They're gone. For now," She says behind a yawn, becoming more and more uncomfortable with the sudden silence of the room.
What were they to do now?
Cuddle?
Regina Mills does not cuddle.
But also…
What about how easy it is – in this moment – to conjure up an image of someone's arms wrapped around her? And how much does just the thought alone make her long for such comforts?
The answer is so easy and so much.
Maybe there was a way to open up a door and not walk through. Maybe there were moments that she could have and savor for what they were in the time that they existed. And she didn't have to think about the moss and the ivy and what would become of them in the future, because it would only be for this one moment. Something she needed, that could easily be provided. Like a glass of water for a parched throat.
So she opens the door. And she rolls over, pulling at one of Emma's hands so that she rolls with her.
"Is this okay?" She asks. And it's fragile. Delicate. The way she feels with another woman's body pressed so close to hers from behind.
"Of course," Emma croaks back, shaky and unsure of what to do with her hands.
The air between them grows more awkward as it becomes clear that neither one of them knows the first thing about cuddling. But then Emma is shifting closer and her arm settles comfortably around Regina's waist. And the shape of their bodies piece together perfectly like two threads sewn into a richly colored tapestry. And it's so warm and so safe and so comfortable that sleep quickly pulls them under its spell.
That night, their dreams come through wooden walls. Lighting up the dark corners of the room and darkening the light. They make their entrances and exits at their own leisure, and laugh at the face of closed doors.
"Regina, Emma. I don't mean to wake you both so early but–"
The deep timber of the brown bear's voice startles them both awake. It is too early. And she is still so very tired. But still Regina recognized this tone. He was about to deliver bad news.
"Russell is gone. But he left this," Baloo continues, holding out a piece of paper in his great big bear paw.
The paper itself is yellowed in patches by sunlight and age, and it's covered in thick wide black scribbles. Bits of charcoal are set in to dislodged particles and smudges, reaching like sloppy tendrils across the page. It looks as if it had been torn off from another source – likely the map Russell had taken from the castle.
There's this thing in the back of her head. A little voice, a quiet scream. She already knew this would be something bad, but especially now – looking at the thing – somehow feels even worse. She can't bring herself to read it.
Instead she watches Emma, who is already inspecting the note. The vibrant green emeralds of her eyes scanning left to right. Quickly, methodically, like a printer.
Went past the black wood less than 60 paces north from here to get oven. Don't bother trying to find me. You'll never catch me.
– The Gingerbread Man.
"Not very good at being discreet, is he?" She says after reading and rereading the short note a number of times out loud to herself.
"You really have no idea," Regina replies and hands the other woman her jacket.
They needed to get to this man before he got himself killed. Or worse. Before he brought something back with him that would get them all killed.
"And the horse?" Emma asks the room, flipping her hair as she dons her signature jacket. Always at the ready to jump immediately into action.
"Still out front, tied to a post," Bagheera supplies.
"Idiot," Regina mutters as she leads the way out of the dilapidated cottage.
Up above the clouds collide with one another like great steel battering rams. All around them rain falls in thick and heavy sheets on what was once known as the Enchanted Forest. It drips from the trees and floods the ground, washing away the desolation. Regina takes one last look at their temporary shelter behind them. The little old cottage hunching pitifully beneath the assault. It will take a whole lot more than rain to bring life back to this place.
"Are you gonna be ok to ride?" Emma asks her, the words pressed against her ear.
Regina's fever had finally broken some time in the night, and yet a chill whisks down her back as if it were still there all the same. The feeling gives her a sudden burst of energy she didn't know she had left in her. In one fell leap, she's up on the horse and squeezing her legs around it until it takes off into a trot. With another squeeze of her left leg, she guides it into a U-turn back to Emma. And as she releases her legs entirely, the horse comes to a stop, allowing her to lean over and offer the sheriff her hand.
"Do you trust me?" She asks, her voice almost drowned out by the sound of the rain.
"Hell no I don't trust you!" Emma calls back. And Regina's face falls. But then she quickly recovers with a glowing smile, "You can control a thousand pound animal with nothing but your thighs. That's witchcraft!"
She accepts the hand without any further hesitation and climbs onto the horse behind Regina.
"Hold on tight, Sheriff."
She squeezes her legs once more and the horse takes off into the trees at full speed. And there, sitting against her; bodies close, back pressed to front, radiating warmth. Emma does.
They ride north through the forest with nothing but the chaotic song of falling rain all around them. The large cat and burly bear not too far behind with their adoptive human daughter. A gale wind blows angrily from the east. A wind of needles and bullets of rain. It wraps itself around their bodies as they charge through the darkness of the stormy early morning and obscure foliage. Above, lightning strikes. And it's the only source of light through the large network of trees. Not too far away, exactly 60 paces, at the edge of the dark woods, there's the remains of a nondescript building, shrouded by a haze of rain and fog. It's vacant and lost, just like the man standing at the center of where it once proudly stood.
Rain-soaked and ready for conflict, they arrive.
Emma jumps off the back of the horse before Regina can even bring them to a full stop and runs up to Russell. All fervor. All temper. All Emma.
"What was your plan here, Russ?" She screams at him. The anger and disappointment in her voice should have sent him reeling. But he doesn't even blink.
"No one cares about me, Emma! The only people that ever did are dead and I'm just – I'm so tired of being ignored. I'm so tired of no one caring. It should have been me in that fire – instead of my parents. It should have been me. All I wanted was to bring them back."
There's something this guy isn't seeing. This universe is too chaotic, too sensitive to the infinite number of special conditions that can occur. It's morally unpredictable.
She needs to convince him.
"You can't go running from consequences, Russ. You can try, but they'll always catch up to you one way or another. This is not the way to deal with things."
Even through the rain, it's clear that he's sweating profusely. His breathing getting more and more erratic the longer he stands there. His own heart that beats in his ears grows so frenetic that he can feel his blood pressure rise to a dangerous level. What is he supposed to do with all of this? He can't do anything. He unloads it into the sky in the form of an agonized scream.
Regina takes a few steps forward. Her hand coming to rest on the small of Emma's back. Not in the guiding or the need for contact sort of ways. But in the way that silently communicates, "you think you're helping, but you aren't. Let me take it from here, dear." And, despite how it may come off, she really does try to the best of her ability.
"Russell there are many people that care about you. There's that goat-faced girl–gods, what was her name again? Uh – Capri! Capri! What about her? She's always hanging around the bakery just waiting to catch your attention. And what about your friends Jack and Tom? I see you with them all the time in the square. Not to mention, you run the only bakery in town. Where would the citizens of Storybrooke get their freshly baked bread without you?"
He takes one step toward her. And as soon as his mouth forms the shape of the very first word to respond, a resonant bass sound rumbles through the violently shaking trees. Almost beastly in nature. Like an ominous song of whatever deeply offended deity decided to unleash the wrath of the heavens from above onto them. He turns his body away. But the face he sends back is one of vengeance. Framed in dirt and rain, lips trembling. Even if this is the last thing he does, he's already made up his mind that he will do it. Then…
Russell Pierniki is no longer standing on the solid ground. He is up in the air. Held frozen in the large tight fist of some ape-like ogre beast. It's sharp claws pierce through the man's ribcage as it holds him to it's gaping mouth and bites into the meat of his thigh. Pulling away roughly with every intent to snap the limb clean off his body.
"Help!" He screams, the pain and urgency in his body tearing through his vocal chords.
Everything happens so fast. And yet it is as if everything around them is stuck in slow motion. Regina shudders and looks down at her feet. Rainwater runs rivulets into the forest mud and dirt like little creek beds. She realizes she doesn't even have any shoes on. Her feet are wet and stained in reds and oranges and browns. Her shirt sticks to her chest. And the shoulders of her near-ruined blazer become oppressive. The cold makes a home beneath her skin. Prickling at it until there are little bumps all over.
Then she hears the metallic clink of the hammer of a gun clicking into place. Followed by the loud blast of a discharged revolver. That's when things jump back in speed – almost too fast, like travelling at warp speed. She looks to Emma – the firer of the gun – and sees the steely determination in her eyes. Then to the beast, who just took a bullet to the shoulder. It roars, not in agony, but in pure unadulterated rage. So much so, that no one could tell if it had come from the beast's mouth or if it were a product of the overarching storm.
The beast drops Russell's writhing body to the ground with a hard thud. And stands there before them menacingly. Cloaked entirely in the anger of every last thing that served to create it. Readying itself like a bull about to charge.
Emma runs.
And Regina does too.
Though they both do so in opposite directions. Emma off into the woods and Regina to the spot where Russell lay motionless. In a fit of revenge, the beast takes off on four legs into the woods.
"Mr. Pierniki? Mr. Pierniki," Regina is calling out as she shakes him and taps lightly at his cheeks, "Russell! The Sheriff – everyone is in trouble. You have to release me from this cuff. Come on, Russ. There is a child here – don't do this to me now! Not like this!"
He doesn't speak. Too much blood has already gathered in his mouth and throat making the usually simple task all the more difficult. But his eyes are wide open. He's still alive and responsive and he can hear her. He gathers her hand weakly in his own and guides it to the gaping wound where his femoral artery is leaking what remains of his lifeblood. And coats her wrist in it. Then, with his eyes closed and a large gulp of air and blood the cuff releases. She is free. And she is armed.
Across her direct line of sight, she can see Emma blazing a path through the trees. The panther and a mysterious wolf-shaped creature (whose coat suspiciously matches the color of Ruby's hair) have also joined in the chase, trying to coax the beast from getting too close as it stays hot on the other woman's trail. Regina watches them steadily. A sudden gust of wind lifts her dark hair as she conjures up that familiar feeling deep inside her. The feeling of magic. Then it drops, tussled and as wild as the raw electricity that shoots from her fingertips.
One thousand volts passes through the large body. The rain amplifying the powerful shock as the creature jolts and spasms into trees and rocks. Until it finally collapses to the ground in a flurry of irregular aftershocks. It's down now. But they have no way of knowing whether that would be enough to keep it down. Judging by the strength of the convulsions, even if it did get back up from a shock like that, it would still be several minutes before the electricity flowing through it's body would release it – if it did at all. That didn't leave them much time.
"Okay. What. The. Fuck. Was that thing!?" Emma cries in pants of overexerted breath as she and everyone else meet at the spot around Regina.
To whom her question had been directed. Because that was always Emma's source of information for most everything pertaining to this world. But Regina doesn't answer. Still stuck in that place where a thousand volts of electricity shot from her hands and into the body of another creature. She brushes a few stray locks of hair from her eyes, tucking them back behind her ears as she stares off into the sheets of rain pounding down onto the forest. It's almost as if she doesn't even noticed that they've gathered there around her. Her thoughts still elsewhere – in a place across the raging storm, maybe even with the storm itself.
It's Baloo who answers.
"Grendel. He's been stalking this realm since the day the worlds were sent to disarray."
"Grendel!?" Emma shrieks, "You're telling me that was Grendel!? From Beowulf!? You have got to be fucking kidding me."
A small body collides into Regina. Sending her crashing back into the 'here' and 'now.' With an instinct that only a mother could have, she curls her own body around the smaller one. And as she does, she is almost broken by the fear and anguish that pounds into the cavity of her chest like waves on an angry and violent sea. The connection the two share was not new to her. But this was the first time she had felt anything with this level of intensity. It must have something to do with the cuff. Now that it's gone, whatever this is between them has become amped up tenfold.
She thought she couldn't find her own feelings in the disarray before, but now. Well now, she's struggling to find herself at all inside the immense power that is being pushed into her. Whatever magic this young girl possesses – wherever it came from – it is strong. Fighting through the swells, she sends back as much calm and comfort as she can. Even as she breaks inside for the distress of this little girl.
But Noemi will not be consoled – cannot be consoled. Tears run down her cheeks as she starts to bang her head repeatedly against the center of Regina's collarbone.
"What is she doing?" Regina asks the girl's guardians. Barely able to even get the words out as she slowly collapses beneath the weight of all the emotion inside her, "Is she okay?"
"It's the rain. It distresses her. Here," Bagheera replies calmly. He sits next to them and begins humming an unidentifiable tune. Then, "With me, my sweetling," before he continues to hum.
A few more seconds pass, and Noemi stops butting her head into Regina. A few more seconds pass and she is humming along rhythmically. It's not really even a tune as much as it is a single note or two. And so, Regina joins them too – her chest vibrating with it against the small girl's head – as the happiness and calm seeps slowly back into her. She tightens her arms around the small girl, shielding her from the rain and the world with her own body. And feels an even stronger pulse of comfort and ease that passes back and forth between them freely.
It reminds her what life is about. What living is for. Because she may not fully understand what this is. But she knew that this…this was exactly it.
"We need to leave. Before that thing gets up again," Emma orders.
Oh, yes. The beast thing from that one book with the funny old English that most of us were forced to read in school and likely hated with a passion.
I forgot about him.
"Already on it, boss," human Ruby chirps from her place beside Russell's body.
"Hey, are you okay?" Emma asks, brushing back another wet strand of hair to look her in the eyes. Regina nods and presses the small body closer still, "And the girl? She okay?"
The question pulls a gut-wrenching sob from Regina's throat. No. Noemi was not okay. She was incredibly scared and distressed and the way it tore through them both overwhelmed even Regina who had only felt those things secondhand through their connection. She can't even imagine what it must be like for the innocent little girl. The sheer magnitude of it alone, Regina herself couldn't put it into words. So she doesn't. Just nods tearfully against the girl's head and clenches her eyes shut against the lie.
But Emma knows. Emma always knows. And still she doesn't push her on it. They've all been through a lot in the past few days. The woman likely has her reasons. None of which are necessarily any of Emma's business. It was time for somewhat of a break. At the very least, she owed the woman that. It was time for things to maybe – hopefully – finally – change.
So she stands there silently. And awkwardly. Her hand hovering out near Regina's shoulder. But never quite making that last move to form a complete connection. In this way, she offers as much comfort as her awkward yet stoic presence can. Completely unsure of what more she even had to offer to this woman that both terrified and amazed her at every turn.
Regina doesn't need her. She never has. Regina doesn't need anything from anybody.
"Hey, Emma! You're gonna wanna get over here. He's fading fast," Ruby calls out, interrupting the moment.
They are alive.
For now.
But they are not okay.
Only a single breath later, one of them is dead. And a jackdaw flies off into the dwindling storm.