#sq26

There's far too much yummy yummy despair there to be used. We have the "So did I" of Emma to Henry when he tells her that he trusts both Regina and Gold as they've changed and I have loads of opinions on acting choices throughout the entire series but I liked the take of JMO on that as the way she did say it is with a lower pitch, eyes low and moving her body just enough to create the image of the wording not entirely being about the change Henry then refers to -when she arrived first to Storybrooke- but later. And we know that despite the rewrite they later on tried to hit us with (she did it for the town my ass) Emma did indeed sacrifice herself for Regina as she thought that to be the right thing. She has indeed, changed, to the point in where her loved ones do not recognize her and there's a half a second there in where you can see the realization as well as the uncomfortable position Regina knows to be herself in.

It's also about the placement and you can take so much out of that. We have them all seated with Regina in the middle, with Snow casting glances at her because it's about trust but also a mirroring of each other. And context! Earlier on in the episode -like, what, five minutes time-wise? I would need to re-watch that one- we have the "Fine, you were being stupid!" line that Emma does not verbally defend herself afterwards.

Time-wise was it's also after Lily -and that whole thing was horribly resolved- so, yes, the whole concept of being a pawn into someone else's plan but also the very high expectation of being Good and the Savior and Hero and never EVER able to falter that was one of THE problems a character such as Regina was earlier on pointing at but not, at the Hero's table, remains uncomfortably silent on that precise scene?

Yes, I'd definitely write the scene in Broken Heart. Maybe, rather than having Regina leave with the rest of the group, have her stay behind, feigning that she needs to have a last chat with Henry, possibly commenting how she wishes to check on him privately after the scene with Emma, having Snow make some commentary on that in this saccarhine way of hers. And, you know, Emma should be angrier. But Regina should also be aware where she is treading now that enough information has been leaked in terms of what happened with Emma, how responsible she -canonically, mind you- feels. So I would put the scene there. With a despondent Emma and a Regina that is feeling quite raw herself but because her own ego is unable to point that last bit out. With an Emma being exasperated but sad (What do you want me to say, Regina? That I should have confided in you all? I already said that __ Or something to that effect) and unable to truly 'feel' the anger that it is nevertheless, there.

Because we have a Regina that knows how to be angry but who has been around the un-Charmings enough to know how easy is to fall for the rhetoric they use in terms of goodness and an Emma that has been losing herself and who, very little while ago in fact, learnt that even the 'potential' for evil she may have had had -you know, an entire hypothetical- got decided by those that claim to love her and yet the whole conversation of Love being pushed into her as the only feasible option -until she makes something considered bad and so nothing previously learned about anyone is enough. So to the previously asked question I imagine Regina answering something similar to "Actually, No. I think you've indeed made it pretty clear that you were willing to keep on sacrificing yourself to the point of destruction just because you thought that was the only option." And it is hypocritical, of course it is. Just a little but is also one of the good things of all this.

So... yeah, I think Emma would not push against that and that would be enough for Regina's own anger -fueled a little by the shame she has felt earlier, when knowing that Emma's 'I'm your mother' hits too close to home as well, to surface.

And it's about that, really, to try to extract an actual real reaction from a woman that has disconnected herself from a lot of her emotions. "Did you honestly want to do that to Hook because you love him?" / "How much do you love him, Miss Swan, considering."

And... yes. I love the idea of an Emma Swan who is completely and totally detached from her emotions because she has been told she can't express those in any other way than what is considerable acceptable, gets to have a reality check by a Regina that is right on asking her to be angry whilst knowing her own position in this whole convo and how that makes her feel. Paired up with the background of possibly complicated emotions regarding Emma herself Because let's not forget Regina's look at Emma back in Camelot that was indeed to make me jump on my chair back in the day as that was so very fucking gay, dammit. So yes, I say that Regina made peace with her emotions of Emma back in Camelot, forgot them but is not stupid enough to realize something is afoot and she is feeling angry on Emma's behalf because, come on: what happened to Emma is NOT ok and, by that point, she is losing her spark due to some boyfriend everyone seemed so happy to say it was the final show of her own journey and how far she's come. Like, nope.

She hadn't gotten far enough into the corridor, however, before Emma had spoken the words. Regina was sure that Emma would have gotten something else prepared, some words at the ready that would have given her added context -have they even been trying? Emma hadn't told her. Not like she needed to-, but those had never left her mouth. Instead, the offer, the lack of clues, the way she could feel her own magic sizzling inside of her, reaching forward and coiling around her fingers as she curled them before pressing them together.

There hadn't been any signs, a voice had whispered inside of her. One that sounded pleading, broken almost in a similar way she had heard within her the day Emma had told them that she would, indeed, get married. One that rang true to her emotions, maybe, but not reality.

No, that was a lie.

There had been some, she supposed: Snow's quick smile when Regina had last seen her, a certain set of hopeful glances towards nothing in particular as if almost waiting for Regina to ask her what the whole sighs and mutterings were about. The way Emma had been skittish a few weeks ago when she had seen her leave the Hospital at some unusual hours. The way Hook... She had halted herself there.

There had been signs. She had just allowed herself not to look into them.

And so when Emma twirled -twirled!- and waited for her to answer, Regina had only been able to blink.

Blink at the woman in front of her, at this version that felt too colorless, too pale. Too different to the woman she had known Emma to be once.

No, that was on itself a lie as well: she had blinked, yes, only to remain silent as Emma's initial energy began to disappear. The longer they stood, the more obvious the edges from which Emma pulled herself in, creating the construct so many now saw as the only possible option for her, began to wobble.

"We both know I can't, Emma."

Did they? Regina felt as if the conversation that should have preceded her response had also not been done either.

Yet, it felt much more contextualized than Emma's question, a voice, the petty one, whispered on her ear before she pressed her palms against her upper thighs, posture elegant, detached. It certainly felt like the end of something else, even if it was just out of need of protection. Because Regina knew that if Emma had asked her in front of anyone else, she would not have been able to reply with anything else but a resounding yes. Because maybe that had been Emma's last mercy, as horrible as it had been.

"I'm sorry."

Emma's smile had faltered then.

(She had left the house shortly after, tears already shed and some words Regina had stared at from a distance time would eventually be able to provide)

"Is something going on with her?"

She looked at her son -their son- once more, saw the eagerness that felt so similar to the one she had known to be Emma's once. That version that had been comfort despite everything else.

Gray light filtered through open windows, late afternoon rolling in as the words Regina had thrown between them grew opaque in their mind's eye. And yes, Emma felt the silence about to shatter before it truly did: words pushing out of their throat in the shapes of bubbling excuses they did not even know if they were honest enough.

Mind fumbling, they imagined the silence unbroken however, to the point in where Regina would push, mercurial and worried and loud and how that would give them an out: one that they would be able to take without feeling too much of an asshole. Anger, they considered, was an emotion that felt easier to deal with. Less exhausting, perhaps, than an interrupted shower and a cascade of thoughts and epithets that had accompanied them ever since walking out of the apartment, those that had piled to the point of drowning them in.

Anger was palatable: taking the focus of oneself out of the feeling and into the shared words they would be able to share. Regina herself had used it time and time again, had she not? Anger had been a coin they both had been affluent with back in the day. A confined yet comfortable space.

Neither of them, though, were the same as they had been (Stupid, stupid, stupid) and Emma -a version of themselves that suck on their teeth while looking at their mirror, that pushed against skin and bone, fingers tight on their sternum, dragging nails as they moved their hand lower, circling shades of blue on skin far too perfect, far too unbroken- knew that beyond pride, Regina's own worry would always win the fight.

So, as silence did indeed stretch, so did the droplets of magic coiling on their veins: a response of their power paired up with Regina's distress. One they felt rather than saw, pulsing in softened white-colored wisps.

They could see Regina's eyes darkening, purple sparks shading her eyes in reply and when the brunette took a step closer towards them -demanding, present- Emma fought against the need to take a further step away from her, guarding the universe they felt as if contained within the only part of herself that seemed to be malleable enough to reign over it. Or to control, really.

And, before Regina could ask them twice, use yet again a title that was too cutting today, right now, Emma spoke.

"That." They motioned to where their mind still conjured the words, to the damned 'Miss', to the floating world that hid behind it: of ideas tied to the word itself, to names and thoughts. "That's what's wrong."

It was not enough in terms of explanation and Emma knew as much, saw as much in the way Regina titled her head, brows furrowed.

Sun was still setting, shadows elongating, forcing eyes to peer through, the vibrancy of the day already beginning to bleed away. Crossing their arms over their chest -would it be better if they lowered her arms? crossing them beneath their chest? would it be better to make their body smaller, keeping the tightness inside so no side of them spilled out? would it be better...- Emma waited for Regina to speak, as if their words ought to have been clear enough.

They weren't. Clear enough.

But how to explain that, at the very bottom of it, knowing themselves understood as a creature, a human, alive and moving and expected to preform within a society that had already gotten to learn about them under a far too simplified version of themselves was what made it all far too much.

Too vibrant.

How to say that they glanced at the corner of their mirror that morning and had been surprised to see themselves there. they had almost been expecting something else. Someone else.

The had felt ashamed, though, as they did not know who else had they expected to see: their mind was unable to provide a suitable answer.

Not like it mattered: Regina's purple floated towards the light-switch, about to shed light around them both. The image of themselves illuminated in violent, sharp, cutting angles that would feel fuzzy and charged if considered enough, interrupted everything else.

"Granny called me 'love' this morning."

Regina halted the spell, sparks gleaming but not breaking through her skin. Lucky for them, Emma thought as they, again, tightened the hug against themselves before uncrossing their hands once more.

"I don't mind it" It came rushing out of them, as if an apology and they closed their eyes before trying once again. "I did. Today. Today I did."

But it wasn't accurate enough. Again, it was not, she was not.

She.

And so, they tried again, a different enough voice, one that they accompanied with a shake of their head, as if requesting Regina to allow them to start over and grant them more time.

Regina acquiesced

"I didn't mind that she called me love. Or that Leroy reminded me how I am my parents daughter when I went to pick him up after I was called on how he had been found drunk, again."

They saw Regina tilting her head, eyes narrowed.

"I was the one that made the call."

Nodding dumbly, Emma kept on pushing, the memory of the coffee they had bought at Granny's floating to them as they remembered the call they had shared. One in where Regina had told them how she expected for the sheriff station to do something with the dwarf. One in where Regina had also asked whether they would visit later that day. One in where the promise of kisses across collarbones had felt as if peeling their skin away with each touch. Too exposed, too warm. Too close to a heart that felt about to explode.

Too much.

"I know. I... Yes. You called me miss Swan as well today."

"And you mind it." Lower register, shards of understanding beginning to break through.

"I did."

Emma knew that if they halted there, they would never quite finalize the thought. And so they pushed. Teeth chattering, nerves puncturing her lungs. Words on words on words. Too many words.

"I like it. When I'm..." -yours- "When it's different. But today was something else. And I was supposed to pretend that it wasn't."

"Different?"

"Someone else."

Emma knew that they was failing spectacularly at explaining, tiredness seeping through their movements as they rose one hand, pointing at lines their body created, at the net they imagined they formed part of.

Their hair hold weight, they thought before pointing to it, damp from the shower they had been taking. They liked their hair. The curls they used to love to have. The ones they had lost for a time. The ones they had thought back on recuperating. The way they had stared at the mirror when Snow had mentioned how princess-y they made them look like. The way it had felt too much. Somewhat. Not all times.

Did they reject the wording? They pressed against that thought, as if poking it with hot irons made out of questions would made, somewhat, the answer simpler. They did not reject it, they had come to accept that. It was not a matter of rejection to the idea of it.

They loved their curls. They had missed them. They wanted them.

So if they liked them they should be fine when being linked to the woman they were, right? The one that she had stepped inside Storybrooke, once upon a time.

Right?

No, it run deeper than that. It was a matter of how much of the space they took was being seen by others, how much of themselves was being thought with them not present. Did they exist in other's minds when they were not there? How much of that shadow of themselves was true to themselves proper? How much did they want it to be?

How much could someone, anyone, think of them? How much of that would they be able to erase?

Magic pulsing more insistently now, Emma stared at the floorboards while pushing through the grittier aspects of the questions they kept on asking, not quite having found a suitable response. How much of themselves could there be, honest to themselves, complete, without sharing that to others so the after-image they left behind felt closer, less broken?

How much, indeed.

They felt their throat work out the words again, this time out loud. they felt the rise of each idea crash against the doubts they hold for any and every of them.

The problem, they finally voiced, pitch softer now, was not the lack of an answer really but the mutability of it.

"I don't know how else to explain it." They finished and they felt themselves back when in the middle of the road wit a sword about to be used against them and the title of savior the only thing that pushed them to give themselves out for others that they feared would never listen hard enough for them to be real beyond titles and fate.

Regina glanced at them, allowing magic to shimmer, illuminating enough so the two of them could see but keeping at bay the harshest hues of a brighter light. (And, for that, Emma felt grateful) Spent, the blond watched as Regina moved closer, not quite capable of moving further this time as the brunette went for their hands before halting, left hand dropping, right one rising so the back of her fingers almost grazed Emma's neck as she curled them over themselves. As if hexed, Emma felt their shoulders lower in response, posture changing ever so slightly.

Regina's body heat was a soft reprieve from the fluctuation they had been feeling until now. As scared and open as they felt, as fearful as they were, Regina's eyes searched for theirs. A second, then two. And, to that, Emma hoped it would be enough.

"Do you want to start the day over?"

If Emma wasn't more knowledgeable of how time travel worked, they would have thought that that was what Regina was actually proposing. Not like the fine-print mattered: Regina's words, rumbling almost in as much care as her initial question had been asked, was enough to create a whimper that battled to break through their chest.

And it was not a true affirmation to the question nor a confirmation of anything else once more. Not really. But Emma closed their eyes and lowered their chin, pressing their lips against fingers that tightened so a fist was made: an anchor that Emma fastened themselves to.

"How about" Regina whispered. "We made today the day we both leave this all behind?" An echo of a similar sentence floated through Emma's mind.

"And do what?" It came far too whiny.

A shrug.

“What do you mean, she already knows?” For someone who prides herself in not giving a flying fuck about all things Snow White, Regina sounds remarkably affected by her words. “She can’t have known. We didn’t even know until yesterday.”

“That’s what I said, but apparently it’s all part of the curse.” Emma shrugs. She wants to be cool about this, but the truth is, her stomach has been revolting since her mother revealed the truth. Foretold. Now she can’t even fall in love by her own choice.

Regina frowns. “So this – us – is all… Fate?”