Clock Chimes

Chapter Seven

STORYBROOKE, MAINE, 2022.
Two days before Emma's death.

The kitchen is quiet as Regina paces its floors in stocking feet. It's six A.M. on a Thursday morning, the air piercing cold and wet outside--the kind of weather that creeps inside and chills the inside of her mansion--with dark clouds not yet overrun by the sunlight of the day. Beside her, the coffee maker is on, no longer running, and Regina can only pace, panic pulsing through her veins as she dwells on the only thing--or rather, person--that's been on her mind since she set foot in Gold's shop two days ago.

The Black Fairy.

That bitch.

Of course, she's not scared of failing; she knows she and Emma can win this, she trusts in them, and with Gold on their side there's no doubt--

Wait.

Gold--that's who they need; with the Dark One combined with the Savior's magic and Regina's decades of practiced mix of dark and light magic, the insect doesn't stand a chance. Still, as her heart pounds and the sickness in her stomach doesn't fade away, she wonders if maybe it all isn't so simple. When is it ever? Sighing, she places her mug in the sink and moves to wake Emma upstairs before she halts herself. Neither of them have experienced hardly anything resembling sleep over the past few nights; Regina can always feel whether or not Emma is sleeping by her breathing and the atmosphere in the dark room. Lately, the atmosphere has been far more like staring at the opposite wall in the pitch black of the master bedroom, before falling into snippets of fitful sleeps before one of them gives up for the night and leaves the room to sit downstairs.

Today, it was Regina who had given up, but not before she listened carefully in the quiet dark and heard the telltale sound of Emma's regulated breathing and tiptoed out of the room as silently as she could. That's how now, she finds herself alone in the kitchen, far too early in the morning for such little sleep, pondering how she's going to overthrow some of the greatest evil she's ever seen.

A glance towards the digital clock on the microwave reads 6:17, and before she knows what she's doing, Regina is placing a frying pan on top of the stove and firing up the burner. The churning pit in her stomach lurches at the very idea of food, but she knows Emma needs something in her system that isn't a bear claw or a beer, and her sleeping son a level above her will rise in a couple of hours and eat her out of house and home. For a moment, she pauses as the butter melts in the pan, and allows herself to think how lucky she is to be here, now, in this moment.

Because right now, she's cooking breakfast in a silent kitchen, the sun slowly rising outside, with a sleeping wife and son upstairs. Right now, she doesn't need to think about an evil fairy with a kidnapping plan and a mind to wipe out the whole town; right now, she's just a mom and a wife with a job to do that she understands and is perfectly capable of doing--is good at doing, even--and for the first time in many, many hours or even a day, she feels a hint of a smile creep onto her face, the knot inside of her lose loosen, and the tense muscles in her face relax.

She even tastes the pancake batter along the way, and if she hums a little tune while she works, well, who's around to hear her?

---

An hour later, the pancakes are fully cooked and Regina has just turned off the stove when she senses movement in her peripheral vision. She glances to her left and finds her wife standing there, and despite her swirling thoughts and the coolness of the kitchen, she feels a warmth spreading through her insides at the sight of her. She finds Emma's gaze and watches her for a moment that stretches into seconds. She's an absolute vision despite a complete lack of sleep, with loose blonde waves falling around her shoulders and soft eyes not yet lined in black, rumpled skimpy sleep clothes draping her athletic frame as she smiles softly in the early morning light.