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“Emma, no!”
Regina screams into the inky vortex. Screams, feeling her throat turn raw. Screams and runs and makes no progress. Gets no closer. It’s useless. She can’t move. Why can’t she move?
Move!
It’s a dream. It must be a dream. The feeling is familiar, one she’s felt before. Many times, countless times. And it’s always a dream. Just a dream where she’s young. Beautiful.
There’s a light blue riding coat wrapped warm around her shoulders. A soft breeze brushes against her cheeks, both cooler in the spots where tears trickle down her face. If she squeezes her eyes shut, just focuses on the breeze, she could almost believe she were back on Rocinante. Riding to forget the loneliness and disappointment. Riding free.
Not hanging, suspended between invisible coils that somehow still chafe, still bite and dig into her wrists. It’s not enough. Never enough. She’s never enough. She’s trapped. And she screws her eyes tight, turning her face to the clouds, unable to meet cold, sharp eyes below.
Emma strains against the force of the curse, feels it sliding over her skin like oil-slicked feathers. “It can’t be you,” she says, “You’ve fought too hard to have it all fall apart now.” And there’s something in her eyes that’s so sure. A foolhardy Savior till the end. “Let me do this.” For you, her eyes finish.
And Regina can’t move, but that’s only ever in a dream. Only a dream where she’s young. Innocent.
It’s a creme colored dress that pools around her feet. Rough, withered hands guide her backwards until she’s perched on the edge of a bed. The bed is soft, softer than any bed she’s ever slept in. It makes her skin crawl like worms rooting around in her veins.
“You understand that, as queen, there are certain duties you must fulfill in order to consummate our union.”
“Yes,” she responds in hollow obedience. Or thinks she responds. Perhaps, she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. The light is snuffed out, and she sighs, thankful for the reprieve of darkness. Now’s her chance. She should move. She should move. She feels her muscles tighten, coiling for action.
“You’ll wear this.” She glances down, and her eyes fall on a mask. A mask bearing a beautiful woman’s face. Porcelain skinned, ruby lips. It reminds her of the doe-eyed brat she’d saved from a wild steed, and she feels bile rise to her throat as it’s placed over her face.
Wizened fingers secure the visor in place through dark locks, not unkindly, though she prays every tainted follicle would shed at the touch. Her eyes pan towards the ceiling as her shoulders hit the mattress, mindlessly trailing the carved patterns, and she stills completely as the weight of a shriveled body falls over her.
Trapped. Not enough. Never enough. The words play over and over in her head, drowning out stuttered grunts of, “Ava…Ava…A-va...”
“Swan! Don’t do this!” The pirate dashes forward, praying Emma comes to her senses.
“I have to!” she all but growls, “There’s no other way!” Her eyes turn towards the ground, and it’s funny, the things you notice while the world’s ending. She’d never noticed how well maintained the roads were before now. She manages half a wind-battered grin.
“I love you. All of you.”
Regina looks up then, wondering what that means, but finds she still can’t move. And it’s still a dream, right? One of those nightmares she can never escape until she looks down to face the terror holding her back. Until she bottles all the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness and forces her legs to move. Wake up. Move.
Emma is smiling that damned watery smile, and it knocks the wind out of her. Closes its grasp around her chest and squeezes. Holds her tight…and keeps her right where she is? No, it’s only a dream, and she can wake up.
But she looks down and finds strong, broad arms. Her breath catches in her throat because no, it’s not a dream this time. It’s arms. His arms that feel like happiness and protection. Feel like fairy dust and meant-to-bes, and this is it. This is her shot. Her one chance at happiness.
“You deserve to be happy, Regina,” Emma says quietly, half glancing at Regina as she ponders over a picture of her and Robin together, half studying the map in search of the exit she’d missed.
She goes to put her hand over the brooding brunette’s but decides for a not-so-awkward, completely awkward pat on the wrist instead. As she begins to pull away, Regina catches the tips of her fingers before she can reclaim them. She laces their fingers together and squeezes that hand for moment before releasing it again.
“Thank you, Miss Swan.” Regina’s all soft eyes and warm smile when she meets her gaze. “So do you.”
Emma gives a jerky little nod, and the smile she returns doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She quickly averts her gaze and pulls onto the road again. Regina doesn’t comment when she decides to ask for directions at the next rest stop.
Regina swallows, and there is no other way. This is what she's supposed to want, isn’t it? It’s the only way.
She stares at the arms and hears, “Regina, calm down. Stay with me. Regina, no, it’s okay.”
No. No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay, and she tears at the hands clasped around her waist. They tighten for her efforts, red welts cropping up in wake of her fingers. It’s not okay, and she’s trapped. Again. Always trapped. It’s not a dream, but she can’t move. Can’t wake up. Can’t be enough. Can’t reach Emma.
Violet blooms in her eyes and a blast of magic shoots from her back, breaking the grasp. She shifts on her heel and sees Robin in a heap on the ground.
Sees the imp, a crumpled heap in the corner of his spinning room, links from the chains he’d tried to restrain her with still raining from the ceiling.
Sees Robins’ eyes wide as saucers, his jaw dropped in hurt confusion.
She sees the imp with swollen, bloodied eyes, smiling and cackling at his prized apprentice.
“Look who’s finally woken up,” he simpers, “There’s power in you yet, I see.”
Rumpelstiltskin vanishes in a puff of smoke, and she shakes, vibrating with dark energy. She’s drunk in its clutches, and it whispers to her, waging war in her mind. She whimpers, cradling her head in both hands, and it’s not long before she screams, “NO MORE!”
Pulling a dagger from her belt, she plunges it deep into her thigh and regains some semblance of control.
Regina feels the phantom ache now, and her vision clears to horror. It’s only Robin. She hadn’t meant to--
“Regina!”
She turns, apologies forgotten in an instant at the sound of Emma’s voice. No one else had noticed the commotion, their eyes glued to Emma. And Emma’s are glued to her.
Emma calls for her. “Be happy,” she says with a shaky breath, “okay?”
No, not like this. Regina runs forward, doesn’t hear the desperate cries from the man behind her, doesn’t stop because she can finally move. She so close, she can almost reach her.
And she does almost reach her, but blackened tendrils slip through her fingers, and Emma’s gone.
She’s gone, and the dagger clatters to the ground, meeting the asphalt along with Regina’s knees.
She’s gone.
Regina’s eyes glaze over as she murmurs to herself, “That doesn’t sound like much of a happy ending.”
And she could almost swear she hears Emma’s voice echo back, It’s not.