Fic: Now is Past (Part 1)
Title: Now is Past (Part 1)
Fandom: Once upon a time
Ship: Emma Swan/Regina Mills
Length: 5000
Summary: AU in FTL.
A/N: First fic for OUAT fandom, so I hope that it's alright. It hasn't been betaed, so there are bound to be some typos, but not too many I hope. Enjoy (I also hope).
The first time she sees her, it's in the summer. There's a head of dark hair, dark and starkly there under the sunlight, and pale skin with a foreign undertone of olive, unseen in Emma's part of the Enchanted Forest. She doesn't realise then quite how important this girl, merely a year or two older than Emma herself, will be in her life - has no inkling at all.
All she sees is the slight figure following demurely after the rather more stern figure of her mother, one of the visiting nobles from the other side of the kingdom. They make black blots of ink on the lush green of the hilly palace garden, and look as out of place in the jolly scene as the moon would if it were at this moment hovering in place of the sun.
They talk for a minute at lunch, while all the adults swim in and out of boring conversations about politics, this year's harvest and who's marrying who. Emma - who has no interest in getting married, at least for another decade or so until she came of age - had made her complaints known and had soon been relegated to the rug spread out under the tree. Relegated there by her own mother, after a particularly boisterous huff of impatience from the young princess.
There she finds the girl, sitting crossed legged in the shade and looking off at the horses dotting the fields in the distance.
She's quiet and still in that moment, her energy all compressed into the space of her eyes and crackling subtly under her skin. That is until Emma breaks the silence with the loudness of a Princess used to being pampered at every turn.
“What's your name?” She demands, standing over the girl, with a frown of consternation painted on her brow.
Pink lips purse further and thinner in the seconds that stamp by, seconds in which silence is the only noise that greets her. Her mute companion has not even opened her mouth by the time that Emma has raised her foot in agitation.
“I asked you a question.” The foot tramps the ground, startling the seated figure and immediately brown eyes flick up to meet Emma's own, alive and bristling with suddenly sparked indignation. “Answer me.”
She does not, but instead uncrosses her limbs and rises, her slight advantage in age giving an extra few inches of height over the princess. And her dark attire makes her seem more imposing. Even then, though, she does not loom over the younger girl, but instead leans back against the tree with a sort of amused smugness.
“You are the Princess, are you not?”
“Who cares if I am?”
One side of the dark haired girl's mouth twists upwards.
“Well, if you are not then you have no power to command me.”
There's challenge written across her face, but it's hardly malicious. It brings a smile to Emma's face, even before she's realised it, and she has just narrowed her eyes in readiness for her next move when she feels rather than sees the shadowy presence of the girl's mother.
At once the fun goes out of the girl's stance. She's small yet again, her eyes are taken over by an odd filmy quality, as if the brightness that lies beneath actively needs to hide itself.
“Regina.” So that is her name. “Stand up straight and stop lounging. You disgrace yourself in front of the Princess.”
The woman bestows upon Emma a smile full of ice and condescension before placing a hand on the back of Regina's head and steering her back towards the castle. Her daughter doesn't look back once, but Emma is sure that she sees a backwards wave from Regina's downturned hand.
* * *
They find each other again and again in the few days comprising Cora's visit and, away from the watchful eye of their mothers, they explore the hidden parts of the garden together. Regina is all confidence and courage, thinks Emma, as they venture further into darkness of the trees. She has no fear, until they are back in the castle and near her mother again.
Even now, Emma finds that she does not Lady Mills, dislikes her more when she ushers Regina into the black carriage that will take them back to their estate. She hadn't given any warning, so Emma watches from the balcony, unable to run down in time to say goodbye, and instead receives a scant wave before Regina's hand disappears again, fair skin seeping back into the dusk of the carriage.
* * *
The next year it is Lord Henry who steps out of the blue carriage, before hoisting down a cerulean swathed Regina. She looks up at him with wonder in her eyes and it makes Emma bizarrely jealous. She remembers last year, when Regina stared at her like that when they'd discover something amazing. Still, the news from Lord Henry's mouth, that they'll stay a full week, brings a grin to Emma's face.
Without the spectre of Regina's mother they are free to do as they please. There are no rules dictating that Regina must maintain her dignity at all times, may never get her dress dirty, may never address Emma as anything other than 'Princess Emma'. It's not that Emma doesn't like her title, but hearing it from a friend is a far cry from hearing it from strangers and servants.
They roam the gardens and pet the horses and lie for hours in the sun, away from the diplomats and royals. Regina's skin develops a tan sheen to it, a more natural look than her usual pale tone.
“What will you do when you get older?” Emma wonders aloud one day, looking at the streaming clouds from where she's lying on the grass.
“Older?”
“Yes. When you are grown up, what will you do?”
Regina is silent, as she so often is when she's thinking. She's extremely talkative at other times, but when she's thinking, she makes sure to compose her thoughts before voicing them. Growing bored with her friend's long thoughts, Emma covers the silence with her own answer.
“I'm going to travel the world and see all the of the kingdoms. And then I'll be Queen and I'll have everyone cook me whatever I want. And we'll eat cake every day.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Now your turn.”
Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth for just a second before she gives her response.
“I shall grow up and be married.”
Emma waited for the rest of Regina's bright future, but her friend turns her head so that she is facing her, and her expressive eyes hold no secrets for what she sees ahead of her.
It's bleak, and it puts a damper on Emma's day.
* * *
She visits every year, just once a year, but still she is the best and most exciting friend Emma has ever known.There are nobles who live closer to the palace, who she sees once a week or at least a couple of times a month, but she always finds their children rather... insipid when compared to Regina.
Regina is bold and unashamed and... magical in a way that Emma can't quite put her twelve year old finger on. And she's Emma's favourite because no one else sees Regina quite like she does. Whenever Cora is around, or even Queen Snow or King James - friendly as they are - the other girl becomes so quiet and composed that she's hardly recognisable, except for that small flush of vibrancy lurking the corner of her eye or the side of her smile. But it's the spirited grin that Emma enjoys most, the one that she gives when they're alone, and she's waited to see it for nigh on a year.
Even now Emma waits, glancing around with impatience.
Various nobles have arrived in their gaudy carriages, stepping out with less grace than Regina possesses when she cares to.
Emma, too, reluctantly at first, has finally developed some measure of elegance when moving, instead of her former rushing and stomping. Sometimes, in previous years, Regina would arch her eyebrow and raise one side of her mouth in this smug way when Emma would come barrelling towards her. And Snow would good-naturedly berate her daughter for being so badly mannered.
Snow stands by her side and though she doesn't quite understand her daughter's immense fondness for the girl - a girl that she finds as cold and poised as her mother - she smiles knowingly down at her excitement.
An excitement that melts away when an almost forgotten black carriage draws up and Lord and Lady Mills descend from it. With no trace of Regina anywhere.
She instantly wants to question, but remembers her manners, and instead tugs lightly on her mother's dress.
“Lord Henry. Cora. It is so wonderful that you are able to join us once again.”
They exchange pleasantries even as Emma grows more desperate for an answer. She feels an odd and unidentifiable chill sink from her chest down to her stomach, something she's never felt before in her young and coddled life. She's a Princess; she's never supposed to feel sad.
“And where is Regina? I hope that she isn't ill.”
Lord Henry's face drops instantly at that remark and he looks off to the side in a move very reminiscent of his absent daughter. There is no such emotion from Cora, who simply raises an eyebrow - another move that Emma associates with Regina - and adopts a slightly disappointed tone.
“She is in very good health, your Majesty. We thank you for your enquiry. To answer to your question, though, Regina has been sent away for a while to cure some of her more headstrong behaviour. She's with some friends of mine in Midas' lands.”
Emma's stomach squelches and tears, unbidden, rise in her eyes at the words. Her mother looks incredulous.
“Headstrong? Regina? Lady Cora, I have never seen a better behaved child than Regina in my entire reign. I think she's even taught my daughter to behave.”
Lady Mills looks unmoved, even as Emma nods up at her, in some way hoping that it will mean that Regina will be brought back, even just for the week.
“Well, I'm glad that she hasn't shown her wayward ways in front of the princess. But she will be back soon, I'm sure.”
With the dismissive way the sentiment crawls out of her mouth, Emma doesn't know whether she's telling the truth or not.
Cora turns away, signalling to the servants. It's rather rude, but Snow isn't paying any attention. As soon as she spots rarely seen tears rolling down Emma's face she's on her knees in front of her daughter. The young princess isn't quite sure when she got so attached, but the idea of not seeing Regina for a whole year - a year that seems an eternity to a young girl - was just horrible.
The thoughts make her chest burn and swollen tears fall to hang off her chin, even as her mother draws her into a warm, tight embrace.
But it just makes the tears, merging into desperate hiccups, come faster.
* * *
When she is sixteen she's all but forgotten just how she'd felt that day. She'd been in such a state that her mother had simply put her to bed, stroking her head while wetness seeped into her pillow. The weeks after she'd been melancholy, and the year following she'd still looked hopefully out of her tower window to see if Regina turned up. But she hadn't.
Emma's summers are now filled with hunting trips with her father - deemed inappropriate by some nobles, but undeniably fun - and occasional balls and visits to other realms. The nobles still visit, but it is no longer the highlight that it used to be. The sun-filled summers lying on the grass that she used to enjoy are no more than distant memories, replaced by the leafy scent of the hunt for grouses, deer and rabbits.
Her nose is burnt a little from the long day in the sun, the leaves of the forest offering surprisingly little protection to Emma's pale skin. James carries the fruits of the day's activities - a brace of coneys - over his shoulder, and smiles back at Emma who walks a few paces behind him.
As they make their way out of the trees and shrubbery Emma can just make out a blue stain on horizon, cloaked in the immense brightness of daylight.
When her eyes adjust a little more she can see that it is in fact a person on a light brown horse, though the figure is still too far off to make out more than that. It's not often that they see riders here. Actually Emma can safely say that she's never seen one in this particular hunting spot, except for those of her own party.
The person on horseback draws nearer and now she can see that it's a girl, or rather a young woman. A young woman with gleaming brown hair and whose eyes darkly absorb the sun.
When the horse trots nearer still Emma can see who it is.
It's Regina.
It's Regina, but her hair is longer, darker and elegantly plaited, her lips are fuller and Emma can imagine the curves hinted at by the older girl's riding clothes.
Emma feels as if all the air in her lungs has evaporated, emptied out without warning, and chalks it up to surprise. Even so she indulges in a few long seconds to further inspect her old childhood friend.
Her face is not as expressive as it used to be; even when she tried to hide what she was feeling there was always a slight telltale sign in her expression. Now Regina looks down at the royals with a pleasant, but completely unreadable expression. But her eyes. When they flick over to Emma they hold such force in their look that Emma feels as if she's under a spell. She's never actually been under a spell - her mother having a dislike for magic - but this overwhelming hotness in her hands and the tightness of her throat are surely what she's imagined it to feel like.
She watches with fascination as Regina slides off the horse - so fluidly that it should be a sin - and paces over to the two. She inclines her head first to her father, acknowledges him with a greeting, before he moves off towards the nearby stables, no doubt having realised just who the mysterious rider is.
The pair of dark eyes sweep around to fix Emma in their sights, and the princess is sure that she can hardly breathe.
“Princess Emma.”
She ducks into a small bow, seeing as she's wearing no skirts to curtsey with, and Emma watches on, shuddering with the breath that is struggling to leave her body.
“Regina.”
“I see you haven't forgotten me.” Her smirk is the same, but there seems a new mesmerising quality to it, something odd that keeps Emma gazing at it for longer than she should.
“I thought you had been sent away.”
Her smile stays in exactly the same position but, for some reason, Emma knows that bitterness has bled into it.
“I had. But now I am back.”
They stay watching each other for lingering moments, neither saying anything. Emma remembers that they used to say everything to each other, but now there's an invisible band around her tongue and she can't think of what to say. She can feel a hundred and one things to tell Regina about the time she's missed in the past five years and yet she can't make it come out of her mouth.
Regina smiles, small but oh so beautifully.
And Emma smiles back.
* * *
In the weeks after that Regina makes an unannounced visit to the palace, for the first time devoid of her parents.
She arrives on horseback, resplendent in dark blue jodhpurs and shirt when Emma sees from her hidden vantage point in one of the less visited turrets. Sheltered in the cool stone of the castle, the princess nonetheless feels her stomach clench, as if she's suffered a physical blow. It stops her for a second, before she rushes down to the entrance hall where Regina is bound to be headed.
Unfortunately her mother has already intercepted and is leading the girl into one of the parlour rooms. Emma rounds the corner just in time to see Regina remove her hat, sending a cascade - longer and sleeker than before - of chocolate coloured waves down her back.
Emma pads into the room, softly, behind the pair, uncharacteristically unsure of how to announce herself, and frustrated at herself for feeling so. In the end she settles for clearing her throat.
“Mama.”
Snow turns, and smiles softly in the comforting way she always does.
“Emma. I was just about to call for you. An old friend of yours has come to visit.”
Regina only flashes a slow, slim smile over her shoulder as she's ushered towards an armchair by the low lying tea table, and Emma follows without really realising, only regaining her senses when she feels the springs of the seat under her.
They chat over tea, her mother and Regina filling up most of the conversation while Emma internally chastises herself for not being able to think of anything even vaguely interesting or funny to say.
Her mother goes off for a minute to fetch more sugar - always being a fan of doing things herself - leaving her alone with Regina. She still can't think of anything to say - or at least nothing of value. Regina seems to have so much to discuss, or at least has a composed and intelligent opinion on anything you ask of her. Again, she feels just a little in awe of the other girl, or woman, she remembers.
Instead of filling the silence she reaches out for the handle of the teapot, only to realise that a tan hand is moving to exactly the same place. The pads of her fingers brush against the backs of the smooth knuckles wrapped around the porcelain and instinctively her eyes go up to find Regina's. For the first time in her hour long visit Regina seems just the tiniest bit flustered.
A rushed breath is expelled through her red lips, a simultaneous one drawn in through Emma's, and neither of them even think of moving either their hands or their eyes until Snow's footfalls resound in the hall.
They look away, but Emma's hand still burns pleasantly.
* * *
She doesn't know what it is. But there is definitely something odd about Regina. Or maybe there's something odd about Emma.
Whichever it is, it results in a not-exactly-horrible squishing feeling in the general vicinity of Emma's stomach every time they encounter each other. It's not that often - Emma has royal duties and lessons, and she presumes that Regina's mother keeps her occupied most of the time.
But when they do see each other, when Emma sets her eyes on the first flash of rich brown inevitably swathed in blue, a tremor shoots down her spine in a way that she cannot hope to control. When Regina smiles at her while they stand in the stables, grooming their respective horses - a smile bright and seldom seen - Emma feels herself smiling without thinking, but feeling nonetheless that her whole face is glowing. When she spots the other girl alighting her horse without bidding her farewell - unquestionably Regina has been summoned back to her parents - aside from affront at the slight rudeness, she feels a tugging in her sternum, a slight coil of pain that leaves an odd aftertaste in the recesses of the evening.
* * *
It is only over the course of the year that the still young princess comes to gain even an inkling into what it means.
The first clue real vindication of her nigh year-long musings comes when her mother takes her to one side before a ball to celebrate the passing of her seventeenth winter. Places a hand on her shoulder. Stares down at her with a loving, proud gaze.
Snow tells her, in a rather sentimental and roundabout fashion, of how beautiful she has grown, and will still grow to be, and of how... one day soon she may develop feelings for one of the young men at the ball.
And when Emma bemusedly - inside she's terrified, as if her mother had just mentioned fighting a troll - asks how she should know of these 'feelings', Snow's response pokes at a corner of her mind.
“Sometimes it's not a knowing feeling. Some people know for sure, when they meet a person, or even just see them. But sometimes it settles upon you like a petal upon the water. You know not of the emotions, only of the physical ripples that they cause. Your heart feels like it is too large, your lungs too small, your mind too clouded to think clearly.”
“And that is love?”
She looks up at her mother with wonder in her eyes, greedily awaiting the answer to a question that constantly hangs about her head and bats at her ribcage. The queen's mouth twists a little.
“Is is attraction. It can lead to infatuation. It can lead to love.”
She smoothes her hand over Emma's cheek and dips her head closer.
“When you fall in love, you will know it. There is no denying, no escaping true love.”
Emma already knows that fact and her body thrums with realisation. And with fear. And with hope.
* * *
Regina dances with many of the young men. She sweeps and spins with lithe charm and Emma sucks it all in with wide eyes. She, of course, has had to dance too, but she always feels a little less natural than Regina looks. She resents the undoubtedly snobbish youths' attempts to twirl her and steer her, as if she is nothing but an unruly colt. And she knows that it shouldn't rile her so - that things are supposed to be this way - but that doesn't mute her feelings whatsoever.
It certainly doesn't quell the little stab of envy - recently identified - that she experiences each and every time her friend is called to the floor.
She keeps trying to find a minute, just a moment, to talk to Regina alone, to tell her of the pressing sensation that the brunette instils in her. But she is at a ball, a ball in her own honour and so Emma has precious little time even to breathe between the fluctuating flow of riveting and sycophantic conversation.
In the end the night passes without a word to, or from, Regina.
When Emma lies in bed, though, she recalls with newfound, still tentative, elation the fleeting seconds when she would look up to find dark, lambent eyes seeking out her own.
* * *
After the ball she finds that she cannot wait for one of Regina's unexpected and infrequent visits, not when there is so much to be said between them. The promise of finally breaking that unknown barrier, the one that stills Emma's tongue and makes Regina pause a little too long, weighs on Emma desperately, even after only three days.
She persuades her father to send word to Lord Mills, asking for Regina's presence on the morrow, presenting it as simply a flight of fancy. She wants to see Regina and she is the Princess, so why should she not?
It seems a shame, almost wrong, to share with anyone but Regina the fluttering emotions that have recently overtaken her.
Emma is four days past her seventeenth winter, then, when she, from her vantage point in front of the castle, sees the cresting of a female rider over the hillside and knows that this day will change her life.
Despite the importance of the day, she can't help but be surprised that Cora let her daughter ride all the way to the palace, instead of taking a carriage, especially when summoned by the princess. But Regina, she reminds herself, has always been unexpectedly stubborn in the oddest of times.
The horse trots over to stop right in front of Emma, and she peers up at Regina smirking down at her.
“You called, your highness?”
Normally Emma would rebuke the sarcastic use of her title, but today she has other things on her mind.
She settles a palm on Regina's knee, where it lies just below the saddle. The flesh is warm and strong beneath her touch, and her eyelids creep shut for just a few heartbeats. When she opens them again Regina sees a determined green gaze trying to seep into her very soul. Emma looks so open in that moment, just for Regina, that her breath catches, rattles around in her throat.
“I wanted to see you. Regina.”
The way she says her name, too, is different. There's a freedom, a sense of revelation in her tone. It's soft and flows over the brunette with lissome ease, while the princess continues to look up at her in that bizarre way.
She feels a smile blooming over her face, a smile that most of the time she tries so hard to tamp down, to submerge in eloquence. Her lips part to reveal white teeth and she is, for once, not mortified in the slightest that Emma has brought a light blush to decorate her cheeks.
“And that is the best reason, Emma.”
She means it.
* * *
Emma leads her through the gardens, away from the prying eyes of the castle and servants who cannot seem to keep their words to themselves, and towards the tree where they first met. It's symbolic, she feels, and the changing landscape of the extensive gardens also means that the area is sheltered by primly cut hedges on all sides.
It is the perfect place - hidden and suffused with green sunlight which filters through the tree's leaves.
And Regina standing under them looks ethereal and altogether more beautiful than Emma has ever yet seen her. Her form, trim in her riding clothes, leans slightly into the broad trunk, just as she did that first time.
Emma treads over, her feet crunching in the grass until she is not more than a couple of feet from the other girl. There's ice quivering in her belly, but nevertheless she feels warm under Regina's gaze. Under Regina's smile.
“So. Why did you so suddenly want to see me, Emma? Not that I don't enjoy your company, but you've never sought me out before.”
Because she was confused. Because she was afraid. But she can't say that, can't force the words past her lips, but instead frowns a little, the sides of her mouth turning down.
“I have a question that only you can answer.” She sees Regina's eyes burn with curiosity, but also with a dawning suspicion, and the discomfort in her stomach increases tenfold. But she forges forward. This is no time to be timid.
“Tell me, Regina. What do you feel about me?”
Eyes widen at the question, and her red mouth draws into a contemplative pout, before smoothing out to a bland smile.
“Whatever do you mean, Emma? I feel... that same as I have always felt for you. We are friends, are we not?”
“Do not lie to me, Regina.” She is, all at once, right in front of her now, so close that Regina can see the small ring of hazel in her eyes before it bleeds out into greeny-blue. Those eyes stare up at her - for the brunette still holds about two inches over her friend - daring her to lie to the princess, begging her to tell the truth.
She feels rather than sees the brunette sag against the tree, and draws in even closer, never breaking that thread of eye contact that keeps them together. Somehow she knows what Regina's answer should be - if fate has any kindness in her - and yet she cannot quell the rising fear that the other girl will simply brush Emma's feelings aside. Think her a perversion in her undeniable attraction to her.
“What do you feel about me.”
The words are so small and soft, hold so much dismay in them that Regina is stung, almost wounded, by Emma's lack of belief in her, and unable to hold back her own forceful words.
“What don't I feel for you, Emma?”
She circles around so their positions are reversed, Emma's back is to the tree Regina's gaze holds the mesmerising pull of power. But, like the first time they met, there is nothing threatening in the taller girl's stance, only vitality and impulse that has too long been denied.
“Every time I am with you, I feel more emotions, more urges, than I have ever had cause to imagine. We say nothing, but when you look at me, we have said everything. When I am away from you, everything is dull. Everything is black, and I am lost. And when I am here with you, everything thrums with life. I ache all the time,” her brown eyes have turned so dark they are hardly a colour, but Emma stands, riveted by their glow, “for want of you, and it aches all the more that I know you feel it too.”
She drags in a ragged breath.
“But what can I do? It is hopeless.”
Emma's heart falls, drops down somewhere painful as she sees the tears gather at the edges of brown eyes and hears the voiced words.
“Why? Why is it hopeless?”
“It is not proper, Emma. Whatever we feel, our parents - my mother - they will not allow it.” Again their eyes find each other, even as Regina sinks to the ground, the other girl dropping down beside her, pressing into her side although it elicits a wince from Regina. “Surely you must recognise that?”
She's wrong. Emma knows it. If she told her parents she is sure that Snow and James would accept it, though it may take some adjustment. But she also knows that this rationale would not win her over, not Regina, who is ruled - no matter how she tries to hide it - by her heart.
“Whether I recognise that or not, Regina, is not important. It's not. The only thing is this.”
And so she takes Regina's hand, smooth and pale in the tinted light and places it above her own heart, holds it there.
“The only times I have ever known my heart have been with you.”
The hand is warm on her chest and both sets of eyelids flutter closed, their heads tip imperceptibly closer.
“We cannot let this go, Regina. You must recognise that.”
Regina's face is open, stunned by the force of Emma's hushed speech, and Emma knows that she has been won. She leaves the hand on her chest, but brings her own fingertips to stroke the soft line of Regina's jaw, and thanks the forces above that for once she was more brave, stronger even than the older girl. Strong enough to her own feelings their best chance to flourish.
Her thoughts still as she leans forwards. The lips that she has been captivated by for the last few moons are so close, and she is at last free to touch them.
Which she does. Closes her eyes yet again and turns her head to press her lips again Regina's, again and again, laughing softly between bouts, all encased in the green light of the afternoon and the rapture of Regina's embrace.
To be continued...