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Over cider, it’s nothing more than a passing flutter of attraction, the simple beating of a butterfly’s wings after the hurricane of panic over Henry. His birth mother reappearing isn’t good news, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Regina can’t help being intrigued by how this leggy blonde was once a scared teenager, terrified enough to ever give up a baby as beautiful as Henry had been.
How Regina misses that baby right now; for one thing, babies can’t run off at every opportunity.
Then she confronts Emma Swan, kept in town by shoddy driving and a lack of tolerance for alcohol, and Regina feels that flutter begin to gather pace. The smart thing is to shoot down this offer of help, after all this town isn’t endless and Regina can manipulate everyone in it. She will find Henry, it’s just a matter of how quickly.
But Emma Swan, with her battered car and her striking green eyes, wants to help. For the first time, Regina understands how hard it is to say ‘no’ to her.
***
It has been a very boring twenty-eight years; that’s how Regina justifies it when she makes the decision to keep Emma Swan around. Finally, an adversary more pleasant to look at and less problematic than Gold, Regina thinks. How can she resist?
The trick to manipulating, Regina learned very early on, is to let your mark know that you’re up to something. Just be very careful to direct them away from the real manipulation and watch them suspect something entirely different, only to be proven wrong.
Emma swings, and misses, and then comes back with a chainsaw to make Regina reassess her foe.
This is going to be delicious, just as soon as Regina calms down.
***
Regina follows up her plan with delicate touches—the mocking of Emma’s address history, the thinly-veiled threats. And then Henry, darling, obstinate Henry, who hates Regina’s breathing guts, decides to help more than Regina could ever have imagined.
Although, on balance, she could really have lived without the hours of panic with him trapped in an unstable mine that could potentially uncover her every careful lie.
She’s not worrying about that now, not with Henry wriggling in her grasp, getting mud and sand all over her black turtleneck (she doesn’t care, she can’t even begin to care about that).
Expecting Emma Swan to barge her way into this family moment, Regina turns back towards the commotion to ward her off, but is greeted instead with the sight of Storybrooke’s only two paramedics slipping an oxygen mask onto Emma as she lies prone on the ground, the climbing harness being cut from her body.
“What’s going on?” Regina demands, tightening her grip on Henry to stop him running to his savior. (Well, she’s everyone’s savior, Regina supposes, but that’s a whole other mess.)
“Madam Mayor,” Doctor Whale is there, of course, because when anything the Mayor cares about is in danger, the whole town goes on red alert. “I’m afraid Deputy Swan sustained some injuries during the ascent. We’re taking her to hospital now.”
“Mom!” Henry yells as he squirms against her. “We have to go with her.”
“Henry,” Regina warns. “It will be dark soon, and you’ve had enough excitement for one day; you’re going straight to bed when we get home.”
“But Mom--” Henry protests. Graham steps in and places a gentle hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“I’ll stay with her, Henry,” he says. “I’ll call your Mom if there’s any news.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Regina says with practiced formality. She does not care one bit for the concern on Graham’s face. “And if there’s any trouble with her insurance, have the bill sent to me.”
“That’s very kind, Madam Mayor,” Graham says, and he’s looking at her in that tedious, adoring way he sometimes has, like he’s mistaken her for another person entirely.
“It’s the least I can do,” Regina says simply. “Keep me updated.”
***
Henry tries every trick in the book to avoid going to bed. By ten, Regina is praying for either a sleeping curse or a nail-gun to close his bedroom door with. Eventually he curls up under his sheets and passes out, in spite of himself. The exhaustion of the day is working in Regina’s favor at last.
She busies herself with the usual end-of-day tasks, keeping her house and their life in the order she craves. And if she checks her phone more frequently than normal, well, that’s just because today saw a major incident rock the town and she’s being responsible.
Midnight comes and goes, and Regina feels the additional ache of a day spent on her feet, pacing at the caves. She’s trying not to panic about the glass shard she dropped back down the shaft, and so the fact that Graham hasn’t called with an update yet goes from irritating to unacceptable pretty quickly.
“Get over here,” she snaps the moment he picks up his phone. She doesn’t wait for a response, because she can practically sense the obedience of him fishing out his car keys and marching straight off to do her bidding. If nothing else, he has always been a well-trained pet.
“Regina--” Graham says as soon as she opens the front door. She can’t stand his hand-wringing politeness tonight, and so she grabs the heavy denim of his jacket and all but pulls him into the foyer.
“Well?” She demands, because if you don’t force him to the point it can take all night.
“Emma’s conscious,” Graham says, and Regina reaches past him for her car keys. “Nothing broken. A hell of a concussion, some cuts and bruises, and a dislocated shoulder.”
“You’ll stay with Henry?” Regina says, but her tone makes it quite clear that it’s not really a question.
“You’re going to the hospital?” Graham asks, his mouth actually hanging open.
“To ensure she doesn’t get any ideas about suing the town,” Regina covers smoothly, although the idea has only just occurred to her. “And so I can reassure Henry, come the morning.”
“Very efficient, Madam Mayor,” Graham says, kicking off his boots. No doubt he’ll be helping himself to the chilled beer Regina keeps in the fridge, one of her few concessions to his occasional visits. If she didn’t know better, Regina might call the look he gives her ‘knowing’, but well, that’s not something she can generally accuse him of.
“I’ll be back,” she says, reopening the front door and stomping off towards her car.
***
It’s actually pretty funny to watch Emma’s reaction to Regina’s presence in the hospital room. Not that she can laugh in front of Emma, or anyone else for that matter. Regina’s sense of humor is a private thing, something she’s reluctant to share with anyone but Henry; not that he wants anything from her lately, least of all their private jokes.
“How high am I right now?” Emma asks, in an obnoxiously loud whisper.
“You’d be the expert in what the scale is,” Regina says primly. “But any ‘high’ you’re experiencing is quite legal, I assure you.”
“These are some shit-hot painkillers,” Emma agrees, slumping back against her pillows. “What’re you doing here Madam Mayor? Come to smother me with a pillow?”
“Careful, Miss Swan. I’m not the bad guy,” Regina lies, quite smoothly. “I just wanted to let you know that your medical bills are taken care of, since you won’t be eligible for our insurance program until you’ve completed a probationary period.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Emma says, indignant even through her haze.
“I’m well aware,” Regina says, flicking idly through the chart at the bottom of the bed. “Consider it thanks, for bringing Henry back to me.”
“I’m not so sure Henry will thank me,” Emma says, before dumbly slapping her hand over her mouth. “Shit!” She mumbles. “I didn’t mean to--”
“The drugs talking, I’m sure,” Regina says, covering the body blow well enough.
“They’re letting me go soon,” Emma says, trying desperately to move the conversation away from the subject of their son. “Figures, right after I told Mary Margaret to go home and stop fussing, huh?”
“I can take you,” Regina says before she can stop herself. Some latent instinct to look after this bruised and battered woman is messing with her decision-making. It had better stop very soon. “I mean, I’m driving home anyway.”
“You all drive a lot, for a town that’s about three streets and a diner,” Emma mocks.
“The American dream,” Regina says, shrugging it off. “And I’ve told you before, there’s much more to Storybrooke than you’ve bothered to find out yet. Who’s your doctor?”
“Whale,” Emma sighs, rolling her eyes. Well, that answers any questions Regina might have about his conduct around his patients. “Well, he treated me in between flirting with Mary Margaret, anyway.”
Regina feels the tension return in an instant, since Emma arrived in this town she’s had more conversations about Snow White than she has in the previous twenty-eight years. The point of this place was to avoid Snow, to watch her suffer in loneliness from afar. Becoming part of her life on an almost daily basis was certainly never intended to happen, and Regina bristles at the cruelty of it.
“I’ll go and get his approval. Gather your things, if you can,” Regina orders.
“They’re all in a bag,” Emma says, nodding towards the chair by the bed. “The nurse will help me get dressed, if you send one in,” she continues raising her injured arm slightly, as much as the dark blue sling will allow her to.
“Fine,” Regina snaps. “Don’t be all night about it.”
***
Regina’s been driving these streets for almost three decades. Tonight it feels like her first journey all over again, marvelling at how her brain knows exactly when to move her feet and hands, how the movements to coax the car need only be as gentle as the ones to direct a prized stallion.
That’s why she misses the turn, she tells herself. Even so, with Emma barely conscious in the passenger seat, it would be easy to circle the block and park outside the depressing little hovel like nothing ever happened, but Regina feels herself accelerating until Mifflin Street comes into view instead.
Emma doesn’t even notice at first, that they’re parked in the discreet driveway on the side of the Mayoral mansion. As the Deputy tries to wake herself up with something resembling dignity, Regina stands back and surveys the rose bushes with an irritable eye. The gardener is getting sloppy, it seems. He’ll prune these bushes properly tomorrow or find himself collecting trash when Regina rewrites his life.
It seems getting out of the low sports car is too big an ask for Emma’s battered body, and so Regina is forced to relax her ‘no touching’ rule (implemented three seconds after she walked in on a half-dressed Emma at the hospital and had a hot flash so sudden and overwhelming that it felt like instant menopause.) She slips an arm around Emma’s back and pulls gently, and with minimal wrestling they get Emma to her feet outside of the car. That’s when realization finally dawns.
“Why are we here?” Emma asks, and the question is so big that for a moment Regina thinks she might mean in the philosophical sense. The temptation to say ‘because I cursed us all to this town’ is surprisingly large for a moment, but Regina shrugs it off as she always has. The one tragedy of this place is never getting to gloat about just how much she’s done.
“It’s too late to wake Miss Blanchard,” Regina says. “And this way I don’t have Henry pleading to come visit you at six in the morning.”
“Right,” Emma says, letting Regina guide her towards the front door. “Just about the convenience. I get it.”
The ingratitude makes Regina’s head hurt, for a moment. She considers dropping her arm right there and then, leaving stupid, ungrateful Emma Swan to suffer on the brick path in the cold night air. But even here (as in the Forest, as in too many times and places) Regina can’t quite choke back the last scraps of her compassion.
“You’ll take the guestroom, next to Henry,” Regina says as they step into the warm foyer. “Graham will help you up,” she continues, as the Sheriff stumbles out of the den looking sleepy and not a little surprised to see Emma there.
“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, as Graham steps in to almost carry her towards the stairs.
“Goodnight, Miss Swan,” Regina says, leaning back against the wall and watching the two of them climb.
***
Regina’s always been a light sleeper, the product of too many years of expecting someone (or something) to come after her the minute her guard was down. Even in Storybrooke, as soon as she started to relax enough to get more than three fractured hours, she felt the need to bring Henry into her life and the sleepless nights then became a labor of love instead of fear.
It’s why she can hear Emma cry out from three rooms away, Regina knows as she scrambles out of bed and reaches for her robe. It won’t do to wake Henry now, to have him see Emma scared and in pain can’t be good for him, and Regina will continue to shield him if it kills her.
There’s no point knocking on the door, this is Regina’s house after all, and so she pushes right in, fumbling for the lightswitch on the way. The warm glow of the light shows Emma curled up in a ball amongst messy sheets, her face red and her body shaking.
“Pain?” Regina asks, scanning the room for Emma’s bag.
“Shoulder,” Emma gasps in confirmation. Regina notes that Graham didn’t make any kind of accommodation for Emma’s injuries, and by leaving her to sleep normally it’s allowed her to roll onto her injured shoulder. Regina feels a sudden flash of anger, though whether at Graham or herself for not checking, she can’t be sure.
It takes too long, but Regina finds the little orange bottle and shakes out two pills for Emma. She won’t be able to swallow like that, and so Regina is forced to leave the pills by the water glass on the nightstand and break her no touching rule again.
“Miss Swan,” she says, as kindly as she knows how. It helps that in this moment, scared and vulnerable, Emma looks a lot like Henry. Regina’s been soothing Henry’s every bump and scrape for years, and this doesn’t have to be any different. “I’m going to help you sit up. You need to, to take your painkillers.”
“Don’t hurt me,” Emma whimpers, eyes tightly closed. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
And that is the moment, essentially, when Regina gets over herself. Well, more specifically when she gets over the petty jealousy and the very real fear that Emma Swan means to take the thing Regina loves the most, because instead Regina realizes that there’s a scared little girl beneath the terrible clothes and the cocky swagger; a scared little girl that Regina knows only too well, but hasn’t dared to listen to in a very long time.
“I won’t hurt you,” Regina says softly. “Emma,” she adds, as an afterthought. “I’m going to get on the bed to help you sit up, okay?”
“‘Kay,” Emma agrees, but she doesn’t look happy about it. Regina shrugs and crawls onto the mattress, careful not to jostle Emma too much in the process. It takes a moment to negotiate, but Regina determines the easiest way to move Emma is to get behind her and get a grip on her waist to move her around. It’s more contact than Regina planned on, but the sad little whimpers from Emma spur her into action.
Emma is surprisingly warm to the touch, even through her slightly grubby white tanktop. Regina is on her knees still, using all her strength to pull Emma slowly upright. It’s only when she has her hands on Emma’s waist that Regina realizes she should have rearranged some pillows first; most of them are scattered across the floor.
It’s instinct, when Emma leans back against her. Regina presses her own back against the headboard and slides her legs out into a sitting position, leaving Emma free to lean back that little bit more and have Regina support her.
“Here,” Regina says, trying to ignore the sudden heat coursing through her own body at the contact. She reaches for the painkillers, pleased when Emma reaches out with her good arm to receive them. A few mouthfuls of water later and Emma is done, slumping back with her head on Regina’s collarbone.
“Is this weird?” Emma mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Regina whispers, confused at herself for not wanting to get the hell out of there. Instead she wraps an arm around Emma’s torso to hold her in place, and Regina finds her free hand now smoothing Emma’s slightly damp hair. “Think you can get to sleep like this?”
A moment later, Emma answers her with a gentle snore.
***
“Mom?” Henry’s voice is little more than a squeak, but it wakens Regina instantly.
“Henry?” She asks, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Why is she sitting up? And in the guestroom? And why... oh. Oh no. Emma Swan. Warm and solid and very much there, wrapped in Regina’s arms.
“What did you do?” He demands, storming into the room with his backpack already on. “Is she dead?”
“Woah!” Emma says, stirring in Regina’s grasp then. “Nobody died, kid.”
“But both of you could have,” Regina reminds them, and it feels so strongly like a family in that moment that she isn’t sure whether to smile or throw up. “Mines are dangerous places.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t want us to find--” Henry begins, but it’s Emma who cuts him off, before Regina ever gets a chance.
“Enough,” she says sadly. “Henry, this has to stop. Your Mom is not the Evil Queen.”
“But--”
“Henry. She paid my hospital bills. She drove me home but brought me here instead. And she came to check on me in the middle of the night when I got hurt. Does that sound evil to you?”
“It could be a trick,” Henry says, pouting.
“Right,” Regina says, finally awake enough to disentangle herself from Emma, who reaches instantly for the pills on the nightstand. Regina slips off the bed with as much dignity as she can muster. “I’m going to get dressed. Breakfast in twenty minutes.”
“I can go,” Emma says. “If you need me to drop Henry at school, I can do that.”
“No,” Regina says firmly, retying her robe as she stands in the doorway. “You’re taking the day off. At least a day.”
“So I get to stay for breakfast?” Emma asks, and Regina has known that cheeky grin for almost ten years.
“Yes,” Regina sighs. “I’ll take you to Miss Blanchard’s later, if you want.”
“We’re gonna be late,” Henry says, still sulking at losing his new ally. Perhaps this will be what finally takes the shine off Emma Swan, but Regina can’t quite muster the energy to be glad of it.
“I’m going,” she says, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “You choose the cereal today, Henry.” Regina feels something like a spring in her step as she makes her way down the hall.
***
Henry is sullen all the way to school, and Regina finds herself wishing she had a bigger car. Perhaps bringing Emma along would have prodded him out of this sulk. But he doesn’t squirm away when Regina kisses him on the cheek, and it feels a lot like some kind of achievement.
Instead of starting her day at the office, Regina returns home, Emma’s jibe about how much they drive in this town ringing in her ears. The house is quiet when Regina enters it, but she can feel the presence of another person in the air around her. Wherever she goes, Emma Swan makes an impression, and Regina’s starting to worry about how much of one has been made on her. She’s spent the morning determined to shake off this silly distraction, but every time she tries to push thoughts of Emma aside, Regina is slapped with a memory of how warm Emma’s skin is, or how soft her hair felt beneath Regina’s fingertips.
Well, damn.
Regina is so intent on finding Emma in that moment and marching her out of the house and out of temptation range, that once again Regina doesn’t think to knock. That’s why she storms into the guestroom like a woman possessed, only to discover Emma in the process of (almost) dropping her towel.
“Oh,” Regina gasps, realizing what she’s walked in on. “You’re getting dressed. I can--”
“Wait!” Emma calls out. “I can’t seem to get this sling back on by myself. Could you?” She seems mortified to even be asking, but seemingly had no problem with Regina walking in on her in the first place.
“Fine,” Regina snaps, because if it kills her she is going to act like the proximity of a practically naked Emma is no big deal in the slightest. “Where is it?”
“On the bed,” Emma says, nodding towards the blue contraption. Regina pushes past with a sigh and grabs it, all business and making sure Emma knows what an imposition this is.
Only that seems to fade when she faces Emma, and begins to gently move her injured arm into the right position. Emma’s instinct with the shoulder unsupported is to let her arm drop to a resting position, but the doctor and nurses alike stressed the need to keep it elevated and let the shoulder heal. Regina hasn’t been this careful with anyone since Henry was a tiny baby, but with care and concentration she soon has Emma appropriately strapped up.
“There,” Regina says, but it comes out far more breathy than she intended. That’s how she notices that Emma is staring at her mouth, those pale green eyes darkened with something that isn’t pain, that doesn’t appear to be rage. “All done,” Regina adds, wondering why she can’t seem to order her feet to step away at the same time.
It’s why she doesn’t quite see the kiss coming, perhaps. That brief, soft pressure of Emma’s lips against her own for no more than a second or two, but it kickstarts something that Regina thought long since done with. Any lingering hopes of denial, of outright resistance, just died in the moment of their mouths meeting for the first time.
“Should I not have done that?” Emma asks, brave enough not to look away.
“I...” Regina struggles to find the words. “I don’t know,” she admits, and then it just seems easier to return the gesture, and this time for much longer than a second or two.
Her fingers end up tangled in the mess of blonde curls around Emma’s face, and somewhere along the line Emma uses her good arm to pull Regina closer. The kiss has deepened now, although it’s still just a little tentative when their tongues meet, until Regina releases the happy little sigh from the back of her throat.
“Huh,” Emma says, when she finally pulls away. “Didn’t expect that when I went rappelling down a mine yesterday.”
“The two events are not related,” Regina says huffily, but Emma is still holding her close. “Don’t think this is some kind of favor for saving my son.”
“Our son,” Emma corrects, daring Regina to get angry about it. She lets this one slide. “And if I weren’t the walking wounded right now, I’d be the one doing you some favors.”
“Classy,” Regina teases. “Whatever makes you think you’d get that far on a first date, anyway?”
“This is a date?” Emma asks.
“Fair point,” Regina concedes. “Though I’ve been on worse.”
“You and me both,” Emma agrees. “We can definitely do more of the kissing though. If you stay away from my shoulder.”
“I can probably manage that,” Regina says. “Unless you’re in some kind of hurry to leave?”
“Nope,” Emma says quickly. “Right now, I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
Regina is smiling when Emma kisses her this time. This wasn’t how she intended to keep Emma Swan in Storybrooke, but if nothing else, it’s always wonderful when a plan finally comes together.