The overturned boxes of hearts lie scattered on the gritty floor of her vault. Each one lies open and empty, a bleak reminder of the fearsome power she no longer holds. Power that the damned little Savior restored. Her power, her curse, her control, it is all crumbling around her. Their drawers hang open, a striking contrast that stings like a slap in the face. A dull throb of pain echoes from the back of Regina's sore head and around her neck. Sharp, shooting pain lances from her wounded arm. Dried blood crusts on the blazer of her pantsuit. The blood crusts the blazer to her arm and Regina grits her teeth as she forcibly separates the two. She blinks furiously in the hazy, subdued light of the crypt. It feels as though hours have passed. Light filtering down the stairs informs her it's early morning.
A single heart lies exposed on the ground, surrounded by empty wooden chests. It glows dimly red as it slowly beats a steady rhythm, stained with swirling patterns of black. The heart that little bitch was nervously holding. Mother's. Blood stains the ground in a small, dried puddle around the heart.
What else did that little bitch disturb? Regina gradually climbs to her feet, brushing the dust from her pantsuit and wincing at the painful movement of her arm. That miserable bastard Hook is going to pay. Both of them will. She'll have to think of something. Everything she's attempted against either one so far has failed. Little Miss Swan can't die, lest the curse inevitably die with her. And Hook, Regina doesn't favor her chances of killing him without the benefit of magic, satisfying as the thought is. So, for now, she'll just have to critically assess the damage and obtain a firm grasp on where she stands. Carefully, Regina secures her mother's heart in a chest, tucking it in a drawer. It's doubtful the little bitch will return for it. With a keen eye, she investigates her crypt, stepping gingerly around the chaotic mess from where the little bitch carelessly discarded boxes in piles. She knows she'll have to return at some point to tidy up the mess.
Her potions and magical ingredients are left exactly as she placed them. Nothing appears altered in that regard. Regina was incapable of bringing much magic. What little she has managed to bring with difficulty is left intact. It appears she broke in, went directly for the captured hearts, and stuck there. Good thing the snot-nosed punk didn't mess around with magic she doesn't understand. Regina stalks deeper into the vault, to a glass coffin.
Daniel's body lies perfectly preserved. Her preservation spell carried over into this world and has continued to endure for the last fourteen years. Had there been any sign Miss Swan had so much as looked in Daniel's direction…
She releases her ragged breath in a huff. Her puppets, the more useful of the miserable peasants in this pissant town, they're gone. Her control is continuing to slip through her fingers. Directing one of her nameless puppets to brutally beat the Swan girl into a pulp didn't improve things. In fact, it reinforced the little bitch's resolve each time. It should have sent that little bitch running for the hills! Graham is no longer under her personal control.
This curse is supposed to be MY happy ending! Hook brought the pint-sized Savior here, and everything started crumbling down around me! God damn it, I'm not going to let that fucking pirate win!
Regina stalks from her crypt through the cemetery and back to her car. She drives back to her palatial home and locks the door behind her securely. She cleans off the grime and dried blood and bandages her arm before applying make-up to carefully conceal the bruises around her neck and dark circles under her eyes. She's arrived home in time to critically review her advance copy of the Daily Mirror, as she invariably does every monotonous morning. Regina sips her coffee as she peruses the paper. Front page news delivers a minimalist report from the miserable night before, Deputy Swan attacked on the job. It would be too big a thing to demand that such a story could be covered up. Not in a peaceful town like Storybrooke. A kitten being rescued from a tree used to represent big news. A sale at Dark Star Pharmacy used to be a page-turner. But no. Emma Swan comes to town and suddenly, everything's flashy and exciting. A massive story like this couldn't be kept untold. Sidney, however, seems to have anticipated Regina's reaction, fashioning it carefully as incompetence on the part of the young, impulsive deputy. It's as good as can be managed with a story like this. The news would get out, but this way, it got out on the mayor's terms with Sidney crafting the narrative and granting his spin in her favor.
She picks up the phone and dials the paper. It's answered on the second ring. "Sidney," Regina simpers, "good morning."
"Good morning, Madam Mayor," Sidney answers cheerfully.
"I just read over the paper. It looks passable. You're good to go."
"Thank you very much, Madam Mayor."
"Have a good day, Sidney." She hangs up with a feeling of slight satisfaction. Everything else may be slipping from her control, but she still maintains mayoral review of the newspaper. She still regulates the flow of information here in Storybrooke. This, at least, isn't crumbling around her. This is a pillar of stone, not sand.
Leaning her head back, she's exhausted. She's in pain. Regina half-considers going to the hospital but recognizes how much of a sitting duck she'd be. So she removes the bloodstained bandage, grits her teeth, and douses her wound in hydrogen peroxide before rebandaging it. She calls her secretary to inform her that the mayor won't be in today, she's taking a sick day. Her assistant answers that everything will be run efficiently in her stead. So, Regina downs some fluids and pain meds, and curls up for her sick day.
The next morning, Regina carries out her routine. She reviews the Daily Mirror over a fortifying cup of coffee. The front page this morning has nothing to do with the deputy, again Sidney anticipating her wishes to have this story die as quickly as possible. It's a fluff piece on the front page of the paper. It's all about preparations for the upcoming Miner's Day celebrations, with a bit of historic background and some of the plans for this year's celebration. The banal story acts as a balm for her frayed nerves as she calls in her approval to Sidney. She dresses and prepares for her day like she has every other. She then leaves for the office buildings that have been serving as interim City Hall until construction and repairs can be finished on the original.
On her commute to work and the walk to her office, she acutely feels eyes burning furiously into her. Glaring eyes brimming with violent hatred. This is no longer the helpless anger the unfortunate peasants felt against the Evil Queen. The armed peasants here occupy much more level footing with their mayor. Damn Americans. Regina gradually begins processing a key fact. Many of them share the same darkened looks filled with intense awareness in their defiant eyes. These are the hearts I controlled. Does that mean…they all remember. They remember everything I did to them. Regina quickens her pace.
All of those people, the ones she considered ants that could be stepped on and puppets to be controlled, they're about to be on the lookout for blood. Her blood. Everything she did to them and forced them to do over the years, they'll be furiously demanding her decapitated head on a pike. A nervous shiver of fear runs through her. Pervasive fear seems to remain her constant companion since Hook came to town. Fear she barely felt before then.
God damn Emma Swan. Regina impatiently paces her office as she considers a solution to the Emma Swan problem. If Hook is the one pushing the little bitch so hard, maybe there's another option to get Hook out of the way. He's here for his Crocodile and his petty revenge. Conceivably he does, in fact, care for the foolish girl's well-being. She has already made the mistake of failing to account for that fact. At least twice now he's proven he cares about the girl. But his life's purpose hasn't changed. Hook can't possibly care more about Emma Swan than he does about his revenge. He clearly doesn't know that if the girl dies, the curse breaks. He seems to incorrectly think that if the girl dies, then no one can break the curse. It's not a correction that Regina is particularly eager to make. It'd be all too easy for the bloodthirsty pirate to slit the girl's throat, shatter the curse, then kill his Crocodile. He hasn't given up on revenge, merely delayed it. The pirate, predictable as he is, has been staking out Gold's shop and following the Dark One into the woods.
The unfortunate fact remains, however, that Hook hasn't made a more substantial move. For a man to whom revenge is so vital, he should have made a more substantial move than simple reconnaissance. Hook's conspicuous lack of action is starting to cause Regina to doubt her initial thought. Maybe Gold is still under. After all, he's always had the smug, all-knowing air of the twisted, little imp years before little Miss Swan entered the picture. Maybe she only needs to contend with the Savior's bullheaded nature, throwing herself into breaking the Dark Curse, and the pirate encouraging her. Or, Rumplestiltskin is awake and aware of his own mortality in this world. He would recognize that the second he pokes his head out of that foxhole, Hook is impatiently waiting to sever it from his body. There are ways to find out for sure. There are ways of smoking him out. If nothing else, knowing for sure will be one-up on Hook. If she can leverage that knowledge and get the pirate to achieve his damn mission and then leave, then maybe her curse and her happy ending won't lie in desolate ruins around her when Gold's dead. Breaking the curse is only a means to the end of killing a lucid Crocodile. He doesn't care about anyone under the curse. Helping them is just coinciding with him achieving his goal. Should Gold be lucid while the curse is still intact, then no reason would remain for Hook to push Miss Swan to break it.
She snaps viciously at her secretary and strides out the door and down the street towards the pawnshop. She's going to have a word with the proprietor. Regina's arm twinges in dreadful pain with every step. Her head still echoes with a dull throb. Each jolt of pain has her cursing the pirate again and again. On the street, she hears the old diner owner talking to the cricket, mentioning that Deputy Swan was in the hospital. As enraged as Regina was, seeing Mother's heart in Miss Swan's hands, a dazed look on the horrid girl's pale, young face, she's partially relieved. She's partially thankful Hook and Graham did manage to transport Emma to the hospital in time. The consequences of allowing Emma here are destructive, but the consequences of killing her are worse. So much worse. Thus far, the pint-sized, pain in the ass Savior has managed to weaken the curse. Her death would shatter it completely. In her overwhelming anger, Regina managed to forget that little fact. In her violent anger, seeing Mother's heart cradled in that little bitch's hands, as if she had any right to touch it, Regina almost carelessly through away everything she worked for all those years and destroyed her own curse.
Before Regina reaches the pawnshop, she spots Mr. Gold and a hulking man in a suit standing on the sidewalk outside of Game of Thorns. Both Gold and his enforcer are dressed in a suit and tie. Moe French pulls up in his truck and begins unloading flowers from the back as Regina watches. It's always delightful, she thinks to herself, seeing how far the mighty have fallen. This man used to be a ruler. Just a minor prince, but royalty, nonetheless. And now, here, he merely owns a flower shop that struggles to get by. Rather than princely robes and a crown, the man stands in unassuming slacks and a brown jacket over a polo paired with a white baseball cap.
"Well, this is just perfect. I've been looking for you, Mr. French."
"I'll have your money next week," French answers gruffly, continuing to unload roses.
"The terms of the loan were fairly specific," Gold answers with mock sympathy. He turns to the muscle beside him. "Take the van." Gold's enforcer climbs into the driver's seat of the delivery van while Moe French stares in disagreeable shock and frantically begins to vainly protest, actually moving to block the man.
"Wait, no! I've got a grand in roses in the back!" Regina hears the ignition start over Moe's desperate protests. "Stop! You've got to let me sell them! I, I can't pay you back without the profits from those! Gold, dammit, listen!"
Unconcerned, Gold turns away. "I'm going to leave you two to finish this conversation."
Moe French stupidly attempts to block the van by standing in front of it. "Oh, this is no way to do business, Gold. You are the lowest! People aren't going to put up with this!" For all his pathetic attempts of throwing himself in front of the van, it drives off with his ability to repay his loan in the back. Gold crosses the street, still unconcerned with Moe French's emotional display. It's not as if his harsh loan practices will cause others to reconsider. Not without recourse.
Gold crosses the street with a small smirk across his face.
"Mr. Gold, that was quite the show back there," Regina says in greeting.
He dismissively glances back across the street. "Well, Mr. French is just having a bad day. Happens to the best of us."
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something." Her red lips turn up in a slight smile. She leans in as she asserts it, preparing to collaborate with her former mentor. He seems to be having none of it.
"Yeah, and the moment you have something I want to discuss, we'll have that little chat."
Frustration flares up in Regina. This is still MY town, and it will remain MY town, where people do as I say! Including you, you twisted, little imp! Gold moves to step around her. Regina steps to the side to hinder him. He raises his eyebrows in challenge, as if asking if she really wants to do this. "No, we're going to do this now," Regina insists angrily. "It'll only take a moment," she continues, lowering her voice.
"Is there something eating you, dear? Something you need to get out in the open?" He asks impatiently, leaning wearily on his cane, glaring at her from behind the aviators. "Because it's gonna have to wait." She opens her mouth and steps forward to speak before he continues at a harsh whisper. "Please," he grits through his teeth.
Precisely as it did in her garden when that little bitch first came to town, the overwhelming force of her deal irresistably compels her to comply. Regina stands frozen in place, rooted to the spot, as Gold walks around her. His cane taps against the sidewalk as he continues on his way. Does he know? Or is he merely employing the word please with no memory of the deal? Is Gold simply weaponizing his common courtesy and basic manners against her?
Well, she'll soon know for sure, now won't she? And she has a way to keep an eye on the pirate and the Savior to boot. Two birds, one flowery stone. She boldly strides down the street to Game of Thorns where Moe is discussing losses and options with his employee. "Moe?" The man twists his ruddy face to Regina in question. "Are you still open?" She asks politely. He nods a bit frantically. Desperate for any money he can get, apparently. "Great," she answers with a sickly sweet smile, following the man into his shop.
"What can I get for you, Madam Mayor? Regrettably, I don't exactly have many roses in stock," he sighs resignedly, "but I've got plenty in nice fall colors." Regina nods, directing her eyes around the shop. Her eyes light on orange lilies and a smile curves her lips. Mother's deeply ingrained lessons have stuck. Ladylike etiquette was important if she was going to one day be queen. While the symbolism will likely be lost on the ignorant girl, the message of hatred will ring for Regina.
"How much for an arrangement of these?" She asks, pointing to the lilies. "I just," she mournfully shakes her head, lowering her eyes in false sympathy and doing her best to keep the smile from her face. "I heard about what happened to Deputy Swan. As Mayor, I should send something. A get-well." Moe nods his understanding while arranging the flowers and ringing her up.
"Shame about that, I heard about it from Granny Lucas."
Regina composes her slight bout of contemptuous anger that flares at the name and the idea. The old gossip Granny, friend to Snow White, informing citizens rather than the local paper. That just won't do. "Yes, truly unfortunate. But, hopefully, these can brighten her day and help in recovery." Regina pulls a careful smile to her face. Moe hums a slight response while focusing his attention on the flowers. She purses her lips, considering how to bring up her plan delicately. "Moe, I saw your little confrontation with Mr. Gold out there earlier."
He scoffs while wrapping the lilies. "Yeah, you and half the town."
Regina simpers and fakes sympathy. "You're right. People won't tolerate it anymore." Moe glances up curiously but nods grimly. Anger and burning indignation color his cheeks red. "Who does that twisted little imp think he is, treating his clients this way?"
"A beast," Moe grunts.
"Aside from Deputy Swan, I haven't seen anyone stand up to him." Admittedly, a gutsy move on the Savior's part, though it's doubtful Hook would tolerate anyone afraid of his Crocodile. Moe encounters her eyes carefully. "Someone is going to have to take the first step. Someone is going to have to act first in this town, actually stand up to that man." Slowly, Moe French nods his head as he ponders the idea. Regina watches as the wheels turn behind his eyes. Just in case, she delivers one final nudge as she collects the flowers. "Someone in this town is going to have to take back what's theirs. Standing up to a beast like Mr. Gold is far from everyone's cup of tea, but someone has to be the first. Strong men, Mr. French, they take what they need. Have a good day, Mr. French."
She collects the flowers and leaves the shop. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a pastel-colored cardigan beside a blue, plaid flannel. Those two bumbling idiots, the ones responsible for all of this mess! The disgusting sight of the two morons irritates Regina. She overhears a gentle laugh she recognizes as her stepdaughter's. The abrasive sound makes her practically murderous. It's all Regina can do not to desperately wish for a fireball to appear in her fist. The two seem awfully cozy.
Gritting her teeth, she releases her breath and forces herself to calmly walk across the street to the diner, flowers in hand. "Mr. Nolan, Miss Blanchard, good morning," Regina greets while feigning a courteous smile. Mary Margaret jumps like the mousy schoolteacher she is here in this world. David Nolan stares in shock and mounting anger at the mayor.
"Madam Mayor," he answers, poorly feigning politeness and barely attempting a calm front. His sky-blue eyes dart between Mary Margaret and Regina, anger and uncertainty brimming out of him. Regina maintains the artificial smile pasted across her face. Mary Margaret seems unnerved by the almost palpable tension, but unaware of its source. It takes the shepherd a moment to land on a decision, but he does, shaking away the tension. "Well, Mary Margaret, I should be getting these to the hospital. Thank you." He offers some approximation of a cheerful grin to the bewildered schoolteacher before leaving with a few used textbooks tucked under his arm. Every muscle in David's body seems tensed for a fight. Does he…? No, if he did, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me.
"Textbooks? Hospital? Am I misunderstanding something?" Regina asks.
"Oh, good morning, Madam Mayor. David, he said he wanted to make sure Emma Swan was okay. He wanted to make sure she stayed caught up on her studies while she was in the hospital. So he asked me if I could arrange some materials." The little bitch practically has a sparkle in her green eyes as she talks incessantly about the man who should be in a coma. "A girl like her…Emma's got a good head on her shoulders. It'd be a shame to let something like that go to waste."
"Well, how nice of Mr. Nolan." Regina grits out a response.
"Yeah." Mary Margaret sighs wistfully with a soft smile on her face. "He said he knew how hard it is to catch up with life after being in the hospital so long. He wanted to make sure she didn't have to miss out."
"Confused and lost after spending so long in the hospital, imagine that," Regina mutters.
"Excuse me?" Mary Margaret asks. She blinks and draws back in surprise, drawing her pastel-green sweater tighter around her body while wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't understand." The lying little bitch blinks far too rapidly, shaking her head slightly.
"All I'm saying is David Nolan is, as you said, still piecing his life together after so long in a coma. You and your involvement with David are ruining many lives. And I hope you have the good sense to think twice before acting any further." Regina pulls no punches with her harsh tone. "David is married. He was happily married to my good friend Katherine and was confused when he left that behind for you." Regina relishes the feeling as the wistful smile and hope fall from Mary Margaret's pale face, fading into confusion.
"Madam Mayor, I don't know what you're talking about. David and I aren't involved."
"Oh please. Spare me, you little homewrecker. As if you didn't persuade him to abandon his wife. You don't belong together. He's not yours. He's taken. Find someone else." Regina spits each word with haughty contempt. Mary Margaret draws back as if she'd been struck. "Back off, and let him figure out his life."
Mary Margaret opens her mouth to protest, to fight back. The moment she lifts her chin, however, she blinks. Her green eyes lower to the pavement. As the schoolteacher turns on her heel with a "Have a nice day, Madam Mayor," Regina smirks.
She returns to her temporary office. Planting her bug carefully, she writes out a simple note, insincerely wishing Miss Swan a swift recovery on behalf of the town. When she's finished, she asks Marge Smith to come to her office. While she would never have associated with the cleaning lady before, she knows Marge is a far friendlier face.
"Yes?" Marge knocks lightly on the door, poking her kind, round face into Regina's office. "How can I help you, Madam Mayor?"
Regina smiles, placing her hands on the desk in front of her. "I was wondering if you could deliver these to Deputy Swan in the hospital." The cleaning lady's brown eyes widen slightly. "It truly is a pity what happened to her." Practice enough and you'll be able to choke out that line without almost laughing. Marge nods.
"Of course, Madam Mayor. I'll take these over right away." If it weren't for the secret ballot system on that deputy election, I'd fire each and every person who voted for the little bitch. Democracy, my ass.
Regina connects the footage from the small camera planted in the flowers to come to her computer. She calls it up and watches the shaky camera transmit Marge Smith's footsteps on her trip to the hospital. As she can hear the woman's breathing, Regina smiles, knowing she's successful. She now has a way to keep an eye on the two loosest of loose cannons in town.
Regina tunes out the small talk between Marge, Hook, and Emma. The only important thing is the girl accepts the flowers and seems to suspect nothing. The camera tilts, displaying different angles in the hospital room, suggesting Miss Swan is tilting the flower arrangement. Finally, the feed stabilizes, actually getting a decent angle of the room from Miss Swan's bedside. It seems Hook has been playing guard dog since the other night. It should keep him occupied.
Regina glances at the monitor after she sees Marge Smith depart. It displays Miss Swan poking at her chest with a finger and Hook's fondly exasperated expression, eyebrow cocked in her direction before pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I know you're bored, Swan. But stop bloody poking it." This is the existential threat to my curse. I am deeply shamed.
"It feels weird," the girl whispers with a crooked grin.
"Weird how?" Hook's voice genuinely sounds concerned. He leans in towards the girl, rising impatiently to his feet. "Inflamed? Swollen? Is something amiss? Does it hurt worse?" The girl shakes her head. "Do you need the doctor?" The damn pirate actually turns toward the door to fetch Whale.
"None of that. I can't feel it at all. It's weird." Regina rolls her eyes. It seems that the existential threat to the curse and its very foundation is a child. One child. For all she falsely presents a mature front, she's still a thirteen-year-old who acts like a five-year-old. Hook must have the patience of a damn saint to deal with her. Or must desperately want the curse broken. Tolerating this girl as a means to an end is serious dedication.
Regina frowns. It doesn't make sense to her. Acting and behaving like this, from the pirate. There's putting on a front as a means to an end, but this doesn't seem fake. Hook almost appears sincere as he plays guard dog to the Savior. There has to be some other angle then. Perhaps, getting the Savior on his side will save him from swinging from a noose.
Throughout her workday, she periodically checks in on the monitor. She catches Hook's disgusted and outraged lecture at the fact schools in this land don't teach Greek, Latin or the classics. She overhears the beginnings of Miss Swan's lessons on the missing subjects before returning to her budget work. The only thing of real interest she observes is David Nolan. While they sit and play games of cards, Regina internally panics.
The watch, he recognized it as being from his father. Charming's father was dead. King George ordered his murder, though God only knows why. I know for a fact he possesses David Nolan's memories. That spell was fool-proof. There's no way Prince Charming is a strong enough actor to keep his head down and maintain his composure. Prince Charming would have charged furiously into my office, sword drawn, and demanded I undo what I did. So why the hell is David Nolan concerning himself with Emma Swan?
Maybe because Emma Swan was part of the group that found him? She was there in the hospital when David Nolan was recovering from his comatose misadventure. And like it or not, David Nolan has met Emma Swan and knows she's, Regina thinks the words with disgust, part of the community. Her rationalizations fail to reassure her, though.
Their conversation, or more accurately lack thereof, grants Regina no insight. David casts glares in the pirate's direction that Hook disregards, and their only words are in relation to whatever inane card game they're playing. Regina growls in frustration at the monitor, then disregards the visual and audio.
Prince Charming…would be reuniting with his wife and daughter. As David Nolan has been desperately trying to move in closer with Mary Margaret Blanchard and hanging around Emma Swan. Her anxious heart hammers in fear at the horrifying realization. Prince Charming is awake. It's only a matter of time before Snow White is awake as well. Her fix for Charming's missing memories–the one she was able to craft on the spot for the man who was supposed to remain comatose for the rest of eternity–was insufficient to address this matter. Like attempting to plug a leaking boat. She can plug one hole, but five more will spring up immediately. And now, the damned pirate has her thinking in boat metaphors.
Regina returns straight home at the end of the night, though she brings along her surveillance access. It truly is remarkable the array of tools available for surveillance in this world. The abundance of it. The ease of it. When first crossing over, Regina had concerned herself that, without mirror magic, she would be at a loss. She wouldn't know when she was being plotted against. Her control would slip. This world, however, came through with a novel solution. Cameras and microphones to record and transmit their observances. This world is genuinely a marvel in some ways.
Early the next morning, her phone tap on the sheriff's station pings and she listens to the call. "Sheriff Humbert, good morning. I think there's a problem. I live next door to Mr. Gold. His door is wide open but he's not home. His car isn't in the driveway. I think there might have been a break-in." A woman's voice nervously says.
"Thank you very much. I'm on my way to check it out." Graham's accent calmly clips in response. Both phones click as they both hang up. Well, well, well, it seems Moe French is as easily manipulated as his foolish, lovesick daughter. With a much more subtle nudge than what Belle received.
The phone tap picks up again, this time the sound of Graham dialing. "Mr. Gold, this is Sheriff Humbert. Your neighbor saw your front door open and called it in. I'm coming to investigate."
"No need, Sheriff. I know exactly what was taken, and who did it."
"Really?" Graham's accent clips.
"Jones can't leave me alone, apparently. The public menace has escalated."
"Jones has been in the hospital with Emma." Graham clips a bit more angrily. "Now, Mr. Gold, this is a public menace, as you said. And if you don't tell me what you know, I'll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice. I have a feeling you don't want to be behind bars."
"Oh, is that right?" She hears Gold huff a frustrated sigh. "Upon further reflection, another suspect would be Moe French. He sells flowers. He recently defaulted on a loan. A short time ago, we had a little disagreement over collateral."
"Thank you, Mr. Gold. You're very accommodating." Graham answers sarcastically. "I'll go get him. Check him out."
"I'm sure you will. Assuming I don't find him." Gold's voice trails off for a moment. "Let's just say, bad things tend to happen to bad people."
"Is that a threat?"
"Observation," Gold answers quietly. Both phones click as the men hang up.
Throughout her day, sheltered in her office, Regina checks in on the Savior and pirate in the hospital, and Graham on the security cameras in the station. Knowing the sheriff has his heart and his memories, knowing he will most likely be out for her blood, makes Regina less than enthusiastic to approach the sheriff. She can no longer exercise control that she doesn't have. And she recognizes that any attempt to do so would cost her life.
That abject fear making her blood run cold, it's caution, she reassures herself. It isn't guilt. It isn't regret. Regina can honestly reflect and say she regrets nothing. None of it. Nothing she's done, nothing she's chosen, none of the lies she's told or the people she manipulated. She regrets nothing.
Checking in on Graham in the sheriff's station, she identifies a familiar face. A young girl with unruly black curls, a round, pale face, and forest-green eyes. Her valuable spy. Here, in the Storybrooke sheriff's station, the girl sits at a desk, coloring on a pad of legal paper. Regina remembers in the Enchanted Forest, the girl had been foraging for food in the Queen's woods. While explaining what she was doing, in her panic, the young girl was incredibly forthcoming, including a rambling mention of a dark-haired figure in a green cloak. The girl's unfortunate appearance unpleasantly reminded Regina far too much of another miserable wretch who failed to keep a secret. This little girl seemed prepared to reveal anything so long as Regina spared her family. She figured she could use that inability to keep a secret to her advantage.
When she had gone in disguise into a peasant village, Regina saw for herself what her rebellious subjects genuinely thought of her. They spoke more candidly around one of their own. It hadn't taken them long to cotton on to the idea of not speaking openly in front of any reflective surfaces. As a result, her mirror magic couldn't sniff out traitors and rabble-rousers. Bearing a face that appeared as one of theirs, then, acted in Regina's favor. The girl could listen in when Regina's magic couldn't, alerting her to dissenters and traitors. Gripping the girl's heart in her hands, Regina had ordered her to act as a spy for her rightful queen.
Having made the mistake of sheltering her stepdaughter from the dire consequences of her actions with Daniel, Regina offered her spy no such protections. When her spy's information led to an arrest, the girl received a front-row seat to the execution. The girl enjoyed an unobstructed view of both trial and execution. When the overwhelming evidence was delivered, Regina made sure it was known that the girl's failure to keep what was said in confidence private was what cost these men and women their lives. She felt the terrible ache, full of unbearable pain and burning anger at Snow White, soften a bit when the betrayed eyes of the accused would aggressively seek out the dark-haired girl. She relished the feeling when the girl's green eyes brimmed over with uncontrollable tears.
She overhears a mention of the girl's mother and father, while Graham shuffles uneasily through paperwork in a stack of manila folders. Regina disregards the questions Graham asks the girl, unconcerned. Her parents won't recognize her. Regina made sure of that.
About midway through the day, she spots Graham and Gold in the sheriff's station, with an array of valuable trinkets. A chest, an urn, a stack of plates, a silver tray, just a bunch of valuable baubles. Regina leans in closer to critically observe the computer monitor, watching Gold's furrowed brow as the man scans the desk for the one missing piece. The odd, chipped, little teacup. Both gloved hands on his cane, Gold raises his anxious frown to the sheriff. Regina watches their mouths move but doesn't discern the conversation. After a few tense moments, Gold angrily strides away from the desk. There's a slightly deranged look in Gold's eyes as he limps out of the sheriff's station.
Maybe Rumplestiltskin is the only one that would recognize the chipped cup's significance. Or maybe, Mr. Gold simply doesn't like to be stolen from. This alone hasn't quite smoked the Dark One out of his hole. Not yet. Regina strokes her fingers across the chipped rim of a delicate teacup with a smirk, watching the monitor. The cup was dropped off early in the morning, according to her assistant.
She glances back at the monitor on the Savior's flowers, only to perceive it tilting and spinning in unusual directions. At an odd angle, she catches the Savior's furrowed brow, tongue poking out between her lips, and poking finger rustling through the leaves. Feedback echoes through the mic as Miss Swan turns the flowers in either direction.
"Swan? What are you doing?" Hook's voice echoes through the monitor.
"You said this was a 'screw you' through flowers, Captain." So Hook explained what the girl is too much of a disappointing failure as a lady to know. "Which, gotta say, the most expensive 'screw you' I've ever gotten. I'm thinkin' it's more than that. No way Regina doesn't have these bugged. Just can't find the thing." Emma mutters. Regina's eyebrows raise. Against her will, she's almost a bit impressed.
"Bugged?" Hook asks. For once, he sounds completely bewildered.
"This world stuff. You know how you've mentioned image rendering? Well, that comes from cameras. Something with light and film, I don't really know how they operate, but they capture images. Some can even send them…like the security tape in the John Doe thing!" The flowers tilt again, this time facing the wall. "You mentioned mirrors and spying like that? A bit like that, only this world's technology instead of that world's magic."
"So you suspect the Queen is performing surveillance?"
"Mmhmm. Just can't find the thing."
"Well, there's a simple solution to that, lass. These cameras," Hook stresses the word, almost as if he's uncertain about it. "They don't operate effectively with water, correct?" Miss Swan must nod or something as the flowers change hands, swaying slightly as they're set back at the bedside. "In that case, it was a valiant effort, Your Majesty. But flowers need water." The last thing she witnesses is Hook's smirk before water drowns the camera and the feed cuts to black.
"Dammit," she whispers. Keeping an eye on the two of them and knowing what hit was coming next against her curse would have been valuable. Without that, she has no idea where she has to shore up.
Outside in the dark, she spots the Game of Thorns truck with Mr. Gold in the driver's seat. He's glaring straight ahead of him, heading out into the woods. Well, at least one thing is on track, she thinks to herself as she climbs into her Mercedes and moves to follow. She's cautious to drive slowly behind them as Gold drives down a winding road into the woods and stops at a rundown cabin. Regina parks her car so she's hidden from the cabin and the desolate road. She turns out the headlights and watches as Gold exits the van and limps around the back.
With a determined glare on his thin face, Gold forces the back of the van open to reveal Moe French, hands restrained in front of him and mouth duct-taped. Moonlight glints off the metal barrel of a pistol as Mr. Gold aims at Moe's head. The man makes an ungainly scramble to exit the van before Gold batters him through the door of the cabin.
Regina's lip curls into a smirk. Let's see you expose yourself, Dark One. Quiet as a church mouse, she opens her car door and tiptoes up to the cabin, peering in the dingy window to see Gold sitting backward in a chair. Moe lies slumped against the wall.
"You see, here's the thing. I don't normally let people get away." Gold's voice sounds unhinged. Almost deranged. Regina presses close to the window to hear. She detects the ripping sound of duct tape being wrenched from skin.
"Let me explain, okay? Let me explain." Moe's hoarse voice is cut off by a choking sound. Regina peeks into the window to discover Gold thrusting the tip of his cane into Moe's neck so heavily that the cane bends. Moe's bound hands scramble desperately to reach for the object only for Gold to press harder.
"Oh well, that is fascinating. Truly fascinating. I'm going to let you breathe in a second, and you're going to say two sentences. The first is going to tell me where it is. The second is going to tell me who told you to take it. Do you understand the rules?" Gold's false pleasantries manage to send a slight thrill of fear down Regina's spine from outside the cabin. "Good. Let's begin." He reluctantly withdraws the cane from the flower shop owner's pudgy neck.
"I needed that van," Moe chokes out desperately.
"Now, you see, that is not a good first sentence!" Gold barks, his accent growing stronger with his unhinged rage. He draws back the cane, and Regina watches the shadow on the downswing. Hearing the cane connect solidly with flesh and hearing Moe cry out, Regina ducks beneath the window to not get caught.
"Tell me where it is!" Gold hollers. The cane strikes again as Moe cries out. "Tell me where it is!" The cane strikes again in rapid succession. Regina peers in the window to spy Gold striking downward again and again with the cane as Moe French tries to curl in on himself protectively.
"Stop! It wasn't my fault!" Moe cries out desperately.
Through the window, Gold's deranged eyes confront Regina's satisfied ones. His cruel eyes widen momentarily, then glare down at his helpless captive. Much more composed, Gold snarls, "I don't let people get away with stealing from me." That's not what this rage is about though, is it, Rumple? You've got some issues of your own you're working out here, don't you? You're projecting, aren't you, Rumple? Shadows cast through the window of broad arcs as Gold strikes down with the cane repeatedly. Moe's plaintive cries for mercy and the harsh sound of the cane striking flesh mix in a certain sadistic cacophony. Cracks and more insistent cries shatter the night as bones break.
Wailing sirens add to the mix. Red and blue flashing lights flicker through the trees. Regina takes that as her signal to move away from the cabin. She waits impatiently by her car, thankful that it's hidden behind a copse of overhanging trees, watching. She sees Graham jump from the driver's seat of the cruiser, not even bothering to shut his door. She sees the man's lithe, muscular body crash through the cabin door, grabbing hold of Gold's wrist on the downswing of an arc. Regina waits to leave her hiding place until the paramedics wheel Moe French out on a stretcher. After the ambulance pulls onto the road bound for the hospital, she approaches Graham and Gold by the cruiser.
"I heard you managed not to break anything he needs. You're lucky, Mr. Gold." Graham clips impatiently.
"You got a funny definition of lucky." Gold clips bitterly in response.
"You have a funny definition of justice. What did he really do?"
"He stole," Gold answers flatly.
"That reaction was about more than just a few trinkets," Graham sighs impatiently. Gold severely shakes his head and remains silent. "You really don't want to cooperate?"
"Look, we're done here." Gold moves to leave.
He's stopped by Graham seizing a hold of his arm in one hand and cuffs in the other. "Actually, we're not. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the court." Graham guides Gold's head into the cruiser before turning on his heel.
Regina recognizes the moment he spots her because he freezes. His entire body goes tense. His jaw ticks under the thick beard. His pitiless glare is ice cold. His hackles seem to rise, much like the wolves who raised him. "Madam Mayor," he grits through his teeth. "What are you doing here?"
"This is town business, Sheriff. I'm the mayor. It's my business to be here."
"At a crime scene?" He clips, scarcely making the statement sound like a question.
Regina produces her customary, polite smile across her face. "It's important to make sure my community is protected, Graham." She steps forward. He turns on his heel, climbs in the driver's seat of the cruiser, and drives off without another word.
Regina gets in her own car and drives away. She stops at the office to pick up the cracked cup, then arrives at the sheriff's station. She's pulling into a parking spot just as Graham's cruiser pulls away. For a moment, she watches as Graham heads in the direction of the hospital. She smirks, knowing she has at least a few minutes alone to speak with Gold.
She unlocks the station door with the skeleton key on her key ring. Her heels click with her quick steps down the empty, dark hallway. Gold sits impassively on a cot in a cell, hands on his knees and a bored, haughty expression on his face.
"Well, you really wanted that chat, didn't you?" He calls out.
"Apparently, this is the only way I could do it," she answers.
"Please, sit." Gold gestures to the chair just outside of the cell. Regina pulls up a seat and primly sits facing him. "Now, when two people both want something the other has, a deal can always be struck. Do you have what I want?"
"Yes."
"So, you did put him up to it, then," Gold states. Regina shrugs carelessly.
"I merely suggested that strong men take what they need." Regina simpers.
"Oh yeah. And you told him exactly what to take, didn't you?"
"We used to know each other so well, Mr. Gold. Has it really come down to this?" Come on, you bastard! Reveal your damn hand already!
"It seems it has, yeah. But you know what I want. What is it you want?"
"I want you to answer one question." She holds up her pointer finger and stresses her words delicately. "And answer it simply. What is your name?" Regina proposes her question with impatient anticipation.
"It's Mr. Gold." Gold's face is impassive and his voice an emotionless whisper.
"Your real name," Regina replies impatiently.
"Every moment I've spent on this earth, that's been my name."
Oh, you frustrating little imp! "But what about moments spent elsewhere?" Regina asks without letting her growing impatience and flaring temper show.
"What are you asking me?" Gold frowns in confusion.
"I think you know. If you want me to return what's yours, tell me your name."
"It's as I told you, dearie. My name is Mr. Gold. Now, please, return my stolen property." He grits the last through his teeth. Her heart stutters as the force of her deal with the Dark One compels her to hand over the one piece of leverage she had.
"But, you can't…" she sputters.
"What dearie? Did your mother never teach you the value of manners? Please and thank you will get you quite far in life, Regina." He snatches the cup from her hands with a satisfied glint in his eye.
"Fine, you little imp. Keep pretending. But I still have what you really want." Whether the imp remembers or not, Regina has the ultimate pawn against him. A valuable chess piece to have indeed. She rises to her feet and turns to walk away. She's halfway through the bullpen before Gold's voice immobilizes her.
"Things may be changing around here, Regina. But don't forget how things work." Her heart thuds in fear. Keeping her expression impassive, she turns to face him. His face, not particularly warm to begin with, goes cold. "Don't let these bars fool you, dear. I'm the one with the power around here. I'm going to be out of here in no time. And nothing between us will change." He's speaking almost as if he does remember…God dammit! That twisted imp! Playing these head games! One minute he acts like he remembers, the next he doesn't!
Forcing her flaring anger and frustration down, Regina instead smirks. "We shall see," she challenges quietly, turning on her heel and leaving the station after having gotten the last word.
She recalls the look on his scaly face as she lied about his beloved Belle. 'After she got home, her fiance had gone missing. And after her stay here, her association with you, no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out.' The almost hopeful question of if the foolish pawn needed a home. And her continued lie got better and better. 'He was cruel to her. He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower. She died.' God, every word of that little performance was delicious.
With that thought in mind, she departs the sheriff's station and drives to the hospital. She passes a bandaged Moe French in a wheelchair while smothering a smirk. Regina approaches a nondescript door, punching in a code on the keypad and allowing it to open with a faint click. She descends the cement stairs to the basement and smiles at the dark-haired, severe-looking nurse sitting at the desk. Regina offers a bright red rose.
"Pretty," Nurse Ratched answers.
"Well, I know how hard you work." She glances pointedly down the hall. "Has anyone been to see her?"
"No ma'am. Not today. Not ever." Ratched answers. Regina's red lips curl into a satisfied smirk. Here's at least one thing that will remain in her control. Here, her power will remain sound. Her heels click down the corridor, passing several doors and a patient with copper skin and long, black hair pushing a mop. Finally, she approaches her desired door at the end. Keeping people locked away in their little boxes, tools to utilize and bring out when I so choose. Their hearts are no longer an option, but she is. And she may be the most valuable of all.
Regina slides a hatch aside to glimpse into the padded room. Very little light comes through the narrow, barred window. It reveals a form sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. Unkempt brown curls fall into the woman's pale, weary face as she glances up to search for the source of the sound.