A/N: When I published the first part last year, I had no idea it would be a first part. The response was so great, I knew I had to bring more to this universe. It has become very dear to me.

I've met some incredible people this year, who helped me with plot details, encouraged me to not give up, wished me the best! A big big thank you to Tabitha, KizuRai (my biggest fan), Vic, gaypanic and all the other lovelies I've met along the way because you're wonderful! Thank you again to the awesome hosts of Swan Queen Supernova — and sorry for all the trouble I may have caused thanks to my delay. I'd like to give a million thanks to my betas, inkedauthority and mariacomet. Without you, the story wouldn't be what it is now! Also, thank you to my awesome cheerleader, who coincidentally was my artist last year! misthavens, you're amazing! I can't thank you enough for all the support!

And soundslikehope, who agreed to take a last-minute look at the story and made me laugh with her amazing commentary throughout everything. Thank you so much!

Last but not least, thank you to khaleegis, the artist who made the SUPERB film poster art you can see on AO3. It's beautiful!

Without further ado, hope you all enjoy it, can't wait to hear what you think. I'd recommend reading the first installment if you haven't yet - it'll be easier to follow the subtleties. I've left a short summary of what's happened beforehand, though!


Previously, on The D(evil) Wears Prada:

Emma lands the job as a second assistant to Regina Mills, editor-in-chief of the illustrious Runway Magazine, and manages to last a total of seven months, twenty-three days and twelve hours, before seemingly throwing away her dreams of becoming a journalist.

"You did the same to Lena... You thought of yourself first." What? No, no, no. "And I see a brilliant path ahead of you... You just have to be willing to take it. Everybody wants to be us, Emma." They lock gazes, but Emma looks away, widening her eyes. No, no, no. The thread of panic grows bigger, exponentially bigger.

She can't stay in this job. She can't. Who has she become? You did the same to Lena. Has she lost herself along the way? She's becoming selfish. Selfish just as Lena is, just as Jefferson, just as Killian, Fiona, and everyone else in the fashion industry.

She can't stay. Not if she'll be just as easily cast away. No, she wouldn't be able to handle that. What Regina did to Jefferson could be her in a few months. Hell, in a few days, even. Regina means a lot to her, and she can't lose her."

After the disaster that was Paris Fashion Week, they don't expect to see each other ever again. But Henry, Regina's son, brings them back together on Emma's birthday.

Staring at Emma now, Regina knows she cannot let the opportunity go to waste. Henry has brought her back. That has to mean something.

"Hello, Emma." Her voice trembles slightly, but she hopes her expression gives nothing away, not yet. "Would you like to accompany us for dinner?"


Chapter 1: october 2006

This is not how Emma imagined her birthday would play out when she woke up today. She'd had it planned, even. She'd visualized some copy editing, then eating her ridiculously expensive cupcake (the only day she allows herself to splurge), maybe a glass of wine or a beer depending on her mood, surfing through TV channels just to keep the noise flowing in the apartment… Nothing extravagant, by any means.

Alas, it seems a rarity: the day something will go according to plan when Emma's involved. That day will certainly forecast rain and catastrophe, Emma ponders with the hint of a smile on her lips. Unfortunately, her amusement is short-lived, when she hears more of Regina's speaking on the phone glued to her ear, and remembers just where she is.

She's waiting for Sidney with Regina and Henry, at the mostly quiet (such thing does exist, in New York!) and luxurious street, with its houses that cost more than Emma's whole student fees, her apartment and her wardrobe combined. It's intimidating. What a trio they must make to the passersby.

Usually Regina doesn't have to wait, because everything is on schedule, and Emma gathers the dinner was probably scheduled for later. Since Emma's accompanying them, Regina's most likely decided to rush things, hence why they've been waiting on the sidewalk. (A lot of hypothetical ideas, Emma knows, but it's been like this — predicting and anticipating — ever since she'd started at Runway.) She can't imagine Regina would want her presence inside the townhouse anyway.

It's difficult to swallow — the guilt for disappearing with no formal resignation letter; the constant worry (who am I? just what am I capable of? have I become like the rest of them?); and, worst of all, the waves of hardly repressed longing, which burns like acid and flutters wonderfully in her stomach at the same time. It's been nearly a month, and she can't seem to let it go.

"Would you like to accompany us for dinner?" Regina asked several minutes ago.

It's not like she could say no.

There'd been only one time she'd denied her anything: Paris. She endured everything else during those months at Runway except their last exchange. It plays on repeat, it always plays on repeat… The insight she didn't want, she thinks, didn't ask for, but received anyways.

And how must Emma reconcile with this simple fact… despite knowing what Regina's capable of — her powerful stance and presence demanding answers everywhere she goes, like she beseeches without actually voicing anything; careless of the thoughts of others, her goal the only one that matters — Emma is still drawn to her, like Regina is a magnet she tried to repel and now here she is, again. It's a terrifying realization to face.

Is this a test?, she finally asks herself, her thoughts jumping back to the pressing issue. Why else would Regina invite her? Why? The assistant who had the audacity to leave her… Yes, she's missed Regina, but what does that make her? She'd also left. For good reasons, honorable reasons.

"That'll be all." Regina closes her Motorola with a swift click, irritation palpable in her tone. Thank god she's not whoever that was on the line.

'What is she playing at?' is the question that won't leave her thoughts, though. Emma keeps her eyes fastened on the street, her arms crossed in an attempt to ward off the cold — the leather jacket she's wearing is practically nothing against it. It's certainly getting chillier at night.

"Henry. Do you have an idea of just how worried I was?" Regina asks quietly, and Emma can only imagine the scare Henry gave her.

She tries to keep her attention elsewhere, tries to answer the questions her brain's collecting nonstop, tries not to eavesdrop, she truly does, but it's virtually impossible thanks to her proximity.

"I'm sorry, Mom…" he says just as quietly as Regina had. "It's just that today is Emma's birthday," he whispers as if it's a secret, and Emma barely reins a chuckle in. "I knew she was going to be alone so I wanted to give her my gift." Regina's smile drops at that, and Emma fiddles uncomfortably with her glasses, her throat constricting at the idea of Regina's knowledge that Emma would be alone today otherwise.

"Oh," is what Regina says in response, surprise coloring her tone, like she actually cares.

Pressing her lips together, Emma abstains from saying anything. What was that?

Just as she's about to shift away or say something along the lines of 'Forget it, thanks for the invite but my cupcake is waiting for me,' the town car arrives. The conversation taking place without her input is cut short with, "We'll talk about this later," from Regina, and now it's too late to back out.

[SQ]

She is the editor-in-chief of an award-winning magazine, the arbiter of a four-hundred billion dollars a year industry, the queen of fashion, the influence over the next fashion trend and the ones after. Regina is also one of the most influential people in the fashion and publishing world. Her opinion is what matters, as Jefferson had so aptly put it a few months ago.

The list goes on.

She has been at the helm for seven years, despite the hardships faced.

She has thousands of followers and more than a few enemies; there are those who want to be her and those who want to be with her.

It's also a well-known fact: one shake of her head or pursing of her lips can demolish an entire career.

And yet…

When it comes to Emma Swan, all titles and glamour and grace seem to disappear faster than she can say Christian Dior.

Subtly clenching her hands in fists to prevent them from shaking, Regina looks fixedly at the world outside the window, seeing nothing. To be honest, it's a foolish attempt at seeming indifferent to the conversation taking place, because she doesn't know what to say, doesn't think Emma would appreciate her input. Doesn't think Emma would want to know the jacket she's wearing makes her heart skip a beat (or several).

Why did I invite her? the voice inside her head asks, but that same voice already has the answer, even if she does not want to admit it: You know why.

"...think you're going to like the food, Emma," Regina tunes back in to hear Henry say. "It's an Italian restaurant. The pasta is awesome."

Emma chuckles uneasily. Who can blame her? Regina understands this might be the last place her ex-assistant wanted to be spending her birthday.

"I love food," Emma indulges him, no matter if she sounds uncomfortable, "so I'm sure I'll love it." She must have thrown in one of her toothy smiles, but Regina wouldn't know because she is definitely not looking.

[SQ]

As they pull up in the limo, at least twenty paparazzi are at the sidewalk waiting for them; for Regina more specifically. Lips pursed in her displeasure, Regina finally realizes what a stupid idea this was. After all, this is a famous restaurant, and the vultures are always searching for their next victim for Page Six. Right now she's their chosen one, especially after speculations of her impending divorce became public — The Wall Street Journal published the day before a lovely piece of Robin's filing for a divorce. Somebody must have tipped off where she'd be today, see if they could extract anything from her.

"Mom, do you think someone famous is inside?" His eyes sparkle at the possibility, and Regina gives him an affectionate eye roll in response.

Emma moves forward in her seat to understand what's happening, and as she does, the smell of her sweet perfume drifts to Regina, bringing up memories of a shared elevator in other times. Looking over Henry's head to Regina's window, Emma's mouth falls open. "Uh…"

"Uh, indeed," are Regina's first words inside the car, and she feels discomfited by her own tone, regretting the comment as soon as it left her mouth. Yes, Regina. Just the right thing to say to her. She didn't mean to sound so condescending, but Emma's scent is wreaking havoc with her brain and leaving her out of sorts.

She holds up a hand, deciding to tackle more important matters than a crush on her ex-assistant. Honestly, Regina. She inwardly rolls her eyes. "One minute, there's something I must do before we go." And if she is sounding too explanatory for even her own taste, well, she will say it's ostensibly for her son.

Taking her smartphone from her purse, Regina clicks '1' on speed dial and presses it to her ear.

Five seconds later, her first assistant answers. Lena does know how to be prompt. "Hello, Regina. What can I do for you?" Question posed as an affirmative. Good.

Regina doesn't bother with greetings. "Contact Victoria. She better minimize the press for this outing. And make sure to lay down the importance of my son's protection, or else…"

"Yes, absolutely, Regina."

"That's all."

[SQ]

And they are off to a great start—

No, they definitely are not.

If Emma had arrived by herself, she wouldn't have been able to get out of the car. There are people everywhere, and Emma hadn't felt the absence of this...this part of Regina's life. This very important part.

It's glaringly obvious their lives are quite different. The intriguing point is that Emma doesn't care: it's always awe-inspiring to take in Regina's grace and complete indifference to the flashes, the absurd questions, the ridiculous paparazzi.

"10:30, Sidney," Regina tells him, then set her sunglasses on, the movement unhurried and languid, turning to the window.

Everything happens so fast. Sidney gets out of the vehicle in the next beat, circling around the front to reach Regina's door. Subsequently, Regina leaves the car without a care, Henry soon following her, probably used to it. Emma is not used to it.

It's like their little bubble inside the car was popped when the door was opened. The buzz outside is the equivalent of a full classroom of noisy children. Emma's eyes widen, overwhelmed. Nonetheless, she follows their cue, pretending like this is an everyday occurrence as she maneuvers herself out of the limo. (No way she'd miss the help of the security guards.)

She picks up on a few of their questions, and what the hell is wrong with these people?

"—got anything to add?"

Camera flash.

"Regina!"

More cameras flashing.

"Is it true—"

And… flash!

"Regina, Regina!"

"—divorce?"

"Over here!"

Oh my god. Her vision and her hearing may have been permanently affected. Yes, Emma had already experienced something similar to this, firstly on the Benefit night and then when they were in Paris. But never like this, these intrusive, meddlesome press people, crowding them with their cameras and recorders and incessant questions about fucking rumors!

And Emma feels the opposite of glamorous with all the flashes; the only article of clothing she's wearing that is remotely expensive is the jacket. Everything else — her white shirt, her jeans, her scuffed boots — have seen better days. Good thing they weren't paying any mind to her, more worried with Regina than anything else.

They are stupid, above all. As if Regina would provide any commentary, Emma scoffs inwardly.

(And if she stared at Regina's ass for a few seconds, there's no way any picture caught that...right?)

When they finally manage to get inside, she mutters a thank you to the security, a frown etched to her features.

"You get used to it," Henry whispers to her, freeing himself from under his mom's arm, and Emma smiles weakly.

The first thing she notices is the brightness of the establishment, and immediately wishes to understand what made Regina choose this restaurant and its Christmas lights festooned along the walls. She doesn't remember booking anything for Regina here, and would never have suggested it — she is almost positive Regina isn't appreciative of the fact the homely décor doesn't scream sophistication. The place is small and crowded, noise and chatter filling every little nook of it.

Wait. She looks around and counts no more than twelve tables and booths combined. There is one booth vacant at the back.

It's then she notices the chatter diminished in volume when they got in. No matter where Regina goes, she's always recognized.

"Frank," Regina greets in her charming voice, turning to an older man sitting on one of the bar stools by the entrance and air-kissing him. The journalist side of Emma instantly craves for the back-story. One of the many mysteries Regina Mills presents, she supposes.

She will ask Henry later.

"Regina, sweetheart," Frank says warmly, "you haven't changed one bit. And look at you, Henry... You've grown since I last saw you."

Henry grins. "Really? But we were here last month."

"Just enough time," Frank answers with a chuckle. He then turns to Emma, who was quite content with listening and waiting for their table, really. "And who might this be?"

"Hi... I'm Emma…" She almost fiddles with her glasses, but stops her hands just in time, slipping them inside her CK jeans' pockets instead. There's a thing or two she learned from being constantly in Regina's presence. "Emma Swan."

Frank gives her a smile which seems sincere enough for Emma's shoulders to drop slightly. "I don't believe I've seen her before, Mills," he tells Regina, intrigued. "A friend of yours?"

Right... Friends. Because they definitely are.

Emma barely holds in a snort.

"Mhmm," Regina hums affirmatively before Emma can fumble for an answer. "Frank, dear, is our table ready?"

"Yes, of course. Right this way."

[SQ]

Emma exhales into the cold night's air and smiles, looking up to watch the condensation with every exhale. It strangely reminds her of home; she did this all the time when she was little. 'Look, Dad, I'm gonna freeze everything!' she'd tell David as they stood in the backyard watching the stars. Those were the good times where she would dress up as a superhero and chase their dog around.

It's October 22nd. Christmas is practically around the corner now and that means seeing her family, but… has it really been that long since she left Storybrooke? It seems like an entire lifetime has passed in the span of almost a year.

She shakes her head to focus on more pressing matters, like how she just finished having dinner with Regina and Henry a few moments ago. What's more, they didn't fight, the silence wasn't stifling and there was no tense atmosphere. In fact, it had been fun. Henry did most of the talking, but Emma's quite sure that his mother wasn't complaining (probably wanted Emma the hell out of the establishment) as Emma gathered by Regina's uncharacteristically quiet manner tonight.

And if the lack of messages from Neal or Lily had her in sad spirits for a while, this dinner softened the blow. It was, overall, an enjoyable birthday. Better than eating that sad excuse for a cake she left on the counter and wallowing in self-pity.

Not to mention the food. Neal popped up in her thoughts more than once throughout dinner, because he would've loved the place. As she ate the delicious pasta Henry and Regina recommended (there was no menu to choose from) she could imagine Neal concentrating and doing his 'cook-face', which meant he was thoroughly analyzing the dish. Rao's was clearly exclusive or, at least, famous. She'd search that later.

But my god, the sauce was to die for!

A much more enjoyable birthday, yes.

"252 Broome Street, please," she says to the taxi driver once she gets inside the vehicle.

She's lost in her own head the whole way home. Her thoughts are too jumbled to pick apart, and maybe she's just too tired from the long day at work. The meal had been expensive, but Regina hadn't batted an eye and refused to let Emma pay. "Nonsense," she'd said. "It's your birthday." And that was that.

Okay, then Regina leaning in and doing that air-kiss thing to say goodbye had startled Emma a lot (visibly, if Regina's questioning gaze was anything to go by) and her heart twinged painfully, because there it is: the push and pull in her emotions. She's smitten all over again; it's maddening that it has clouded her judgement this fast. Why do that? Why not say goodbye like normal people?

No, let's be awkward and pretend I'm one of your besties at an event, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

Emma knows she had to leave Regina that day, knows she has the job she wanted and is now on the right path. However, she also knows it was a difficult decision to make — leaving Regina, that is. She misses seeing her on a daily basis. Hearing her voice, watching her in her element...even listening to her nonsensical demands. And Henry... She's missed his infectious smile and his exuberance. More than she can properly put into words.

Back inside her lonely apartment, Emma throws her keys on the small table near the door and finds Henry's decorated envelope resting upon it. Smiling softly, she picks it up and opens the seal carefully, lest she tear whatever's inside. It's a paper; pulling it out, she finds a drawing. Laughing in pure joy, she takes it in and if her eyes fill with tears, well, there's no one to see it. Henry is so good!, she thinks, gazing down at the drawing in her hands. She traces her fingers along the detailed version of herself holding a keyblade, just like the main character from Kingdom Hearts 2, poised to start the fight against Sephiroth.

Attaching it delicately to her fridge, Emma aches for a way to thank this amazing kid who turned her birthday around. She'll treasure this forever.

[SQ]

Regina is known for being unpredictable. Well, the tabloids have always said so. If the world had once deemed her to be predictable, she would not be where she is now. She'd be forgotten; the magazine would be forgotten; and she would be in the shadow of Cora Mills forever.

It was 1998, one year before becoming editor-in-chief of Runway. When she'd started her internship at Elias-Clarke, Mother promised, "One day you'll be sitting behind this desk as the editor-in-chief of Food & Wine Magazine, Regina."

Regina had, in turn, shivered unpleasantly and flashed her teeth to her mother in a practiced smile, one which she learned from the woman herself. It had been a wonder at the time that her mother hadn't realized just how deeply Regina's displeasure ran, behind her 'happy' disposition with the idea. Perhaps Cora had been too excited her precious daughter would keep her reign intact in the years to come.

Five months later, a position as junior editor for Runway Magazine had become vacant, and she took the chance to escape Cora's immediate control with fierce determination. Plans were made, and Daniel's full support solidified her choice. "I believe in you, Regina. You can do this," he'd told her vehemently, eyes sparkling with his wholehearted love for her.

Regina soon learned: to climb the corporate ladder, she would have to shape and mold herself into a different persona; otherwise, would get nowhere in business. No tears, no emotional outbursts, no resignation towards men.

Cora had warned her, "You're being silly, Regina. Once you realize fashion will lead you nowhere, it might be too late," as if her fate was carved in stone, as if there was no future for her away from Mother's sharp claws. But there had been a slight desperation in her tone, Regina recalls. And she used that to remind herself to never give up.

Well, Mother did not live long enough to watch her at the very top, but at least they were able to make amends.

A phone rings outside her office, causing her to blink several times from her reverie. The third new assistant (of whom she has not bothered to learn the name) since Emma left answers the call, "Regina Mills' office, how can I help you?" and Regina wonders for a second if Human Resources are doing it on purpose at this point. How is it possible for someone's normal voice to sound like Britney Spears singing 'Toxic'?

Anyhow, there's no time to be remembering the past, not when she still has a lot to approve and oversee for December's issue. No when there are last adjustments to be made for the November issue that must go to printing this evening.

It seems futile, however, to resume her perusal of a few color palettes brought forward this morning. Her mind is elsewhere and that is normally unacceptable, but no one will know; she has to make sense of this utter… nonsense first.

Regina shakes her head, swiveling in her chair to face the window, one of the palettes in hand. She is still unable to fathom… unable to understand... Why did she invite Emma Swan for dinner? Regina is unpredictable, yes, but impulsive is not a word with which she would associate herself.

She'd invited Emma, who surpassed any of the assistants she's had in a long time. The woman who managed to glimpse behind her mask. The assistant who ultimately did not want to be associated with her after her words resonated inside the car: "Everybody wants to be us."

Damn you, Emma Swan.

They had a lovely time yesterday, despite Emma's seemingly nervous disposition. Mercifully, nothing about her time as Regina's assistant was mentioned, and Regina cannot recall the last time she felt… normal in someone else's presence. She was still guarded, considering Emma's departure, but there was no need for niceties because Emma knows her at her worst. And had left. But came back?

It does not make any sense. Nothing does when Emma's concerned.

She purses her lips — the Art Department is extremely uninspired. Watermelon pink and mustard for the Spring edition? No, no. Perhaps it is her fault, considering what she did in Paris. Jefferson has been distant and avoiding her whenever possible since that fateful day.

Paris… And now she's thinking of Emma again. Damn it.

[SQ]

That same afternoon, Regina is on the way to an offsite meeting when she sees it, sitting innocuously on a newsstand.

There's a traffic jam; she can check her e-mails. She is expecting a response from Patrick... Or she can review next month's main spread; it's somewhere inside her briefcase.

Regina is tapping her fingers on her thighs instead. And lasts all of two minutes before curiosity gets the best of her. "Sidney," she finds herself saying, removing her sunglasses to stare at the newspaper in her immediate line of sight.

"Yes, Ms. Mills?"

"I want a copy of the Mirror." Time to see if giving her that reference was worth it.

Sidney nods and leaves the vehicle to do as requested, not caring if they're double-parked; he perhaps senses the importance of her request. Regina puts back on her Dior sunglasses and waits.

The New York Mirror is nothing special, nothing she has not seen before, but she admits there's a certain charm to it (and not because Emma Swan has written for Life Stories on page 12, no, not at all). Her humor is dry, her tone is compelling, her writing concise. There's improvement to be made, but Emma learns fast, and Regina knows this first-hand.

[SQ]

From: Emma Swan emmaswan

To: Henry Mills henrymills

Sent: Monday, October 23rd, 2006 06:32 PM

Subject: Thank you!

Hey, Henry!

My gift is attached to the fridge already. I LOVE it, kid! You're so talented.

Thank-

Emma bites her lip, faltering for a second. Should I?

Why not? It's not like they'll be seeing each other any time soon, much to her discontent. Chances are Regina won't even check Henry's e-mail. Right, Emma rolls her eyes, because that sounds exactly like Regina.

Emma sets her fingers on the keyboard and continues typing her message.

Thank you for last night. I had an amazing evening. Please thank your mom for me.

See you soon (hopefully)!

Pressing the 'Send' button, Emma tells herself she would have sent something separately to Regina if she could, if she had her personal e-mail address, which is not the case. She tells herself Regina wouldn't appreciate it if any of her assistants read anything coming from her (Lena would delete it, no doubt there). Lastly, she tells herself it's not her fear of Regina's reaction to it.

Why do I keep lying to myself?

I'm a coward, she thinks, remembering she still hasn't thanked Regina for the reference.

Archie, Emma's editor, emerges from his office just as she's regretting sending the message in the first place. "Emma, how is the story coming along?"

She turns to him, deciding to focus on her job for the time being. "I'm almost done, just revising a paragraph."

"Send it in and start on the background information for the other piece." Emma gives him an affirmative nod, smiling.

She can't help thinking how contrasting the environment here is compared to Runway. Both are whirlwinds — in whole different aspects. While Runway kept her on her toes (quite literally) with its crazy demands, racks of clothes strewn everywhere and blabbermouth co-workers, the Mirror does so with its telephones ringing nonstop, the 'click-clack' of keyboards and the overall atmosphere of the office. Here there's no tiptoeing around the boss, no pretending, no 'I have to dress-up because everyone else is'.

However, she can never complain about her tenure at Runway. There's so much she learned with the entire experience. She can solve problems like no one else. She can focus so much better because everything at Runway happened at the same time and she had to be prepared to multi-task.

But there are things she's not ready to face, her mind carefully reminds her. It's like being hit by a bucket of cold water when she closes her eyes and Regina's voice seems to be inside her head, taunting her:

I see a great deal of myself in you.

[SQ]

Regina takes a look at her wrist, and the hands of her watch tell her it's 5:53 PM. Opening the door, she calls out, "Henry, I'm home!" and her smile is nearly blinding when the sound of Henry's excited shout reaches her ears. Her little prince runs to the foyer and throws himself into her arms; she barely has time to set her purse on the ground. They hug for a few seconds, swaying from side to side.

Looking up at her, he exclaims, "You're home early!"

His toothy smile and sparkling eyes are a sight to behold, even if her heart twinges with guilt – he's excited because she was able to leave work early, which doesn't happen often. However, since the divorce began, Regina is trying her best to be more present, and that means shorter work days and less frivolous parties.

"Yes, the magazine is on printing," she explains, combing her fingers through his hair. "I figured we could have dinner then go downstairs to the workroom for a change."

Henry bobs his head up and down, hugging her once more before letting go. "I'll let Carla know you're home." He turns around and goes up the foyer steps, skipping on his way to the kitchen.

"We're eating at the small table today." She shakes her head amusedly at his antics. Some days he's just a mass of happy energy, it's infectious. "And no running inside the house, Henry!"

"Okay, Mom! Yes, Mom!" he shouts from the kitchen. Then a moment passes. "…sorry, Mom! I won't shout again!"

And now she's laughing, her shoulders free of any leftover tension from work. Henry is too precious.

[SQ]

Dinner was interspaced with Henry's tales about school, his latest project and the piano class he had earlier in the afternoon. Regina cannot ignore the fact that Henry is much more at ease without Robin's presence, one topic leading to another, and another, and another, his excited chatter more than enough to fill every little nook of the house with previously absent warmth.

Now they've gone down to the workroom, Regina's admittedly favorite place of the townhouse. It's their hidden—

"Mom, what color for the petals?" Henry asks, interrupting her previous train of thought.

"Your background is green...and see here?" Regina points at his contour. "You're not doing clean brushstrokes. You know what I'd recommend, but the choice is yours," Regina answers while rubbing his back and perusing his work-in-progress. "It's beautiful, Henry."

Her son smiles brightly. "I like what I have so far. And that doesn't happen often." He tilts his head. "You were talking about the scarlet red, right? To contrast?"

She hums, moving back to her own easel. "When did you get so smart?"

"I don't know... I'm your son."

She chuckles, but it is interrupted by the sound of the computer alerting them to a new e-mail.

"I got it!" He puts away his paintbrush and walks to the desk.

"Who is it from?" she asks, adding a stroke here, another there, composing the shape of legs in high-heeled boots. She needs some light here, and…

"Oh, it's from Emma!" he says excitedly, and if her eyes widen and she nearly run a line through the middle of the canvas, well, that's only because Henry's shout disrupted her concentration.

She sets her brush inside the glass of water. "Hmm. What does it say?" she asks with a tone that belies her racing heart.

"It's a thank-you note! About yesterday." Now standing behind the chair, she leans down to read the e-mail.

"'Please thank your mom for me'," Henry reads out loud. "You're already reading it, so…"

What does she want? Why not send that to me, instead?

Regina's lips upturn. Now here's a chance…

"Click Respond. There's something I want to…"

[SQ]

Emma throws herself on the couch and exhales in relief. A job well-done today, she thinks, after being able to forward her draft for the next story.

Her laptop pings, alerting her to an e-mail. It can be Archie or one of her co-workers, so she must check it before tending to her grumbling stomach. With a sigh, she maneuvers herself so she can reach the coffee table, arm outstretched to swipe at the pad, turning the monitor screen back on.

There, she finds a response from Henry.

From: Henry Mills henrymills

To: Emma Swan emmaswan

Sent: Monday, October 23rd, 2006 07:48 PM

Subject: RE: Thank you!

Hey Emma!

I'm so glad we got to spend your birthday together! I miss you, okay? I miss scaring you every time you delivered the Book. Don't be a stranger, I mean it!

Oh, and Mom says, 'You could have thanked me directly, I won't rip out your heart if that's what you are worried about.' Her words. Not mine.

Anyway, I gave you that drawing because I have hope you'll beat him one day. Even before I do!

Talk to you soon!

Henry

Correction: a response from Henry and Regina.

Emma starts to laugh, staring back at the ceiling, a soft laugh that manages to cut through the silence of the apartment like a hundred knives — it's not a good, full belly laugh, because she doesn't know what to feel. She doesn't know if she's happy Regina has… reached out? (or whatever the hell that was), if she's weary, if she's giddy, if she's fearful, if she's just…

"I'm tired," she concludes with a grumble, pleading to whoever's listening that they shed some light and give her a clue of what's going on, damn it.

Covering her face with her hands, Emma heaves a sigh. If this is a twisted game of some kind to Regina, like hell that Emma will participate.


A/N: I'll be uploading the chapters in a few days, most likely. The work is already posted on AO3 as well, if you want to check it out (my user is the same).