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‘You better call the police, call the coroner,
Call up your priest, have him warn ya.
Walk in no peace when I find that fool
Who did that to you, yeah,
Who did that to you, my baby,
Who did that to you,
Gotta find that fool who did that to you...’
She can’t stop staring at her.
It’s rude--undoubtedly uncomfortable--adding to the tension already in her small Sheriff’s office. But she doesn’t care. She can’t look away. She doesn’t want to.
“Tell me again,” she requests, voice soft, straining as their eyes connect across her metal desk.
There is rage brewing on its surface between them.
Dark. Toxic. Consuming.
But she’s reveling in it right now.
Like a drug slithering in her veins, it snaps at her senses, buzzing her mind, fueling her growing--burning--desires.
Regina looks off for a few seconds, eyes mapping the magnets on her nearby filing cabinet while she psychs herself up to repeat what she first mumbled when she had been transported here the second Henry had phoned.
It’s not easy to admit to something you can’t hide.
To an act so heinous it leaves a dent in you deeper than skin and flesh.
She knows.
She’s done it herself.
But she can’t do anything if she doesn’t expose it like the raw wound it is.
“We crossed paths outside of Granny’s,” the older woman starts, words as raspy and rough as she looks. Brown orbs, swirling with conflict, flicker her way.
She gives a minute nod.
I’m listening.
“You know how...adversarial our interactions have always been,” Regina continues. She bites her lip. Past conflicts aside, this is different. Clearing her throat, the former Queen sighs, shifting back in her seat, moving her gaze to the outer office that’s currently empty. “Words were exchanged, obviously.”
She pauses.
And it’s killing her.
Fingers held in her lap so the mother of her son can’t see, she digs her nails into her palms--digits curled so tight they’re cutting. But she needs it. The pain is keeping her grounded, reminding her that--personal involvement aside--she has a duty to perform here.
“Di-” she chokes, interrupting the recounting. Forcing a cough, adjusting herself in her seat, she tries again. “Did you see it coming?”
The pinch of Regina’s brow, and the flicker of anger in her chocolate gaze answers the question before the brunette can simply state, “No.”
That’s it.
That’s all she needs to hear.
Before she’s even thinking about what she’s doing, she’s up out of her seat, around her desk, and laying her trembling hands on the older woman’s forearm and cheek as she kneels next to her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, tears pricking at her eyes, matching the glistening in the whiskey stare boring into her.
So, so sorry!
She wants to repeat it over and over again, a plea of repentance. Regina has to know, to understand that she would NEVER have let this happen had she sensed an inkling it was even a possibility.
Long fingers wrapping around her own, squeezing, pull her from her building heartache.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” the brunette whispers, a lone tear trickling down her heavily bandaged black and blue right cheek. “Emma, please, don’t.”
Her nostrils flare.
The sorrow weighing her down, acting like gasoline to the fire licking hot flames in her gut.
Don’t.
That’s Regina’s way of asking, with a single word, for her not to fall back into the darkness. To not snuff out the light she’s built up over the years. To not let all the anger and hate she’s been working on letting go suddenly come flowing right back in.
But she can’t ignore this.
Not as the town Sheriff.
Not as the savior.
Not as the woman who finally, FINALLY , gets why she’s always putting Regina first.
“I won’t kill him,” she assures, grasping tightly with gentle care. Even though it tears at her to abide by the silent request.
Why not? What does he have left to live for? There are consequences for actions! HE SHOULD PAY!
.................
“But I WILL find him,” she swears, chest stuttering with suppressed rage. Standing, trailing soft pads of her fingers across a sun kissed face. “And when I do, I will make him suffer the price for his crime. It’s only fair!” Thumb coming to caress a well nibbled lower lip, she growls, “If Killian Jones thinks scarring your face with his Hook, to make you some ugly monster he believes you to be, will turn me back into his arms--he’s got another cold day in hell waiting for him!”
Leaning down, placing the softest of kisses on the lips she dreams about often--even after regularly blessing them goodnight--she meets her real true love’s tormented gaze, and holds it with a searing truth.
“Even if I have to jump realms, I’ll hunt him down, and I’ll show him what a real monster looks like.” Because they both know, Evil Queen aside, the most disturbing nightmarish creature to exist still resides within her. “No one,” she vows, “touches my Queen, and gets to keep their fucking filthy hands!”
Not a soul.
Especially some bitter pirate who thinks he’s had a possession stolen from him when--in reality--it was never his to begin with.