Chapter Text
The first thing she sees as she opens her eyes is the dagger.
She can’t see what’s behind it, what’s surrounding it, what’s surrounding her— just the dagger itself, silhouette sharp and gleaming, like it was cut from its background.
Her eyes feel heavy, she squints to try to focus them, drawing breath slowly in and out, like that will help her somehow. It feels like a lifetime passes, but slowly things around her start to swim into clarity, and the dark fuzziness fades into light.
Two things startle her at once— she isn’t outside any longer, for one. There’s no sign of Regina’s vault, the cemetery, the surrounding woods, all gone. Instead it’s dark and musty, but with faint light streaming in from somewhere behind her, landing on the hardwood floor before her. The loft, she realizes. Emma’s room. Emma’s bed.
The second thing to startle her— the one that causes her heart to sink and her gut to twist— is that she can now make out the name on the dagger from its resting place on the nightstand before her.
Elsa, it says coldly, the text rigid and unforgiving.
She lays stock still staring at it, a hot tear spilling from her eye, down over the bridge of her nose to soak into the pillow beneath her head. There’s only one way for this to be possible, only one way Elsa could possibly be the new Dark One.
She presses the side of her face deeper into the pillow, bringing her knees up to her chest, not bothering to suppress the sob that racks through her body. She was wrong. She’s never felt so foolish, so destructively naive, as she does now. Just like they’d all been saying this whole time— Emma said it, Regina said it, Gold, even Ruby— too foolish, too naive. To have thought a kiss would save Emma— to have thought that true love was the answer, or that it even existed at all, that it was ever anything more than a one-sided crush paired with a distant, possessive affection—
But it had felt like true love, she argues urgently with herself, angry heat coiling furiously in her chest. She feels liquid fire course through her veins— all around her, she feels the glass of the windows and the mirrors begin to crack, splintering with her anger. It was true love, she was so sure. They weren’t eye to eye, they’d probably never be eye to eye, but that had been love, she’s sure of it, Emma had done everything in her power, and against her instincts, in order to keep Elsa safe; Elsa has been trying to do the same this entire time. It was love. It was even true love, it was, it had to be, so why wouldn’t it have worked, how could it have not been enough, how could any of this have happened, and why was it— and how was it— and Elsa thinks she might just drown through all the tears flooding from her eyes, might crack and splinter just as the mirrors and windows around her are.
“Please,” she whispers into her pillow, not sure who she’s talking to or what she’s asking for, her anger breaking back down to sorrow. She squeezes her eyes shut, fingers curling into the pillow case. “Please please please please…”
She whimpers again as she feels a warm arm drape over her waist, a warm body curling around her, pressing against her back. She exhales shakily, biting hard into her lip against this phantom feeling, this phantom wish her mind has conjured up for her. She knows the shape of that body curling around her all too well, that scent, that warmth. Why can’t her memories just stay in her mind where they belong, why does it have to feel like she’s here, really here, with Elsa. She reaches down and takes hold of this phantom memory’s hand, bringing it up under her chin, weaving their fingers together. She shudders because the memory doesn’t feel like a memory at all— it feels warm, and solid, and real, thumb brushing back and forth over the top of Elsa’s hand.
A memory wouldn’t know to do that. A phantom wouldn’t breathe warmly against the back of her neck.
Elsa opens her eyes slowly, staring straight ahead at the dagger, taking in the sensation of that thumb stroking over her hand, that breath at her neck, too terrified to turn around, to look, just in case, just in case it’s real…just in case it isn’t real…
“You died,” she croaks out, squeezing Emma’s hand harder in hers, refusing to look anywhere but that dagger. That horrible dagger. The one that’s followed her everywhere, no matter what she’s done, haunting her, now owning her.
Warm lips gently at her ear.
“I didn’t die.”
Warm breath on the back of her neck.
Elsa shakes her head as more tears spill, pressing her head further into the pillow. “You did,” she whimpers, voice breaking. “I saw you, I felt you die…I felt the dark magic in me…I still feel it in me. And my name…the dagger has my name…”
“Turn it over.” Voice both gentle and firm. “Turn the dagger over.”
Elsa shakes her head again, clutching Emma’s hand even tighter. “I can’t let go of you, you might disappear.”
“I’m not going to disappear.” A soft kiss at the nape of her neck. “Just pick up the dagger and turn it over.”
“You’re not real.”
“I am real. Turn over on your side if you like, you can see for yourself.”
“But what if you’re not there when I turn over?”
A sigh, causing strands of Elsa’s hair to be displaced.
“There’s light coming in from the window,” Elsa goes on weakly. “Emma kept the town dark, she doesn’t exist anymore, you don’t exist anymore.”
“It’s not so light. It’s overcast. Kind of looks like it might snow.”
“That’s my point,” Elsa whimpers. “Emma can’t be alive, the town would be dark if she was. I’m the Dark One, there’s no way Emma could be alive.”
Another sigh. “You can lay here arguing with me all day, or you can pick up that dagger and see what I’m trying to show you. You continue to argue with me, you take another refusal. It’s your choice.”
Elsa feels like laughing in between her crying. It wouldn’t know— a phantom memory wouldn’t know how to tease, wouldn’t know how to hang a refusal over her head. She almost turns around to see her, to see her Emma— but she can’t. Not yet. She isn’t ready yet. It might still be a trick.
Warm lips back at her ear. This time accompanied by a small, yet sharp little nip, an ever-so-slightly commanding whisper. “Go on, don’t make me ask you again, Els. Just pick up the dagger, and turn it over.”
Elsa exhales shakily, gathering the courage to let go of Emma’s hand. She releases it slowly, and reaches for the dagger, curling her fingers around the hilt before turning it to the flip side of the blade.
Emma Swan, it reads.
Brow creasing, she turns it over again. Elsa glares proudly back up at her, just as it did moments before.
And then back to the other side…Emma Swan.
“How is this possible?” she murmurs, heart pounding with sudden fear, or excitement, or some other emotion she can’t quite put a name to.
She feels Emma’s hand slide up to her cheek, cupping it, and using it to turn her face toward her. She whimpers and feels more tears trickle freely as she finally sees her, Emma Swan, gazing down at her. Alive. So alive. So bright, so real. The older woman brushes her thumb softly over Elsa’s lips parting them. Then she does that impish grinning-smirking thing Elsa has seen so much of over the past month.
“Think you made a good call with that true love’s kiss trick,” she says with a playful lilt of her eyebrow.
Elsa stares up at her, trying to keep from sobbing aloud. She looks different, Elsa realizes. That silvery hair is just a touch warmer now— not the Emma Swan gold, but still a little less pale. Her eyes too— still dark and glinting and mischievous, but somehow without that gleam of malice. And even her frame— still lean and muscular as ever, only now less…sharp looking.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually— how it could have happened,” Emma tells her with a warm smile, finger tracing down her throat, and across her collarbone. “You’ve been out a while, I had to entertain myself somehow. Figuring out what the hell happened seemed like a good way to do it.”
“And…” Elsa swallows, because she isn’t quite sure she’s able to comprehend anything right now, let alone whatever might have led to this. “What…what did you figure out?”
“I think you got that split you wanted,” Emma tells her, playing with her hair. “That fifty-fifty Dark One split.” She props herself up slightly on her elbow, raising an eyebrow. “And I think I’ve put together kind of a timeline for how that happened.”
“A timeline,” Elsa echoes, still too dumbfounded to find words of her own.
“First, you killed Gold,” Emma says, fingers stroking gently through her hair. “Which, by the way, I’m very proud of. That was beautifully gruesome and I approve completely.”
She’s doing that impish grin again and Elsa can’t help but flush at that. Even after everything, she can’t help but continue to crave Emma’s approval for everything she does— almost more now than ever— and it almost makes her want to grin right back at her, except that she doesn’t think she can manage it right now.
“So that took Gold out of the picture,” Emma goes on to say. “Which means it was down to either you, or me. Me, because I was already the Dark One; you, because you had some of the Dark One’s magic in you already, so you were sort of a uhm…a temporary Dark One. Or like an honorary Dark One. If that makes sense.”
Elsa nods. She’d thought as much herself, as soon as the dagger had started flickering back and forth between her name and Emma’s.
“Between the two of us, you were the most likely to survive,” Emma continues. “So the dagger chose you as my successor, as the new Dark One. It had been used in order to kill me, so as far as it was concerned, I was on my way out anyway, because that’s what I owe— I told you, right, that it’s the one curse I’m subject to, is the one that binds me to the dagger.
“So then you come along,” Emma goes on, one hand sliding down to pinch at Elsa’s hip, “and you decide a true-love’s-kiss was appropriate for the occasion, and uh…” she bites her lip teasingly, smiling and cocking an eyebrow playfully, “…guess it must have been a pretty quality kiss because all of a sudden my one curse was broken— which, y’know, they tell me is what true love does. I wasn’t bound to the dagger anymore. Which meant I no longer owed it my life. Which meant I got my powers back. Which meant I was suddenly and very unexpectedly in surprisingly good health.
“So my guess,” she goes on, looking thoughtful, “this theory that I’ve been working out while you were passed out here, is that you’d already been chosen as the Dark One. But then you came along and saved me, so now I was also the Dark One. I’m thinking the dagger didn’t know how to reconcile two Dark Ones, so it just went ahead and split it right down the middle between the two of us.”
“So you think we’re…”
“Two halves of a Dark One,” Emma answers. She nods at the window, where it truly is extremely overcast, like a storm is about to break. No longer pitch black, but certainly a far cry from clear. “See that, you even brought the day back. A little stormy, sure, but not half bad, considering you and I are both only half-good.” She looks a little absurdly proud of that pun.
It makes Elsa burst into tears all over again, not sure whether she’s laughing or crying as she turns all the way over and buries her head into Emma’s neck, holding her tight.
Emma’s hand strokes up and down her back soothingly, free hand coming up to cradle Elsa’s face. She lifts Elsa’s chin and kisses her, warm and soft on the mouth. No reservations. No manipulations. Just a kiss. A real one.
“It’s okay, Els, don’t cry,” she murmurs when they separate. She brushes Elsa’s tears away. “You’re half a Dark One now, we rip apart cities when we’re upset, we don’t lay around crying. No more of that.”
Elsa sob-laughs again, holding her tighter. “I though I lost you,” she cries, “I’ll rip apart cities later, for now I get to cry all I want.”
Emma holds her for a time, letting her cry into her shoulder. Then she says, “You didn’t lose me, Elsa. But you did just lose the game.”
Elsa stills, struggling to comprehend that for a moment. She’d almost forgotten there even was a game amidst finding out Emma is still alive, and that she’s suddenly one half of a Dark One. She props herself up on her elbow, looking at Emma quizzically, eyes puffy from crying.
“What do you mean I lost?” she asks. “When could I have lost?”
They aren’t at the end of their game, they’re both equally Dark and Light now, there can’t be a winner or loser. Unless…
“You forfeited,” Emma tells her. She looks smug, and although she no longer has that maliciousness to her gaze, she looks completely unapologetic. “Used up all your refusals. Just now, actually. Though it was kind of sneaky, I’ll admit it.”
“But how…?”
Emma holds up a finger. “One,” she says, “yesterday at Regina’s vault, I told you to go home, and you refused.”
Elsa nods carefully, remembering that one.
“Two,” Emma says, holding up a second finger, “I told you to get out of my way, and not only did you refuse, you vowed to get in between me and Regina if it came to that.”
Elsa presses her lips together, remembering that one too.
Emma holds up a third finger. “Three,” she says, “I was doing a very good job bleeding out all over your lap, and I told you not to let go of me. And then you decided to reach for the dagger and let go of me.”
“But that was only for a moment…!” Elsa cries.
“It was still the opposite of what I told you to do,” Emma says with a shrug. “That one wasn’t very nice, I’ll admit that. But as for whether it was a refusal or not…still counts.”
“And just now?” Elsa asks. “You said I tried to give a fourth refusal just now.”
Emma smiles, lifting her hand to brush away the tear tracks staining Elsa’s cheeks. “Don’t cry, Els,” she says.
It takes her a moment to understand. Then she frowns. Don’t cry. That had been an order. Elsa had assumed it was Emma trying to comfort her. Don’t cry. Instead, Elsa had struck out. Three refusals— and an attempted fourth will result in a forfeit.
“You tricked me,” Elsa says, sitting up abruptly and staring down accusingly at Emma. “I thought you were trying to comfort me— you tricked me.”
“Not on purpose,” Emma argues, sitting up as well. “I really did mean for it to be a comfort but then…you just walked right into it. That’s not my fault, not really.”
“It wasn’t fair,” Elsa asserts.
“Well, yeah, but Elsa, when have I ever played fair throughout this entire thing?”
“You were supposed to be good now!” Elsa exclaims, getting to her feet. “Or…half good at least.”
“Well, I feel kind of bad about it!” Emma snaps. She glares at her for a moment, then raises her chin, face softening just slightly. “Actually I don’t feel bad about it,” she says. She reaches out to take Elsa’s hand, scooting closer to her. She tugs lightly, and Elsa sits back down next to her.
“I don’t feel bad about it at all, I’m glad you’re mine now,” she says quietly, tucking Elsa’s hair behind her ear. “Really mine now. Not just a game, not just temporary. You belong to me. And…you said you liked belonging to me. I’m your dark, you’re my light, remember? You said that.”
Elsa looks down at her hand in Emma’s. “I remember,” she says.
“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Emma tells her, corner of her mouth twitching up a little. “Would it?”
“I would never be able to say no to you,” Elsa says. That’s what scares her the most. Before, there was at least that one small safety net in the idea of three refusals, in the idea that she could take a break the following day. But now…
“You’d never be able to say no to me,” Emma agrees quietly. One eyebrow cocks up playfully again, and she nudges shoulders with Emma. “But— what, so on a typical day I’d torture you a bit, then fuck you senseless—“ Elsa breathes out a small laugh. “—and then we’d have grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, and then we’d torture some people on my shit list—“ Elsa bites down on her smile. “—We’ll probably have to nix the whole murder thing, just to keep Regina and the rest of the town off our backs. But a little torture’s never hurt anyone—“ Elsa’s grin breaks free and she tries hard not to lean in and kiss Emma.
“So then after we’ve taken out some of our restless rage on the baddies,” Emma goes on, “we settle in for bed, but then I get insomnia so I torture you some more. But then the next day we go get some ice cream and rescue some innocents from bad guys, and save some cats from trees, because that feels almost as good as torture. But then afterward I’ll have torture you again, just for kicks— and then, hey, on holidays, I might even let you fight back a little. Independence Day. That’ll be your day. Fourth of July. It’s our day here in my world, in the states, where we celebrate our freedom. So, let’s say I give you one day a year to do whatever you want. Fourth of July. Hot dogs, fireworks, you can take a trip to Arendelle, see your sister, buy a tiny American flag and wave it around at people…whatever you want. And then after, we go back in for the torture/sex/grilled cheese sandwich marathon. And live happily ever after.” She grins proudly at Elsa, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Elsa stares disbelievingly at her. That was the most perfectly-blended Savior-Dark One speech she could have ever imagined, and it’s…impossibly tempting. There’s something warm blooming slowly in her chest at the notion and she feels a pleasant little twist of something deep in her gut.
“And this torture…” she says carefully, biting her lip. “What exactly would that entail?”
Emma’s grin turns suddenly sly, and she leans in to skim her lips over Elsa’s.
“Well I never got you fully trained the way I wanted,” she purrs, breath tickling Elsa’s lips. “And there’s a couple things I think you might be more open to, now that we’re kind of on the same page. Not to mention, I can’t help but remember you had some favorites that overlapped with mine, which I’d very happily do a repeat of if that really gets a lesson across to you.”
Elsa feels like she’s starting to tremble a little bit, though not in the bad way. More…in a very good way.
“Favorites like…what?” she asks, hoping her voice doesn’t sound as shaky as she feels like it does.
“Well,” Emma says cocking her head.
And all of a sudden it’s like some unseen force yanks Elsa down onto the floor so she’s kneeling before Emma between her legs, knees aching sharply as they hit the floor. Emma reaches down and takes Elsa’s chin gently in her hand.
“This is forever and always my favorite position for you to be in,” she says, fingers drifting lightly at Elsa’s jaw. “And last I checked, you didn’t mind it so much yourself.”
Elsa leans her head into Emma’s hand as affirmation because she doesn’t think she’s actually supposed to speak right now. Emma looks pleased with her.
“And, let’s see…” Emma muses, looking her over. “You always look unbelievably beautiful in restraints.”
Elsa sees her move her hand ever so slightly, and she gasps as her arms are forced behind her and there’s the slithering sensation of black magic ropes winding around up her arms, around her throat, down around her waist, her thighs, her ankles…
“And last, but far from least,” Emma says, lifting Elsa’s chin just slightly so that the rope constricts around her neck, “is how much I love you when you’re in pain.”
Elsa waits for something to happen, but Emma just rakes her gaze over her slowly. “Now here’s the kicker,” the older woman says thoughtfully, “what exactly are we trying to accomplish with pain? Are we going for pleasure?” Elsa moans as the rope tightens around her neck. “Are we going for a punishment?” She slaps Elsa’s cheek gently, just hard enough that Elsa’s face stings with both embarrassment and shock. “Are we just trying to get a lesson across to you? Is it just for fun?”
She twists Elsa’s hair around her finger contemplatively. “So many options,” she muses. “So many different ways to try out…and how do I keep you on your toes? How do I keep you from ever falling into a dull, predictable routine?” Her eyes glint mischievously. “It’s going to take a lot of effort on my part to keep coming up with new and inventive ways to keep both of us entertained. You’re going to cause me a lot of trouble, just trying to keep up. That in itself is reason enough to punish you, don’t you think, Els? For all the trouble you’re making me go to?”
Elsa bites her lip, nodding eagerly as she nuzzles further into Emma’s hand. Only Emma can make all that sound like love. Not just sound like it— this is how Emma loves. This is how Elsa wants to be loved. Emma can be her dark, Elsa can be her light, just like they’ve always been— and vice versa. They’re split now, only complete when they’re twisted and twined around each other.
Emma looks happily satisfied. “I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun,” she whispers.
That warm feeling in Elsa’s chest curls suddenly and pulses through her entire body, leaving her almost senseless with the desire to please.
But then something catches in her mind and she can’t help but ask, “What about your family?”
Emma cocks her head jerkily in surprise, brow creasing before her face falls into that unreadable mask.
“What about them?” she asks a little coolly.
“I mean now that you’re…now that you’re no longer a threat to them,” Elsa says, “do you think you’d want them to come back? You have control now, you won’t hurt them, not unless you really make a conscious effort to…which I don’t think you’ve ever really wanted. You won’t make that mistake again, you can rein yourself in. Do you think you’d have them back?”
Emma looks at her silently for a time, jaw set guardedly. “I don’t know, Elsa,” she says finally. “That’s…that’s a lot, right now. Maybe some day, but for now…it’s just a lot.”
Elsa nods understandingly, letting her gaze fall. Then she feels that new, strangely comfortable warmth spread throughout her body again.
“Well if you ever do want to bring them back,” she says, feeling that warmth dance lightly across her skin, “you’d probably want the streets to be safe for them, right?”
Emma cocks an eyebrow, looking at her curiously.
Elsa stands to her feet, feeling her magicked restraints falling away from her as Emma’s interest is piqued more towards what she’s saying.
“It’s just that I’ve noticed a lot of unsavory people in Storybrooke,” Elsa tells her. “Ones that I don’t like, ones that I don’t feel safe around, ones that I don’t think anyone should have to suffer living with.”
A smile is starting to play at Emma’s lips and she stands to her feet as well. “So what did you want to do about that?” she asks.
“I just think it might be wise— in the interest of everyone’s safety, of course—“
“—Of course,” Emma agrees.
“—It might be a good idea to make sure those people don’t pose a threat. Ever again.”
Emma makes a tsk-ing sound with her tongue against her teeth, and draws Elsa closer in by the waist.
“That sounds an awful lot like you’re suggesting we go hunting down the ‘unsavories’ and torture them for sport,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“Well I feel…restless, like you said,” Elsa says, actually serious about that. Every fiber of her being seems to be alive and buzzing. Her lips curve up in a careful smile. “And I really do think…as far as lessons that need to be taught…”
“…You and I would make awfully good teachers,” Emma finishes.
“I was only thinking you might want to get back to your roots. As the sheriff.”
“And fuck me if there isn’t a new sheriff in town,” Emma adds, giving her a look, eyes dancing.
Elsa smiles, biting her lip, and draws her hand up over herself, recreating in gentle spirals the ice dress that Emma had ripped from her that very first time. And just as it did with Mr. Gold, the core of the ice darkens, staining the dress in glinting black pitch.
Emma laughs genuinely, eyes crinkling at the sides. “I like this new look,” she says warmly.
“You should see what else I can do,” Elsa tells her with a teasing whisper, draping her arms over Emma’s shoulders. That excited swarm of warmth in her spreads out as ice creeps up the walls and windows of the loft, staining black as they go.
“Thought you were supposed to be in control of yourself,” Emma says, touching foreheads with her. “Half-dark, half-light. At this rate you’re going to freeze the whole neighborhood.”
“I’m just showing off a little,” Elsa admits, dipping her head to try to get at her lips. Emma evades her and looks down at her with mock disapproval.
“Egos are a dangerous thing,” she says. “I’m going to need to knock you down a couple pegs for that later on. But for now…” she offers her arm to Elsa, “…I believe I heard you say something about wanting to make these streets safe.”
“Well it’s the least we can do,” Elsa tells her, then laughs echoingly as the two of them are swept up in a swirling cloud of black and white smoke.