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The hardest thing, at first, was that she was still Emma. Still Emma, who feels too much all at once, who loves no one more than she does Henry; the saviour and sheriff, rescuing all that she has to, a gun or a sword in her hand.
You’re still Emma
, she moans to herself, the night seeping into her bones and the dark woods that hide her.
It all hurt, the magic inside her the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. It cracked her bones, knitting them back together seconds later. Lacerations covered the expanse of her skin, the dark magic slicing through clothes and delicate flesh as she dragged her palms against the dirt, fingers curling into the ground as she screamed.
I’m Emma, I’m Emma, I’m Emma
, over and over and over again, yelling into the night.
A vision of Snow passes through her mind, her mother’s tears shining through the cyclone of dark magic that had swallowed Emma; Charming’s vice grip on his wife, who was most likely more than ready to run after their daughter.
Emma didn’t regret saving Regina, she didn’t, but everything inside her hurt too much to think about anything but the moment before she’d accepted the darkness. She wracked with involuntary sobs as what had been Rumplestiltskin’s magic tore her apart. Emma felt as if she were going to die there, alone in the forest as her skin shone brightly, the magic swimming in her veins.
It’s hours, she thinks, before Emma can move any part of her body properly, slowly picking herself off the ground. One look at her bloody self, clothing torn open in various places, covered in dirt, and she’s on her knees retching.
Everywhere around her are fallen trees, the sunrise filtering in the once thick canopy of the forest.
Picking herself up again, she made her way through the trees on shaky legs, glancing down at her palms every so often to see that they were still giving off a faint light. Halfway home they catch on fire and turn her sweater sleeves to ashes. She throws the offending item of clothing to the ground, her thin tank top the only thing protecting her against the cold morning.
Magic ebbed throughout her, warming her goose bumps, buzzing and humming as she walked. It was exhilarating, but Emma felt sick to her stomach.
She finds her phone near the toll bridge, fried beyond repair; her favourite pair of boots aren’t too far ahead and seem to have met the same fate as the device. The Dark-One-Tornado had done a number on the woman’s belongings.
Emma was exhausted after all the walking and damage the magic had done to her system, but she, surprisingly, wasn’t in a large amount of pain. There was a dull throb at her temples, but that was easily curable with Tylenol and a nap. She’d vanished all the blood, her cuts closed and stinging.
The early morning gray helped to dissipate the peculiar sheen her skin had taken on, but she still had a couple of outbursts on her way into town.
Emma wondered if she’d look the way Rumplestiltskin had in the enchanted forest, imagining the sickly green colour he had sported on her trip back in time. She also speculated that she was the first female Dark One, as the whole of the Enchanted Forest gave off a ‘boy’s only’ vibe, Regina’s ridiculous family aside.
It was another thing to add to her magical resume, in any case.
Emma reached downtown after a couple hours, walking past familiar shops in pursuit of her parent’s apartment. She pictured Leroy and his stout legs flailing as he announced her arrival to the patrons of Granny’s.
Emma tucked her hair back into a ponytail, the dirtied strands falling into her face as she looked for any sign of life. Despite living in Storybrooke for nigh almost five years now, everything about it seemed off this morning. The eerie quiet of the harbour town was familiar, but the solemnity was new.
She reaches the diner, and from the closed gate she can see that nobody’s inside, though the clock reads eight a.m.
Emma notes that Archie and Pongo should have passed her by now, the duo always out for a walk at this time. There is no sign of the psychologist, however, and Emma quickly hastens her walk.
Five minutes later she’s at the loft, opening the building’s door to complete silence; Emma expects to hear Neal’s soft coos twinkling down the stairs. Instead she finds a forlorn Regina resting at the bottom of the steps, looking directly at her, eyes tired.
There’s a pain in her chest that she doesn’t like and Emma brings up a hand, palming away the feeling. The sight of her co-parent with wet eyes has her confused, causing her to come closer. Regina hasn’t changed outfits since Emma last saw her, the blazer laying haphazardly next to the witch. It was very unlike Regina, not to have her poised wall up.
Emma padded over to the woman, sitting down softly.
“Who died?” The blonde attempted to joke, Regina scoffing painfully. It was quickly replaced with a strangled cry, Emma touching her shoulder to Regina’s briefly. The mayor was now pressing herself against the railing, putting as much space between them as humanly possible.
“
Jesus
, Emma; did you set yourself on fire?” She asked, rubbing her wounded bicep. Emma wanted to reach out and soothe it, but knew that would only cause Regina more pain.
“Er, not entirely,” Emma replied, holding up her hands weakly, giving Regina a dejected shrug. “They’ve been flaring all morning, but I haven’t really been able to feel it. Last night, though, last night it burned.”
The pair was silent for a moment, weighing the statement.
“There’s a hole in the pavement where it happened,” Regina told Emma quietly, her lips pursed.
Emma hummed in response, trying to ignore the pain in Regina’s voice. The lobby of her parent’s building wasn’t an ideal place for the two to have a heart to heart, Emma wanting to push all of her emotions aside at the moment.
More silent moments passed as the two avoided eye contact, but again Regina broke the silence, this time with a raw laugh.
“It didn’t help that the dagger was sticking out of the street like excalibur either,” she said, chuckling some more. “Killian did indeed try to King Arthur it out of the pavement, but was unsuccessful. It was almost amusing, but his incessant sobbing dulled the situation.”
Regina finished the small anecdote, wringing her hands together.
“Where’s my dagger?” Emma asked warily. Mention of the weapon caused a visceral reaction in Emma, and saying the word left a hot, sour taste in her mouth, the heat in her body flaring. She thought about Killian momentarily, but stored him away to explore later.
“So it’s yours now, is it?” Despite the sarcasm the words held, Regina’s voice broke as her lips pulled into a grimace. The dark lipstick she donned often had faded, and as Emma stared at the brunette, she noted that Regina’s foundation had been wiped away, tear tracks staining her olive cheeks.
It was rare for anyone to see the mayor like this, especially Emma.
“Yeah,” Emma sighed. “I guess it is.”
“You very well know I’m not going to give it to you, Emma,” Regina told her sadly.
“I know,” she sighed.
They sat side by side silently for some time, Regina constantly wringing her hands as Emma stared at her own. Emma looked at her pale palms and wondered how many would meet their end because of them in the future.
You’re Emma
, she told herself.
You’re Emma
.
She could, however, feel something inside her, tugging at her heart and brain. It was foreign and uncomfortable, the dark magic, taking control and making its home inside Emma’s skull. She wondered if this is what Lily felt everyday: the pulling of the dark without any way to stop herself from giving in.
It was almost fair, Emma thought, that she had to experience this now after making Lily suffer her entire life.
Emma’s hands started to shake, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms as she begun to cry. Regina looked over at the other woman, confused by the sudden change, and noticed the tremor in Emma’s body.
Regina quickly grabbed the witch’s hands, fighting the heat of them, commanding Emma to look at her.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Regina asked, gripping tightly onto the other woman.
“Please don’t control me,” Emma sobbed. “
I’m Emma, I’m Emma, I’m Emma
,” she hissed under her breath, trying to pull away from Regina’s hold. Emma knew that if she really wanted to, she could make the mayor let go, but there was no use fighting her.
“Emma, everything’s going to be fine,” Regina tried, but Emma wouldn’t listen. The blonde shook against her, repeating her mantra.
“I can feel it. Inside me. Telling me what to do,” Emma’s voice betrayed her. “I’m going to hurt everybody and I don’t know how to stop it.”
A fanciful part of Regina wanted to ease her worries, but there was no way to predict who Emma would become in the coming weeks, or if they could actually remove the darkness from her. Snow “Hope Commissioner” White would say that it would all get figured out eventually, but the queen didn’t have such high spirits. She saw what the power had done to her tutor, and she couldn’t imagine the damage it would wreak upon her friend/co-parent/whatever Emma was to her.
“Everyone’s going to get hurt because of me; because I can’t control myself. I never could, Regina, you know that.” Emma stared desperately into her eyes, her hands becoming hotter as she spoke.
“Not everyone,” Regina told her. “Not Henry.”
“I hurt him before, I’ll do it again.”
“Fine,” Regina sighed. Her skin grew red welts, Emma’s fingers burning into her own, but she still held tight. “Not me, Emma.”
“Not you,” Emma nodded wearily. “Not you.”