The Love Hack by mariacomet

Summary:

Regina and Henry Mills are in the middle of a nightmare, threatened by a hacker with compromising information. Emma Swan is an ex-hacker and ex-felon who just might be the unconventional hero they need.

Author's Notes:

1. This is an AU with no magic. As such I had to reimagine the histories of Regina and Emma. There are details I have changed to accommodate their new backstories but I also put forth a lot of effort to keep true to key details. For example: Regina's home office is black and taupe. Yes, I know it is black and white on the show. But firstly, that's her official mayor's office and secondly, my version of Henry was able to convince her that not everything needed to be so foreboding and colorless all the time. He couldn't talk her out of the black though because….she's Regina.

2. I haven't posted a fanfic story in years, so this is my attempt to refind a bit of myself. I know that as fans of the characters, we all have things we'd prefer to see and not to see. However, if I hamper myself with that, I won't feel free to take you on the kind of journey I want to. I'm hoping it's a journey with moments of magic along the way. My promise to you is that if you agree to go with me, I'll get you to the other side safely. Our girls will be together and happy. I also promise to do my best to warn you when rough waters are coming up.

3. This is going to be a slow burn. There will be sex...later.

4. RATS and Slaves are sickeningly real.


Prologue

This is a story about two people reminding one another that they are big.

In the whole of time, 107 billion people have existed. As a comparison, the earth is 4.5 billion years old. The universe itself has existed for 14 billion years. 107 billion people – each one unique and never to be repeated. The observable universe has more than 100 billion galaxies, so there is some truth in imagining each one of us as a galaxy unto ourselves. We are born understanding this: how big we are. We know that we are each a unique tapestry of personality, talent and possibility, created as if by magic. We understand that, in all of time and space, in the infinity of the world, from now until forever, every individual is a singular and colossal creation. Never to be repeated.

The voices come, so many from every direction. From those we love, from strangers, from all the messages in the maze of media that assails us. All of them saying the same thing: you are wrong, you are ugly, you are small. We hunch down under the weight of it, our backs aching, bent over low as we try to stay standing. Until someone reminds us that those voices are lies.


The Love Hack - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The one where Regina finds out

Henry did not steal.

Regina tossed aside the book she'd been trying to read. She had told herself it would be good to get her mind off of things, putting things aside might yield clarity - if only she could make herself care what Paul Kalanithi thought. She turned to the abandoned laptop sitting on the pillow next to her. She kept pulling it in her lap and checking for new emails, only to rediscover no new mail and highly organized folders testifying that she or her assistant Belle dealt with all town business before five p.m. It used to be so common for the populace of Storybrooke, Maine to contact her after hours with requests and complaints that she levied a twenty-five dollar fine on anyone calling for non-emergencies after six p.m. Her email, however, she considered twenty-four by seven and people knew it. Yet, the one time that it would offer her a desperately needed distraction, no one wanted the mayor.

Henry didn't steal. It rolled in Regina's mind again and again, a pounding drum heralding so many dark possibilities. Henry did NOT steal.

But he had.

He had, and when Regina questioned him about it three days ago - trying to stay calm, sure that there was a reasonable explanation - her thirteen-year-old son had just stared at the ground. He'd shrugged again and again when she'd asked what he needed the five hundred dollars for.

There had to be a good reason. A noble reason. She just had to make him tell her.

She looked at the clock. It was an hour until Henry was supposed to bring her his homework. She distracted herself from waiting by making a list of things she needed to do tomorrow.

Monday was always 'deep cleaning' day but tomorrow no nook or cranny would be safe from her. She'd pull out the oven from where it rested hiding heavens knew what. She'd do the same to the fridge that undoubtedly also conspired against her. What else in her home dared defy her, she wondered. She should give her home office the same no-holds-barred inspection. Move the desk. Push back the bookshelves. Her fingers practically twitched with the desire to start now.

The clock hands barely moved, mocking her.

She kept at the page, the pen never straying from the neat, precise lines she alway used to write. Habits could be a lifeline, discipline a handrail.

Eventually, a soft knock came at her door. Henry was a ½ hour early. "Come in, Henry," she called, expecting him to open the door and offer his homework without looking at her, just as he did last night and the one before. Since the initial confrontation three days ago, they barely exchanged more than a handful of words. Their typical ritual of her checking his homework became a twirling of tension and hopelessness. Something they did because they didn't know what else to do.

Regina was the adult and his mother and she knew that she should find some way to forge forward. Yet for one of the few times in her life, she felt uncertain of what to do. Confront him again? Apologize? Ground him until he gave her answers? Hug him and hug him and tell him it was alright and that she would always love him?

Another knock came. "Mom?" He called, his voice unsteady and shaking. "M-mom?" A sob choked the word.

She was up instantly, heart pounding as she launched herself towards the door. "Henry - what…"

"Something happened," he whispered, eyes filled with tears.

Regina waited. During the first conversation about the money, she pushed him, and it had been a mistake. She couldn't do that again. "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Defeat burdened his eyes, his usually bright, optimistic eyes. "Mom, I know you're mad about the money."

Henry volunteered to pay her back more than once during that first failure of a discussion. Regina grew up with money which made her trivialize it, especially since a trust fund left to her by her father ensured they would never have to worry about it. Missing money could never make her blindly frantic, but his refusal to tell her why did. Something barged into her house without her knowing, pushing her son to do things he would never do. She didn't know what it was or how it had gotten in. She didn't know if it still remained.

She lowered herself so that they were eye level. "Henry, you are one of the most honest people I know. I know you must have felt you had to do what you did. I know I didn't handle it very well. But I need you to tell me what's going on."

He hesitated and she forced herself to be still, so very still.

"Someone took pictures of me." Her fingernails dug into her palm, the result of an impatient person trying her best to wait." I don't know how. I didn't take them, I swear I didn't. But he has them and he said that if I didn't do what he wanted, he'd send them to everyone. He knows all my friends and their emails. He knows everyone on my Facebook account. He changed the status yesterday – to show me that he…" A tear ran down his cheek.

Half his body all but fell against hers. His face pressed into the shoulder of her satin shirt, clinging to her in a way he hadn't for years. Her arms came around him automatically, half-robot. Henry's words gave shape to the invader of their quiet lives and Regina, shocked by the size of it, could only stare. Reacting to it no better than a deer would to the oncoming headlights of a car.

Henry hugged her harder, as if she could save him from anything and everything. Such a lofty place to put her and she prayed she was worthy. Regina fought to keep her growing horror from showing on her face as she cupped his cheeks and drew back, wiping at his tears.

"Henry, can you start from the beginning? I need to understand and then we can make a plan, okay?"

"Two weeks ago I got an email. From someone called Peter Pan. There was a picture of me in my room. I was…." He looked down, away from her. Her thirteen-year-old son, just starting to understand so many things, starting to be aware of so many things. "I wasn't…wearing anything." His face reddened with complete humiliation. "I swear I've never taken a picture like that. I didn't do it, mom."

"I believe you." She promised.

"He...he has more pictures. And video…" Henry's voice was smaller now. "Of...private stuff." His eyes begged her to understand so he wouldn't have to say it.

When she'd arrived in the town of Storybrooke eight years ago, she hid and tried to heal. Soon after, she found Henry and he found her. They gave one another peace. She guarded it vigilantly. She protected them both from her name, from her past, from who she used to be. They placed their trust in this little town, refugees from the bigger world seeking sanctuary. The bigger world now proclaimed its abuse of her son proudly, taunting her.

She gave her son's shoulders a small shake. It scared him, but she couldn't stop herself. "What else did it say, sweetheart?"

"If I didn't send him $500.00, he'd send everything to everyone I knew. Post it on Facebook and the internet. Everyone would see. And he said nothing dies on the internet. Like if I apply to college they could see."

Henry didn't steal. That thought came back to her. Oh god, she'd failed him. She should have handled everything differently.

On the first night three days ago, when he shrugged once too often in response to her questions, it unleashed something in her. A monster buried and marked with a headstone. There were tricks she knew to make people do things. Ways to apply motivation and fear. Her mother had taught her a dozen ways, and she'd learned another dozen on her own.

She used sharp, insightful words. "You will not stand there and say nothing. I don't care how lonely you feel or how much you struggle to fit in. Do we need to take you back to to visit your counselor? Is that what you need?" and "This is how cowards handle things, Henry." Every word was deliberately cruel, sickening her even as she said them.

In her mind's eye, she remembered how his jaw quivered. Like a witch casting an evil spell, she transformed his guilty expression into a haunted one. He turned and ran from her.

He ran. From her.

"But I sent him the money." Henry's voice yanked her from the swamp of guilt she festered in. "And he just sent another email. He wants me to send him more pictures. Lots. But...high definition. And with different poses."

The moment the roller coaster stopped at the tallest point on the track, hovered, then fell forward with a rush of gravity felt like this. On the descent, she didn't feel in control of her body and air pummeled against her stomach like fists. Yet the art of being a parent was to project knowing, project certainty of what to do. She tried. "Henry – I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." She took in a deep breath, knowing how hard her next request was going to be for him. "I need you to show me exactly what he sent you."

He immediately started to shake his head in denial. "I don't want you to see."

She didn't want to see. It didn't matter. She tried to be who he needed now.

She remembered how she used to transform herself in the past into that other Regina, back before Henry. He needed her to be calm and sure, loving too, so she shut everything she was feeling into a small box and focused on her goal. She straightened, shoulders back. Body language was the first way to fool others into seeing what you wanted them to.

"I know." Her voice was soft, all of her love in those two words. She may not be the perfect mother but she tried to sound like it. She would be who he needed. "But you know that it's the only way I can help, don't you? And…sweetheart, we're going to need to go the police." He shook his head again. Holding back everything else but being what he needed grew easier the longer she did it.

She took his hands and led him to sit on the edge of her bed, stroking his hair back from his face and trying to be as open as she knew how to be. "There are times you have to do things, even though they are the last things you want to – because there are people in this world who will hurt you if you don't. It was brave of you to tell me, baby. And I wish I could tell you that after tonight you won't need to be that brave anymore, but you're going to need to be for a little while longer." She pressed a soft kiss to his temple. He was thinking about what she said. His fingers, still holding hers, eased, though he didn't let go.

"Mom?" He asked in a small voice. "What if he never stops?"

She wouldn't let her own fear in again. "I promise you that we will make him stop."

"Do you think it's because of my Youtube videos? Is that why me?" For the last eight months, Henry posted weekly videos about movies and comic books on his very own YouTube channel. He could be very shy with other kids; it was an outlet.

She didn't know if his channel drew the monster out, but she couldn't let him carry that. "This is a sick, sick person, Henry. Sick people do things for a thousand different reasons." She paused then said insistently. "*You* are not to blame for this."

"Do you believe me about the pictures and the videos? That I didn't take them?"

She cupped his face again. "I will always believe you. I will always believe *in* you." She kissed his forehead. "I am so sorry, sweetheart. I am so, so sorry." Tears filled his eyes again and he pressed his face into her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and whispered that it would be okay over and over.

She wasn't the perfect mother he deserved but she could pretend.

Her belief in her son was shared by the sheriff of Storybrooke, though that may have been a product of her being both the mayor and a Mills. But belief didn't mean they had the resources to help. No, she'd have to find another way.

She knew the F.B.I was probably the best option. Her family had friends in the F.B.I hierarchy, not to mention senators, judges and others. But it would mean that Henry's existence, something she had been able to hide from her family for eight years, might be revealed. It could mean her mother coming back into her life – and into Henry's life. No – no, one did not take poison to cure poison, she told herself.

The second option meant tapping into police resources that were vaster than her little town's.

She prepared herself to move mountains for Henry. Portland was the nearest large city. She had several emergency contingencies in place there. At least that's what she told herself when she donated large sums of money to the police association every year. She wondered if it wasn't the last desperate attempt of an addict to get a small fix of influence and power. Regardless, it came in useful now. She called Police Commissioner Gold's office in Portland and asked for a meeting.

"Ms. Mills," The detective greeted her and guided her to a small meeting room. One side of the room was entirely made of glass panes. Six chairs of varying stages of decay surrounded the table. A whiteboard, stained with years of old writing that now couldn't entirely be cleaned, hung at the front of the room,

The detective was older, and the first thing she noticed was that he looked far too old to be working. Years were etched in line after line around his mouth. His small, perfectly round face was too small, his ears poked out too far. He motioned for her and Henry to sit down and smiled too pleasantly, in Regina's opinion. "Commissioner Gold asked me to take your statement. You're from Storybrooke? I hope your drive was okay."

Regina held her tongue a long moment. She linked her fingers neatly before setting them on the table. This morning she donned a business suit as she hadn't in years. When she'd become Mayor, she'd worn one her first day, and her son – her beautiful, grinning son – had pointed out that even the sheriff wore jeans.

"You can tone it down, mom," he'd told her. She'd switched to nice slacks and blouses. She never fully graduated to wearing jeans. She was still the mayor and she was still, at least in part, the person her mother raised her to be.

The suit she wore now was black, with red piping that matched the designer red silk shirt she wore under it. Her medium dark hair was styled meticulously away from her face, but purposefully looked as if it took no effort at all. Her makeup was light, save covering a few small blemishes on her face. She used blue eyeliner to bring out her eyes. She chose gold jewelry, a subtle reminder of wealth as well as being fashionable. She wore the costume and armor appropriate for what she wanted to project. Today, she intended to intimidate.

"The drive was fine. Perhaps we should begin." She turned to her son. "Henry?" He held the gray folder with all the e-mail printouts. He knew what she wanted but his face burned as he laid the folder down and pushed it weakly toward the detective. He'd wanted to hold it, he'd told her in the car. She felt maybe it would give him a feeling of control and allowed it. Now though, he looked ashamed. She curled an arm around him.

"That's what we have," Regina continued and waited while the man reviewed it.

He scanned the contents. "You know, this is probably just one of your friends at school."

"But I sent money to an account," Henry protested. "And he has pictures."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You'd be amazed what kids can do these days."

Regina wondered why the hell he was laughing. "You're saying it's someone at Henry's school?" She questioned.

His congenial expression didn't change. "Kids are cruel and with the technology nowadays, they do cruel things," he reasoned. "It's most likely a prank. I wouldn't worry." If the detective could have reached, he undoubtedly would have ruffled Henry's hair good-naturedly when speaking those words.

Regina reached out and took hold of the folder, easing it from the detective's fingers.

"Henry, could you get me some water, please?" Regina asked.

Her son knew that tone and knew better than to argue. He stood, looking once between them before leaving them alone.

The detective's response to the e-mail gave her the final permission she needed to allow her darker alter-ego, the one she had tried so hard to bury, free. She fixed the detective with a steady stare and felt a smile that was dripping with ice grace her lips. The worst part, always the worst part, was how satisfying it felt to be this part of herself. How powerful.

"I have no idea what the standards usually are for police work in this city," she began flippantly. "My understanding has always been that police are here to actually investigate crime. Clearly in your case, your pay is solely based on commission every time you offer placating and condescending statements?" He gaped at her like a dying fish. She rose enough to lean over the table, her hands gripping the table as her sharp gaze cut at him. "You're going to get on your phone and tell the Commissioner I'd like to see him now. Tell him that I am tired of dealing with lazy police officers who either don't know how or don't care enough to actually do their jobs, and that he needs to come down here and talk to me or I will stop donating. I'll also convince a dozen of my closest friends to do the same." The last part was a lie. She didn't have any friends. She donated fifty-thousand a year; it was enough to get some attention when she needed it.

She eased back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other and regaining a prim, in-control pose.

"Ma'am," he sputtered. "I-I- I didn't mean to offend you."

"Oh, but you did." She gave him one of his own pleasant smiles. "I suggest you hurry, detective. For every minute you waste my time from here on, I will subtract a thousand dollars from my yearly donation." She pulled her iphone from her suit jacket and began to review emails.

"I'll call Commissioner Gold."

She didn't even look up. "That would be best."

Police Commissioner Gold arrived to speak to her twenty minutes later. He sat in the chair across from Regina and Henry, listened patiently, then called in several members of the computer forensics task force. After they had assessed the evidence, they left and he asked Henry to wait in the hall a moment.

Henry didn't like it, but Regina nodded to him. He unhappily trudged from the room, closing the door behind him.

Commissioner Gold rose and moved around the table, his leather briefcase in hand. He sat next to Regina, setting the briefcase down in the empty chair on the other side of him. He tapped his fingertips together three times, flickering his eyes from her face to the wall near her several times.

"My men are working a high profile corporate cybercrime that just happened. I know it's not what you want to hear but I can't spare them for a few days. It was a ten million-dollar theft of goods."

Regina jammed two fingers against the gray folder still on the table, making a muted thumping sound. "This maniac gave my son five days to send him pictures."

He stared at the folder. "I have three resources in computer crime. Three." He sounded apologetic. "And each of them is usually juggling multiple cases at once, plus they have a pile waiting when they're done with those." He cleared his throat. "Our police department has appreciated your generosity and support but…"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me that I drove all this way for nothing?" Her voice was silky and cool. "I really hope that's not what you are saying to me, Commissioner."

He tried again. "You do have a case that would merit the attention of the F.B.I."

"My son and I like our privacy. The F.B.I.," She snarled, sounding out each letter, "likes to crow about their success in the press. I question their ability to show discretion."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "There are IT security consultants who might be able to…"

"Shall I throw a dart to pick one to entrust my son's wellbeing to? Is that what you are suggesting or do you have a name?" She opened the folder, sorting through and reviewing the emails one by one.

"Ms. Mills, you should know that after you started donating, I did some research on you. It's rare that individuals are so charitable." She didn't stop what she was doing, but she listened very carefully. She stacked the papers, tapping them lightly on the table. "Can I assume that some of this resistance to traditional investigation has to do with your family? Perhaps avoiding the press?"

She leaned back, one arm moving to dangle over the back of her chair. She didn't answer. She waited.

"If so, I do have a thought. I have the name of someone. She's not a security consultant. It would be an out-of-the-box solution and borders on being inappropriate but, it is an option."

"Go on."

"She's an ex-hacker who got out of prison a few months ago. Her parole officer and I were just discussing her. You have to understand that her skills are exceptional or I wouldn't suggest her. Her activities cost millions of dollars, but the F.B.I gave her a commuted sentence because she explained to them how she did it. We thought we might even ask her to help with the theft the team is already investigating. But we decided that the risk was too…"

"And why should I should trust this person?"

He had the audacity to seem amused, and she realized that a shark lived in this man. "You have no leverage to keep the F.B.I or a security consultant quiet. But an ex-felon? With a Police Commissioner watching her closely?" He straightened his tie, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Campaigns to run for governor are expensive. I hope I can count on your support."

Her alter-ego loved negotiations and he surprised her with his skill. Her eyes glittered. "Of course." No, she chastised herself for enjoying his offer. Henry, Henry, Henry, she chanted to herself. She turned from him, took the folder and rose smoothly. "Is this ex-hacker close?"

"She's local, but I don't know exactly where she…"

She moved to the conference door and opened it. "I'm sure you can find out. Shall we go see if she's available?"