Gradations of Blue
A/N: Hi, it's been so long! This has been sitting on my hard drive for ages because I was unsure of where the story was going. For those of you who've followed from the beginning, please accept my sincere apologies for leaving you with that last chapter. I know, I am terrible. I'm still undecided on this story but wanted to post this chapter to give our favourite ladies a chance.
Trigger Warning: depictions pf physical and emotional abuse.
There was one clock in Archie Hopper's office. Large faced and gold rimmed, it was affixed above a tall cabinet of patient files in the far corner of room so that only the spectacled psychiatrist could view it directly. The hands, Regina knew, moved silently. She sensed it tick nevertheless. With each second that expired she heard the imaginary, monotonous rhythm, felt it echo in her own pulse and take residence in her empty thoughts.
Regina looked around the small office, at the 19th century typewriter and the model ships, at the countless framed landscapes and the antique desk of pecan stained maple, all of which appeared even more dated, submersed in the golden afternoon light. Finally, she turned to the cricket. She studied the way he adjusted his glasses–with the tip of his index finger–not out of a necessity to correct a misplacement from their perch atop the bridge of his nose, but instead out of habit. It happened, she had come to realise, whenever the pause in their conversation crept past what he deemed comfortable.
"While I believe silence can be therapeutic, it can't go on indefinitely." Archie lent towards her, his seat creaking quietly as he shifted, "What would make you more comfortable?"
"If there was any authenticity to the doctorate hanging behind," Regina replied dryly.
Archie observed her with unblinking eyes. "And yet you allowed Mary Margret to teach your son and Doctor Whale to practice medicine."
Regina glanced impassively at a porcelain phrenology bust adjacent to the doctor's ear. She was impressed by his brusqueness.
"This is our third session and we have yet to discuss anything remotely personal," he continued boldly while retaining his usual, soft tone, "Tell me, Regina, why are you here?"
On the armrest, her fingers absently kneaded the marbled surface of a dull, lavender stone into her palm. "Did you know there's no magic that can destroy a soul?"
Sinking back into plush, forgiving leather, Regina relinquished a sigh. "You can hold a heart in the palm of your hand, whisper your will into its chambers. You can torture and crush a life. But soul breaking - there's no magic for it. That you have to do yourself."
Emma had been running. Her feet had drummed into the leaf ridden forest floor until trails had become tracks, until the proof of her anguish lay in a long, depressed line of disturbed dirt. She had run, almost every day, for three straight weeks. It was not by choice. She ran so she could she could make pleasant conversation with her parents at Granny's while Regina smiled over dinner with Henry at the next booth. She ran so that her eyes, despite her resolve, would not drift to the unknowable brunette as she chaired the town meeting.
If it were anyone else, she would've know what to do – what to feel. So she ran.
On her days without Henry, Emma would return from her morning jogs to a rectangle of aluminium wrapped Pyrex waiting at the front door. A baked meal for one. It wasn't enough that Regina had tried to kill her, now Emma was certain that she was intent on feeding her to death.
Exhausted, Emma threw her keys onto the kitchen counter next to a gleaming tower of matching glassware. She collected a fork and uncovered another identical glass container on the way to the living room. Tucked sneakily within the silver foil, Emma discovered a small, white envelope. She sat on the cool floor and placed both meal and envelope between her outstretched legs.
Emma ate with purpose. Her fork stabbed through red, guilt smothered sheets of pasta, moving back and forth from the container to her mouth in a mindless, mechanical rhythm. The taste of the thick portions barely registered on her tongue. She eyed the plain envelope wearily, as if it were a Trojan horse, and its contents lay in wait for her guard to slip.
Decisively, she down the empty dish and reached forward. Emma tore open the seal of the envelop to reveal a sheet of fine paper. A single sentence was inscribed on the centre of the page in Regina's cursive script:
You once asked how I got like this; the truth is,
I often wonder myself.
She ran her thumb over a circular watermark, impressed between the two lines, where tear-infused ink had bled from perfect, slanted loops and spilt across the ivory paper in a gradation of blue. She felt the page dip and, with a slight gasp, saw her thumb disappear through the page. Her fingers continued to fall until they met the smooth surface of a small, rounded object. Emma pulled her hand back to reveal a purple pebble, identical to the one the Snow Queen had used to return the memories she stole from Elsa and herself.
Emma had no time to speculate how the stone had come into Regina's possession. She felt her head grow heavy. The distinct lines of her living room began to blur before her sight plunged into darkness completely. She felt herself falling backwards —and suddenly, she found herself flat on her back, squinting in the sunlight, in the middle of a small forest clearing. Emma turned her cheek into short blades of grass and shielded her face from the midday sun, only to come eye to eye with a long, green insect. It's bludging, black eyes seemed to stare right at her, almost curiously.
"Did you know that there's no magic that can destroy a soul."
The familiar voice beside Emma, although barely a whisper, startled her. "What the hell, Regina!" she began angrily, scrambling to her feet. "You can't just poof people wherever the hell you – wait a minute..."
Emma scanned the shadowy mass of trees that encircled them. This was not Storybrooke; she was quite certain. The trees of Storybrooke were old, ancient even, but these trees stood as monuments to time itself. Their thick, crowded figures felt overbearing, as though they, collectively, possessed a consciousness.
"Where are we?" Emma whispered so as not to be overheard.
Regina did not reply or give any indication that Emma had been heard. Instead, her gaze was fixed expectantly upon the sky, as if she were waiting for an answer to drop from it.
Emma frowned. Experimentally, she reached to touch Regina's shoulder, but her hand, like liquid, passed straight through. She stared at her hand for a moment. She could not be sure if it was her or Regina that was unreal. Emma looked around again at the thick evergreens which appeared to shimmer, like in a mirage, as if they, too, were unsure of their existence.
Regina exhaled and turned her attention to two other people who, Emma could only assume, had appeared when she wasn't looking.
The closest of the two – a girl – had her back turned to them. A gaunt looking man knelt by her feet. His dull hair was matted with dirt and his bony wrists were shacked by thick iron bracelets. Emma followed the gaze of his wide, petrified eyes to a heart, whose throbbing scarlet light was caged between the girl's thin fingers. As Emma drew closer to the pair, she saw the girl's knuckles grow white with tension. The girl flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder to reveal her face.
Emma gasped in recognition. She realised where she was standing: inside Regina's memory.
"Well, what're you waiting for, dearie?"
Gold's, or rather, Rumpelstiltskin's wickedly melodic voice echoed from no discernible direction, through the fir fingers of the verdant ring, now vivid with colour. He materialised beside the younger Regina, wrapped in a snug suit of reptilian-esque leather. A gleeful giggle escaped through his venomous smile and he touched the tips of his fingers together. "He will be dead tomorrow anyhow."
Emma was near enough to see the fear in the younger Regina's eyes as her fist tightened around the heart. The action was instantaneous. The prisoner doubled over in a strangled scream but Emma couldn't tell who was in more pain.
"I didn't know his name or what crime he had committed. It was easier that way."
Regina watched Archie carefully, gauging his reaction to her confession. The prominent lump at his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He loosened his tie but it did little to relax his tense expression. Finally, he regained his composure by crossing his legs. "Easier to kill a man with no name?"
"Yes." Regina said, before pausing. "No."
Archie inquired silently with a raised brow.
"Easier to succumb to darkness," she concluded.
"And had you found it difficult before, to give in to darkness?"
"Is that so hard to believe?" Regina snapped. She wound her hand around the rock and clenched it firmly in her fist.
"No. Not at all," Archie said. "I sensed some anger in you just now. Did you feel yourself getting angry?"
Regina became aware of the tiredness in her hand. She relaxed her fingers, breathing deeply. "Yes."
"Why is that?"
"Because you were implying-"
"Could you say what you're feeling in the script we've been working on?" Archie interrupted gently.
Regina rolled her eyes and huffed, "I felt angry when you asked me that question because I felt that you assumed that darkness is a part of my nature."
The doctor nodded in approval. "I didn't mean to assume, Regina. My intention was find out more about your relationship with dark magic."
"Oh." Regina returned her attention to the smooth rock in her hand. She realised she had risen forward along the seat and sat back once again before resuming. "Dark magic was thrilling and it gave me so much than power. More than the crown."
"It gave you a sense of control?"
"One that I had never possessed. I was addicted." Regina nodded. "Once, my Father asked what Daniel would've said, if he saw what I had become."
"How did you respond?"
"I didn't. He knew better than to question me. Or talk about Daniel. After all, it was Father who finally tore me away from his body."
"After he died?"
The fresh tears that sprung to her eyes took Regina by surprise. "He became so cold so quickly. I held him for hours." She heard her own voice crack but continued, "I think Father knew in that moment, that I had changed. It wasn't until years later that I realised how much. And later still, when I realised that I had turned into the very thing I despised most."
"And what was that?"
"Who." Regina corrected.
"This isn't real," Emma reminded herself beneath tightly shut lids. Rumpelstiltskin's sing-song snicker and the last gasping breaths of a dead man still rung in her ears. The sounds bent and coalesced before morphing into the familiar cadences of Regina's voice.
You always think you can hold your breath. Until you can't.
Emma's eyes swum in darkness. She clung to the words, waking to softened edges of a large estate at dusk, impressions of what was once reality. Emma stood beside Regina as she regarded her past self and another blonde-haired girl. Both girls were young - no more than sixteen - but seemed too old to be shrieking with joy as they ran in circles around two large pails of water. Their hands were armed with soaked rags, which they flung after one another in passing.
They played, bare footed, casting long shadows on the lawn outside a small outbuilding. Behind them stood a grand house and wall of trees, whose mostly bare branches were blanketed in the large, black bodies of crows. Their eyes glittered in the fading light as they watched on in silent observation.
A fit of laughter brought Emma's attention back to the girls. Regina, it seemed, had tripped. One pail was still comically stuck to her foot and the blonde girl was on top of her, pelting her outstretched arms with pieces of damp cloth. "I yield," Regina shielded her face from the incoming blows, smiling, "I yield."
The blonde ceased her water barrage. "I win!" she proclaimed, her fists raised victoriously. Emma smiled at the younger brunette who rolled her eyes with a familiar dramatic flair. Smirking, Regina retrieved a fallen cloth, slopped it onto the other girl's neck and squeezed. The blonde leapt up with a yelp, "You cheat." Regina chuckled as the blonde moved to free her foot from the wooden pail and helped her to her feet.
"Regina!"
The girls froze in place. Regina's name was called again, from closer this time and the blonde dropped Regina's hand as if it had stung her. The younger Regina signalled for the other girl to leave. She was hesitant but Regina pushed her gently and she then ran across the lawn into the small building. Cora emerged from the other side. She strolled towards them with a man, whose greying hair did not seem to match his middle-aged face, pacing shortly behind.
Cora assessed the scene stoically. Emma watched her gaze flick from dark patches on Regina's dress to the spilled pale and rags on the wet grass.
"What have I said about the help?" she asked, her voice cool over her taut lips.
That we don't socialise. We speak to them with directions only," Regina said as though she had recited the words many times over.
"And how do you think I feel about you cavorting around with the kitchen hand?"
The young Regina looked to the sad man by her mother's side before bowing her head. "I'm sorry, Mother."
"Good girl." Cora seemed to be satisfied with the apology and turned to leave. "Come, Henry," she beckoned.
The blond girl who look on from the safety of the outhouse window, caught Regina's eye. Emma watched her fists, the same fists that she had seen kill a man only moments before, curl by her sides in anger. The crows began to caw. Emma's stomach coiled with a sense of dread. She prayed for the younger brunette to keep quiet.
"She's my friend." Regina's raised voice rang clear across grass.
Regina was in the air before Cora even turned to face her. Water rose from the upright pail in translucent spheres. They hung over Regina's head like giant dew drops. Each contained a dazzling reflection of the orange sky and sprawling lawn, only turned on its head.
"Why don't you learn, Regina?" Cora asked, almost sadly. She released her hand and the drops fell. But they did not reach the ground. Instead, they bombarded Regina, one by one, pooling at an invisible dome at her neck and quickly filling the space around her head. Regina locked gazes with Cora, wide-eyed, in a state of paralysed disbelief. Her breaths came short and fast but she instinctually lifted her mouth to the sky. After one last gulp of air, her head was completely submerged.
Only after a moment did Emma make sense of the surreal scene painted before her. Regina couldn't breathe. Her legs kicked violently against the air. She clawed desperately at her neck, trying to pierce the water with her hands. She shut her eyes and a scream erupted from her mouth in a stream of swollen bubbles. But nothing could be heard. Her terror was contained within the clear liquid.
"Cora!" Henry reached forward in a feebly attempt to stop her. He posed no real threat to her. She side stepped him easily and doubled her efforts.
The cracking of wood from the bursting pails caused a flurry among the startled crows. Individual pieces of wood flew through the air and snapped into place around Regina's suspended form, immobilising her. The sound drove dark birds from the surrounding trees, their large wings creating a living cloud in the sky.
Emma lunged at Cora although she knew it futile to do so. "Stop!" she pleaded, but her voice was drowned by the beating of a hundred wings taking flight. She wanted it to be over. Instinct told her to run, to follow the crows and flee the foreign landscape, but her feet remained planted.
Within the space of a minute she witnessed Regina's body go limp. This was her surrender. All the fight had been drained from her youthful face. It was replaced by a blank, eerily serene mask. Emma glanced sideways at her Regina, who remained glassy eyed, wearing the same expression as her younger self.
No marks.
After all, damaged goods yield no profit.
The chirp of crickets floated on a cool breeze to raise the hairs on Emma's arms. She gave her eyes time to adjust to her new surroundings in the same nightmare. Regina sat at the foot of a four poster bed illuminated only by moonlight. Straining her ears, Emma heard the quiet sobs of a tiny body buried beneath thick blankets. She listened for a moment before the child stopped abruptly.
With a slight flinch, Emma observed Cora emerge from the shadows of the bedroom. She came to sit upon the plush bed and leaned down low. "I'm sorry I lost my temper," she whispered into the sheets, pulling back the covers to reveal the balled up figure of a small girl.
The girl looked up, tears still streaming over her chubby cheeks. Her enormous dark eyes bore into Cora's, unsure. Cora moved with a gentleness that stunned Emma. She opened her arms and the girl crawled into them without question, laying her head on her chest.
"You know I want the world for you, Regina." Cora began rocking her gently. "Mother only does—"
"—what's best." the girl finished with an unnerving automaticity.
A wave of nausea overcame Emma at the effort Cora made in consoling Regina. She felt as though she had been close to tears for the entirety of the unwelcome trip, but the memory that played before her provoked emotions too visceral to rationalise away. All that was left to do was cry.
The sound of slowed breathing filled the room and Cora lifted Regina to lay her down. "My sweet girl." She combed the girl's dark hair. "Would you like a story?"
A tiny head nodded by her lap and Cora smiled. "Once upon a time…"
Emma sensed her eyes grow heavy and began to feel the pull of sleep. She blinked her eyes and, in an instant, she was thrust into daylight. Awareness returned to her and Emma found herself in her own living room with her back uncomfortably stuck to the leather lounge behind her.
Flinging the purple stone across the floor with all her might, Emma sat in parallel with the past for what seemed like an age. She hated Regina for doing this to her. She was furious but the weight of tears still lay heavy on her lashes. Wiping her eyes, she fished her phone from her pocket and dialed. The call connected to silence. Emma waited, breathless.
"Hey," came the husky voice, finally.
Emma smiled into the phone, "Hey."