author's note: It was over a year ago when I had a dream about SQ being neighbors. I told CatchMeInADream about it and after a not-so-PG texting conversation, this is what happened! Hopefully beginning to post it will be just the kick in the pants I need to get it finished.


When Regina had said "small town feel" to the real estate agent she'd been referred to, she hadn't meant an actual small town. But Storybrooke, Maine was charming and quaint and although the winter lasted half the year and the downtown streets near the wharf smelled a little (read: a lot) like the tuna cannery, the list of things she liked went on for much longer and there was just something about it that was so not New York City that Regina found herself making an offer on the two-story, three bedroom, two and a half bath town house on Second Street. All of the houses on the street were original, New England colonial style with columns and white window trim with shutters, some of them in better shape than others. A few of the houses had been turned into shops with apartments on the top floor and a few were empty due to repairs needed to make them livable again, but Regina chose the side of the street that was not such an eyesore and Mr. Hopper had insisted that the Mayor of Storybrooke was on a mission to see to it that those buildings were restored and saved from being condemned. The houses had little space between them, the lots right up next to each other, but coming from New York, a whole driveway in between seemed like a luxury.

Henry had been the first to notice that the For Sale sign was gone.

"You're right, kid," Emma said, her arm slung over his shoulder even as he tried to curl away from her. Ever since he hit fifth grade, Henry wasn't a fan of showing affection in public, even if they were on the walk in front of their own home. God forbid any of his friends see his mother kiss him on the forehead. Surely he would disintegrate into ashes from the power of pure embarrassment. He wriggled free and leapt up the front steps and into the house. Emma generally left the door unlocked, partially due to forgetfulness but also because they lived in a town where everyone knew everyone and crime felt like something only on the news in the television, distant. Half the time she left the keys in her car, though Ruby claimed that no one in their right mind would steal the Bug. Emma, who was used to such digs at her beloved mode of transportation, had merely rolled her eyes and half-heartedly punched her friend in the arm.

Emma stopped and turned to look at the empty house beside theirs, a reflective look in her eyes before the sound of someone slamming a car door or trunk grabbed her attention. "Hey Archie!" Emma waved her bare hand at him and he waved his green mittened one back, having just deposited the aforementioned For Sale sign in the trunk of his car. In the backseat, his dog, a Dalmatian, leans over to inspect the sign with his nose.

"Who's moving in?" she asked, crossing her yard so as not to have to speak so loudly.

"Your new neighbor," he said with a shrug and half-smile, not one to disclose client information.

"Yeah?" Emma quirked a brow at the balding man with his gray-green eyes magnified behind the rims of his glasses and smiled back, dipping her hands into her coat pockets. "Where are they from? Can you at least give me that?" She rocked back on her heels.

He shook his head like he shouldn't but answered her anyway. "New York."

"Oooh, big city people." Emma grinned. "I should make them something. Welcome them in with some neighborly warmth." She curled her fingers around her chin and stroked thoughtfully at an invisible beard. "I've got it! My famous tuna casserole." She snapped her fingers and pointed at the sky like she'd had a revelation.

Archie's chuckle at the blonde's antics died in his throat. "Are you sure that's a-"

Emma jostled him with a sharp shoulder and he stumbled a little against the curb before catching his balance. "Oh ye of little faith. I only messed it up that one time at that one potluck. Jeez. I'm not that much of a failure at cooking anymore. Ask Henry! Or, well... maybe don't. He's gotten picky. He didn't used to be. Is that normal?"

"Miss Swan, I'm hardly the person to consult on child develo-"

"Archie. It's Emma, remember? Not Miss Swan. Don't get all business mode on me." She shook her finger at him, smiling brightly.

They both turn when they hear her front door swing open and bang against the wall. Henry's head pokes out over the white colonial-style railing. "Ma! I'm starving!" he hollered.

"Annnd that's my cue. See you around, Archie." Emma walked back to her house, pausing once to look over her shoulder. "Have a good evening!"

It's early fall, the start of September, and there's a nip in the air and a light drizzle of rain falling when Regina turns down Second Street. There's a school bus in front of her, every light flashing like it's Christmas with whistles and bells and jingles. The little stop sign swings out, warning her to stay back, the exhaust brakes squeak even over the radio she has playing softly from her speakers. A boy jumps out onto the sidewalk like he's superman, a jacket tied around his waist by the sleeves and his green TMNT backpack hitting him on the back when he lands. He peels up the front walk and into the house that's beside her new house and her new driveway. And Regina knows it's a little cynical to be thinking like this, but she can't help it, and wonders about the noise he might make and how it will most likely disturb her. Perhaps she should have chosen a house further away from the school. At least only one child gets off at this stop. Perhaps he won't be too problematic.

The moving truck is late and the house takes forever to heat up when it's empty like this. Regina is tired and grouchy and that's before she even gets started on directing the tardy movers on where to place her furniture and boxes. She doesn't have much. Moving from a city loft apartment to a full house leaves her with little to fill the house with, but she's got an order from a furniture and decorating store arriving next week as well as an appointment with an interior designer. She had been hard pressed to find one in the area, but time and perseverance had paid off as usual.

A single plate is cracked and Regina finds it once the movers are gone so she instead complains to her echo, going on to the blank walls and vaulted ceiling in a miniature tirade about how it was from the set of her mother's china and composing an unhappy letter of complaint and scalding review to the moving company before tossing the plate into the trash and deciding to leave a more civil review on their website. Her mother's old china is not Regina's best china after all. When Regina comes in from throwing the plate out, she hears a melodious, but unfamiliar sound ring through the house. It must be the doorbell and when it sounds again, she's already briskly walked to the front door and is pulling it open and surprising the woman on her porch so soundly that the blonde almost drops the glass Pyrex dish she is holding.

So their introduction is messy and flustered and mostly all Emma remembers is how hard she had been blushing. She honestly can't remember the woman's name, but she can remember how it felt like she was on fire.

"Did you not think the door would be answered?" the woman who answered the door asked. Her tone was one of amusement and when her eyes flick over to Henry, his eyes match her mirth and made Emma feel like they were both inwardly laughing at her.

"No! I just- You- Uh. You were just really fast, is all. I was-" Emma babbled. "Here." She shoved the dish in her hands towards the ridiculously and incredibly good looking lady. Emma did not generally think of herself as someone who had the ability to become immediately besotted, but this was... This was coming pretty close to the besotting level.

The woman put her hands out just in time, sliding her hands underneath the dish towel. Whatever was in the pan was fresh out of the oven and the heat radiating felt rather nice.

"I'm Emma. Emma Swan. And this is my son, Henry." The blonde seemed calmer now, her hand on the boy's shoulder, fingers squeezing until he gave the woman a wave with one hand and something resembling a smile or grimace. At least she was speaking more slowly. "We're your new neighbors. Or... I guess you're ours? We live right there." Emma jerked her thumb towards their house.

Emma was sure they had engaged in small talk for a few more minutes that surely had included this woman's name, but she really really was having a tough time recalling it. She knew the woman was singular and had not come with a significant other or children, but that much could have been gathered by the things the movers had carried into the house while Emma may or may not have been watching from her kitchen window.

Once she and Henry were back inside their house, she spent a good five minutes leaning against the back of the door, an intense look on her face.

Henry walked past ten minutes later, a cold piece of pizza hanging from his mouth, his PSP in his hands. "Ma?" He took in her furrowed brow and the way she was drumming her fingertips against her mouth.

"Yeah?" she replied distractedly.

Henry took another long look at her. "You're weird," he pronounced and went up the staircase.

Emma didn't hear what he had said until he had reached his bedroom. "No eating on your bed! Use a napkin!" She grabbed the banister and shouted from her tiptoes, as if that would make him hear her. "Or a paper towel. Or Kleenex! You have options!" she added.

Henry startled when not a minute later, she was at his door, pushing it the rest of the way open with her foot. "Hey."

"Hey." He didn't look up from his game.

"What was the name of our new neighbor?" Emma asked, sliding a folded sheet of paper towel under the half eaten slice of pizza on Henry's desk.

He eyed her critically after putting his game on pause. "Seriously, Ma?" Henry took another bite of pizza.

Emma pushed the heels of her hands into her head and shut her eyes. "Help your mother out here, kid. It's been a long day for her."

He sighed and poked her side. "Don't talk about yourself like that. It's weird. Her name is Regina Mills."

Emma put her hands down and ruffled through Henry's hair with one of them before planting a kiss on the top of his head. "Thank you. You used to talk about yourself in third person all the time, in case you've forgotten."

"Yeah. When I was a baby." Henry rolled his eyes and went back to his game.

Emma chuckled lightly and patted his shoulder firmly. "You have homework, Henry. Finish up the level and hop to it." She let herself out of his bedroom and took the stairs down two at a time. "Regina, Regina, Regina," she repeated quietly to herself each time her feet hit a new stair.

The casserole is not good.

Regina tries to make it work, she does. Adds a few spices from her things in one of the numerous boxes marked "kitchen," but her neighbor's casserole is just too dry and nothing fixes too much salt. She decides to keep it for a day before throwing it out and remembers that at least it kept her hands warm and was a gesture of goodwill.

Still, it means she goes to bed hungry, even if she is a little less grouchy and dreams of swimming in the sea with a school of tuna fish and a boy and a blonde-haired woman in those old-fashioned gold-colored diving suits. The helmets look like fishbowls and have thick oxygen tubes sticking out from the top. When she wakes up, she desperately needs the bathroom after all that water, and stumbles through her tunnel of boxes to get there.

She can see right into her neighbor's house like this, standing and washing her hands at the sink though she's yet to buy or unpack any handsoap. Regina has no idea what time it is. She hasn't unpacked any of her wall clocks and she turns her cell phone off overnight as it eliminates any calls from her mother. It could be three in the morning or only midnight for all she knows, but Emma is sitting in what must be a window seat or a chair close to her bedroom window and she never notices Regina because her head is bent and she's asleep or reading from something in her lap, a book or a electronic reader. Regina wonders in a sleep-blurred haze why Emma doesn't have curtains as she makes her way back to bed and falls into a peaceful slumber that doesn't have any schools of fish or scuba diving Emma Swans.