Temptation

Summary: Gold and Regina's respective points of view on the events of Season 2, Episode 9, "Queen of Hearts."

Regina's POV

They can't let anyone come through the portal. Rumple … Gold is right.

Isn't he?

No. No, she shouldn't listen to him. She shouldn't follow him.

But she does.

But she shouldn't. She shouldn't be plotting and scheming with him. She shouldn't be standing by his side now, as they wield magic, the thrill of it thrumming through the air, pulsing through her veins…

Like old times.

But this isn't old times. Not even close. For one thing, they hate each other. He hates her, and she hates him.

She hates him.

She does. She does.

She lied to Henry. She should feel guilty, not … excited. Exhilirated. Alive.

Oh, but it's … familiar. So familiar. His soft voice, sounding so deceptively reasonable, so silkily persuasive, leading her down a dark path.

"Win-win," he tells her. After all these years, after all they've been through, how can he still be the devil on her shoulder? How can his voice still pour over her, like warm honey, making her feel, making her want …

No. No. She just wants to be a mother, Henry's only mother. That's the temptation, not anything else.

She hates him. Oh, how she hates him.

He has a wand from a fairy he killed. "No one mourns her," he says.

Just like no one mourns the girl whose heart I ripped out, the day I proved my 'dedication' to you, Regina thinks.

It should bother her. If she wants to be a better person, for Henry, the casual brutality of it all should bother her.

But it doesn't.

Why, why does it have to happen like this? It brings up too many memories, too many memories of being the eager young student who drank in his demonstrations of magic, who got high off the power of it, the darkness, the allure. And then it would be her turn, and she would show him what she'd learned, and his approval was an even more potent and intoxicating brew.

And then after the lesson, they would …

Or sometimes before …

Or sometimes during …

No no no. She hates him. Hates him. He uses her. He always uses her. She must not listen to what he says.

And she must not remember what they used to do together.

The way he looked at her.

The way he held her. Touched her. Kissed her.

The way he'd gasp out her name, and then whisper "My wicked one," in her ear, whisper it all sweet and soft and urgent like that, when they were entwined and writhing together, when he was inside of her …

Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it.

"It doesn't matter who comes through now. No one can survive this."

Something is wrong with her. Something is very wrong with her.

He's no good for her, and she means nothing to him. And yet here she is, doing as he says. Bowing to his inevitable logic, yielding to the darkness he always brings out in her, the desires he can call forth with just a look, just a word.

Regina begins to feel sick.

It's Henry that stops her. Henry that saves her. He cries, and he screams. He begs her to change, and he asks her to have faith.

It takes all of her strength to siphon off the energy, the magical energy that is supposed to kill whoever comes through the portal.

Her reward is to see her son in Emma Swan's arms.

For a moment, she glances over at Rumple … no, Gold. He shakes his head, and she glares at him.

So sorry to disappoint you, Rumple dear. I know how much you love to use me, but not today.

Of course, later, he has to twist the knife.

"Congratulations. You've reunited mother and son. Maybe someday, they'll invite you over for dinner."

Bastard.

There are no words for much she hates him.

And yet, she doesn't want him to leave her here.

He will, of course. He's the one who talked her into all this. The manipulator. The mastermind.

But in the end, it's he who will go home and into the arms of someone he loves. He'll go home to his sweet, simple Belle, and she is sure the girl will be none the wiser about what he almost convinced her to do.

And she will be alone.

But at least she knows Henry still cares for her.

And as for Rumplestiltskin … well, Regina knows precisely what she means to him.

He doesn't care for her. He never did.

Everyone is his life has their purpose, she supposes.

Belle is someone to be loved.

Regina is someone to be used.

Gold's POV

It's so easy.

It's so easy with her.

There's no darkness to hide, no wicked deeds to make excuses for. There's nothing in his nature that he has to shield her from, because she's seen it all.

And it's so easy to persuade her that this is what they must do.

He's always known just what temptations to dangle in front her. Magic. Freedom from her mother. Power.

Henry.

He doesn't feel badly, using her love for the boy. Not after what she's done, after what she did to Belle.

He doesn't. Not one bit.

He tells her that Henry never has to know the deaths of his mother and grandmother (if they are indeed the ones to come through the portal, which he highly doubts) were anything more than a tragic accident. Magic is unpredictable here, after all.

She comes with him, to the mines, watches him use the wand to siphon off all of it, all the magic they will need. Her eyes are wide, drinking everything in hungrily, just like she used to when he taught her, when they …

No. He will not think about that.

He corrupted her then, and he's corrupting her now.

He has his reasons. He always has his reasons.

But oh, back then, how thoroughly he'd enjoyed it. Corrupting her. And how many times had he reminded himself that he didn't feel the least bit guilty about it?

Because he didn't. And he doesn't.

But when she changes her mind at the last instant, that's the part he can't stand.

It's not because she defied him. It's been years since she was his obedient student, after all. He's grown used to that by now.

It's that she did it for Henry. For her son.

She did what he couldn't.

Bae asked him, Bae begged him to let go, to honor their deal and he … he failed him. He's spent the rest of his life trying to get back to his son, trying to make up for that one horrible moment, but nothing will ever erase how he failed Baelfire so utterly, failed the test of a parent's love.

And now, Regina has been faced with that same test, and she's passed it with flying colors.

Regina has succeeded where he failed.

She may never be more powerful than he is.

But she is … better.

It makes sick. It makes him ashamed. It makes him angry.

It makes him want to hurt her.

So he does.

"Congratulations. You've reunited mother and son. Maybe someday, they'll invite you over for dinner."

It's petty, and it's cruel, and unnecessary, and the look of pain on her face does not bring him the pleasure he thought it would.

Quite the opposite, actually …

Belle, he tells himself. Remember what she did to Belle. She deserves this. She deserves to be miserable and alone.

So why does a part of him want to tell her that, whatever else she may be, she is a better parent than he is? Why does a part of him want to tell her he is proud of her for defying him, despite how disastrous the results could have been?

And why does a very small, tiny, insignificant part of him want to take her in his arms and tell it will be alright?

But he can't.

That is not the nature of their relationship. Well, at least, not anymore. That time has passed.

She hates him. And he hates her. Things are as they should be.

Belle is his true love.

And Regina is … Regina was …

His wicked one.