Author's Note: Hello, thank you for clicking my story. This was written in response to a prompt for a "Swan-Mills detective story" and is influenced in part by the vibe and dynamics on SVU, and Rizzoli & Isles before that show started to suck. I hope you enjoy reading. This story comes with several disclaimers and warnings, which are detailed below.

1. First and foremost, I obviously don't own Once Upon a Time or its characters. Nor do I own any of the crime shows this story draws inspiration from. I make no profit from this story, and I don't wish to be sued.

2. I am not involved with law enforcement and have no knowledge of police work, forensics, etc. beyond what is available on Wikipedia and what I've seen on TV. In other words, I know nothing. If you want to complain about errors of that nature, feel free, but it's not going to change anything because I still know nothing. It's not about the cases, anyway.

3. This fic has Swan Queen as endgame, but it is slow-burn. Repeat: Slow. Burn. AKA there will also be other ships explored/mentioned in real-time or flashbacks. I promise no excessively graphic descriptions of sex with said beards, because ewww heterosexuality, but still...You. Have. Been. Warned.

4. The M rating on this story is not so much for sexxaytimes (there may be some eventually) but the dark/potentially triggering nature of things homicide detectives may deal with. I promise to post specific warnings on relevant chapters if you're concerned.

If you want to continue reading after all of that, please go right ahead, and if you send me reviews, I will love you like Hook and Regina love the floor.

"You can't be serious," Detective Regina Mills protests, staring at her lieutenant in furious disbelief. She can't believe he called her into the station early for this. It's almost as if he delights in finding ways to make her angry.

"But I am. Completely serious."

"Do I have a neon sign on my back that says 'pair me with rookies?'" she seethes. She's been in this unit for twelve years now; she deserves a good partner for once. "I just finished breaking in Humbert, and now another? Is this because I'm a woman and supposedly have more patience? Because let me tell you: I don't."

"Oh, I know all about your patience," Lieutenant Locksley chuckles. "And no, this has nothing to do with you being a woman and everything to do with you being the most senior detective in the unit now that Spencer's retired."

"You stuck me with that idiot Jones even when Spencer was still around," she complains petulantly.

"Because Spencer's an asshole."

"And I'm not?"

"Of course you are. If anything, you're worse." Locksley's grinning like the idiot he is, an idiot who's known her for far too long and has far too many tactics for getting on her nerves.

"Great, so pair her with Nolan. He'll shoot rainbows and sunshine out of his ass and make her feel right at home."

"I don't want her to feel right at home. I want her to actually learn to do proper detective work, so I'm pairing her with you. Besides, if I pair her with Nolan, you'll be stuck with Jones."

Regina sighs. She can't believe this is actually happening to her, again. "Fine," she harrumphs. "I'll work with this Detective Sven, but if she turns out to be an incompetent moron like Jones and Nolan-"

"Swan," Locksley corrects. Regina glares at him, incensed at being interrupted mid-rant.

"Excuse me?"

"Her name. It's Emma Swan."

"Do I look like I care what her name is, Lieutenant?"

"Well, she is your new partner, and you're bordering dangerously on insubordination, Detective Mills," he says teasingly. Not that he'd ever write her up for anything; she has way too much material for blackmail, and he knows it. She can't report his lack of professionalism for the same reason.

"Shove it, Locksley. I will work with this...Detective Swan." She spits the name out like it leaves an unpleasant taste in her mouth. "But if she turns out to be an incompetent moron, I'm transferring departments so I don't have to put up with your bullshit anymore. Are we finished here?"

"I believe we are."

"Then good day, Lieutenant," she growls before storming out, slamming his office door in her own face.

"Always a pleasure, Regina," he says with a smirk.

Emma Swan shoves the last bite of her Pop-Tart into her mouth and curses the traffic on Storrow Drive, knowing she should have picked a better route to work for her first day in Homicide. She'd left her apartment at a decent enough hour, so she probably won't be late, but she also won't be as early as she'd like to be.

To say that the twenty-eight year old detective is intimidated would be an understatement. The news of her transfer to homicide came only three months after her promotion, and she'd spent those three months in Computer Crimes. She'd never expected the transfer to be accepted so fast - apparently the old boys' club of the Homicide Unit is full of vacancies now that the old boys keep retiring. She's excited, but damn, this is scary. This is the big leagues. She'll be working with detectives whose casework she studied while she was in the academy, and they'll have to accept her as one of their own.

Practically shaking with nerves, she decides to call her son - that always makes her feel better.

"Hey, Mom!" Henry says happily.

"Hey, kid! I miss you so much! How's New York."

"New York is awesome, but I miss you, too. You're starting your new job today, right?"

"Yup - homicide. I get to catch the big-time bad guys now."

"So cool!" he exclaims. "You're gonna make sure they all get locked up, right?"

"Yeah, kid. Definitely." The ten-year-old's enthusiasm for life always buoys her confidence. "Hey, have a great day at school. Put your dad on the phone, okay?"

"Hello?" her ex-boyfriend sounds like he just woke up, but she has no doubt he's actually been a responsible parent all morning. That's just his voice.

"Hey, Neal. Just checking in to see how everything's going over there."

"Everything's great. Henry's report card came yesterday, all A's except for a B+ in gym. He's really doing well at the new school - he even likes math now."

"That's awesome. You're bringing him up to Boston next weekend, right?"

"Of course. I told him we could take the Amtrak. He's pumped up - and he can't wait to see you again, obviously."

"The feeling's mutual," Emma says distractedly, trying to focus on the road for a moment. "Actually, I'm about to pull into the station. Can I say bye to him really quick?"

"Yeah, sure. Henry!"

About ten seconds later, her son's voice is back on the line. "Hi again," he giggles.

"Hey, kid, just wanted to say I love you. Be good for Dad, and stay safe, okay? I'll see you next weekend."

"I love you, too, Mom. And you stay safe, too!"

"Detective Swan? I'm Robin Locksley, your new lieutenant."

I'm your new lieutentant, Regina mouths mockingly. Could he be any more pompous? Like he had even earned that rank - how dare he swoop in with his winning smile and his "people skills" and take the promotion that she deserved? She had a better closure rate, and all of his so-called "brilliant accomplishments" were from when they were partners.

"Your desk is here," he explains. "And this is Detective Regina Mills. She'll be your partner."

"For now," Regina snaps.

Locksley rolls his eyes. "Yes, for now. With so many new detectives coming in, we've been rotating partners quite frequently, trying to find combinations that work well together. Detective Mills, I trust you can catch your new partner up on all your open cases." Before he walks away, he leans into her ear and whispers, "Be nice."

She snorts, eyes raking up and down her new partner's frame. She's tall, with long blonde hair, and looks like she works out. Good - she'd been worried about getting some soft, flabby computer geek who couldn't handle a foot chase. Aside from the awestruck gleam in her eyes, Detective Swan looks pretty tough. She must be - it takes something special to move up through the ranks so quickly.

"You're the Regina Mills," her new partner observes, her tone almost reverent.

"You've heard of me?" Regina asks uncomfortably. Of course she's heard of her - everyone in the damn city has heard of her after that horror show known as the White case ten years ago. The press and her fellow officers have painted her as some kind of hero or martyr, a completely ridiculous notion after what actually happened.

Emma nods breathlessly. "We studied your work in the academy. You're a legend; you're a-"

"If you say 'hero,' this partnership is finished right now," Regina warns, eyes blazing.

"I was going to say you're a great cop," Emma says quickly. Regina scowls.

"We're going to have to work on your poker face before you start questioning suspects. And we're going to have to work on that jacket before I allow myself to be seen in public with you. It's completely undignified."

"What? This?" Emma gestures to her red leather jacket in surprise. Apart from the color, it looks fairly similar to what everyone else in the squad room is wearing. Except for Regina, of course. Regina is dressed in a suit and could walk into any board meeting downtown without looking out of place.

"Lieutenant Locksley may not have a problem with the Homicide Squad looking like a bunch of classless thugs, but I do. And I will not work cases with you if you don't make at least some attempt to look like a professional!"

"Uhh...right. Noted," Emma mumbles. "I'll dig out the blazers tomorrow morning."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now," she says, dropping a thick stack of files on the new detective's desk, "start reading."

"Pardon?"

"Reading. You're familiar with the act, I presume? These are our open cases."

After about two hours getting caught up on open cases, Emma is starting to lose focus. Detective Mills is meticulous about her paperwork, which she supposes is a good thing, but it makes so much more to read. And her new partner has been sitting at the desk across from her, doing even more paperwork. The other woman has incredible concentration - she hasn't looked up the entire time. Emma knows, because she's been watching.

She can't believe she's getting a chance to work with the legendary Regina Mills, who has been one of her idols since she first heard about the White case. Detective Mills's heroics were what inspired her to become a cop in the first place. She still has an clip from one of the newspaper articles taped to her wall at home, and she looks at it whenever she needs a reminder of why she puts in the long hours:

"As police officers, our job is to keep the City of Boston safe, to prevent its people from giving into fear and remind them that good can win. To lead by example, I have to overcome my own fear, and I will be returning to work as soon as possible after my doctors clear me."

She assumes her new partner's behavior is meant to intimidate her, but that won't happen. Sure, she's heard the rumors that Detective Mills is anything but easy to work with, but she can handle it. She understands. Female cops have to be tough-as-nails to earn respect. She has to earn her own before she can expect to be let in.

Her reverie is interrupted by Lieutenant Locksley's voice. "Mills, Swan," he calls from his office door. "Hit and run driver by the BU Bridge. One dead, several injured."

"Lieutenant, Nolan and I are up," one of the other detectives protests.

"It seems like a fairly straightforward case for our rookie to cut her teeth on," Locksley says pleasantly. "Sorry, Jones. You two will get the next one."

"Let's go," Mills orders. "Get your coat; I drive."

Emma raises her eyebrows and follows without a word. Her first homicide investigation - she hopes she doesn't screw it up.

When they arrive at the scene, the perimeter has already been secured, and the paramedics are in the process of treating all the injured parties. It looks like about six cars were involved in the accident, and given the state of the vehicles, it's a miracle there was only one casualty.

Regina immediately approaches the Medical Examiner, who is standing outside the door of a badly crushed white sedan.

"Dr. Whale," she says, nodding her head politely but coldly in greeting. "What have we got?"

"Hello, Regina. White male, mid-forties. He looks to have died on impact, likely from a head injury. Here's his wallet - Massachusetts license, says his name is Mark Smith."

"Thank you," Regina says, quickly donning a set of gloves and taking the wallet from the M.E.'s hands.

"Crime scene techs are checking out the car," Whale informs the detectives. "I'll probably forego the full autopsy unless something suspicious pops up in the investigation."

"Excellent, I'll touch base with C.S.U. now." She's about to turn away when she remembers. "Oh, Detective Swan, this is Dr. Victor Whale, our Chief Medical Examiner."

"Emma Swan, nice to meet you," Swan says with an awkward wave, not wanting to shake hands with someone wearing bloodstained gloves. Probably a good idea not to touch Whale, ever, gloves or not, Regina thinks.

"The pleasure's all mine," Whale says, looking the tall blonde up and down with an impressed raise of his eyebrows.

Regina glares at him; if they could just get through one investigation without Whale engaging in some kind of lecherous behavior, she'd be thrilled. "Let us know if you find anything on the body," she orders the M.E.

The crime scene techs walk them through the accident, which seems like a straightforward collision caused by an idiot running a red light. Finding the hit-and-run driver is the top priority.

"Detective Swan," Regina says abruptly, "there are a bunch of uniforms taking witness statements over there. Go find out if there are any worth following up on."

"Sure, Boss, what am I looking for?"

Regina sighs: apparently, her new partner is an idiot with a penchant for infuriating nicknames. Wonderful. "Information about the vehicle at fault - description, plate numbers. Trust your instincts; it should be fairly obvious."

"Right." Emma jogs off in the direction of the crowd gathered around the edge of the crime scene tape, and Regina starts texting the victim's information to Detective Booth, hoping to find a next-of-kin.

"So far, all we know it was a dark blue pickup truck - people seem to be in disagreement about whether it was two- or four- door. A few witnesses gave partial plates, but..."

"They're all different," Mills guesses. "Of course."

"So, what now?" Emma asks.

"We'll send the information to the boys back at the station, see if they can dig up any vehicle records to give us a lead. Meanwhile, we are going to pay a visit to the victim's wife before interviewing the witnesses at the hospital."

"The victim's wife?" Emma asks nervously. "You mean the dead guy?"

"Yes, his name is Mark Smith. I certainly hope you won't refer to him that way when we're talking to his wife."

"Right, sorry," Emma mutters.

"Have you ever done a notification before, Detective Swan?" Mills asks, gesturing for her to get in the passenger's seat of their unmarked cruiser.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Can't say that I have," she admits. "We didn't encounter many dead people in Computer Crimes."

"Well, you'll learn," the senior detective says in a tone that sounds almost sympathetic. "Let me do the talking and you'll see how it's done. You can just try to say something comforting, like 'I'm sorry for your loss.'"

"That's comforting?" asks Emma, nose wrinkled in distaste.

For just a second, a shadow passes over Detective Mills's bright brown eyes. "No, it's not," she agrees. "Not much is, but we try."

Both women are silent on the drive to the victim's house in Somerville, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Emma is nervous; she's always thought of her job in terms of catching the bad guys, rather than supporting the victims, but she's realizing that this other side of homicide investigation is going to quickly become a big part of her life.

Thankfully, her partner has been at this for a long time, and she knows what she's doing. Emma watches practically in awe as Regina introduces herself and Emma to Mrs. Smith and informs her, in a sensitive and compassionate tone unlike any she's heard from the senior detective so far, of her husband's passing. She offers her condolences and promises that they will do everything they can to find the person responsible.

Emma doesn't get a chance to say anything. She doesn't have to. The victim's wife is hanging on Detective Mills' every word. "You're good at this," she observes, after Mrs. Smith has identified her husband's body and a couple of uniforms are driving her home.

"Years of experience," her partner says tiredly.

"I've just never thought about it," Emma suddenly blurts out. "Telling someone their loved one is dead! I didn't realize, you know?"

"Few people do. It's one of the hardest parts of the job."

"You made it look so easy back there," Emma argues.

Regina lets out a small huff of air. "I used to work in the Sexual Assault Unit way back when, probably when you were still in high school. Compared to that..."

"Anything's easy?"

"I wouldn't necessarily say 'anything,' but, yes. You learn how to speak to people who are under emotional duress."

"Speaking of which, our next stop is Mass General, right?"

"Yes, we have five injured witnesses who are now all in stable condition," Mills reports. "Detective Booth got a call from the hospital while we were out."

They're halfway to the car when the older woman's phone starts buzzing. "Mills," she barks. "Oh, really? Yes, we'll be - Swan, take down this address!" Emma immediately whips her phone out of her pocket and types the address her partner repeats to her.

"What was that all about?" she asks when Regina hangs up the phone.

"Our witnesses at the scene said the hit-and-run driver was in a blue pick-up truck, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"A car matching that description with pretty severe denting on the front was just spotted in a parking lot two blocks from the original accident."

"That's pretty stupid, if it's the same car," Emma remarks. "Are we gonna go check it out?"

"Not just yet, we obviously need a search warrant first."

Emma looks at her feet. "Right, obviously. I knew that."

"I'm calling the ADA, then we'll let Booth take care of impounding the vehicle. He's working a desk today waiting for Humbert to get out of court." She's already scrolling through her contacts. "Hello? Yes, hello, Miss Blanchard. This is Regina Mills. I need a search warrant for a car involved in a hit-and-run earlier today...Yes, I assume it was the one on the news...Get Judge Gold, he'll come through - if he says no, remind him he owes me a favor, anyway." They continue talking for a while longer (rather, Detective Mills continues barking orders) before hanging up.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Detective Swan? Get in the car!"

Regina lets her new partner take care of the witness interviews at the hospital - she has to learn to swim on her own at some point, and it should be sooner rather than later. Detective Swan is a little awkward the first time - it's a teenage boy who's obviously shaken; he'd just gotten his license a month ago - but by Witness #5, she's an old pro. Regina considers paying her a compliment, but she doesn't want to make the rookie too comfortable on her first day. Where's the fun in that?

The witnesses all tell a similar tale: a dark blue pickup ran a red light, caused a huge pile-up in the intersection, and then drove off at a high rate of speed despite smoke billowing from its engine.

A phone call from Detective Booth confirms that the truck in the parking lot is definitely the one that caused the accident. The entire front bumper is smashed, and there's severe frame damage. The driver probably parked it so close to the crime scene because the crash rendered it practically un-drivable.

"It's registered to James Reilly of Dorchester," Regina reports after she gets off the phone. "He's a plumber. Booth and some unis are picking him up at a job as we speak. Are you ready to interrogate your first suspect?"

"That was fast," Swan remarks with considerable surprise.

"Yes, well, this was a very straightforward case for your first day. Nothing too emotionally scarring, I should hope." Or you won't last very long, she adds internally.

"I don't know, some of this driving stuff...my son's going to be a teenager in a few years. The thought of him out on those streets is a little scary, you know? There are some bad drivers out there."

Detective Swan has a son? Regina tries to hide her shock - she wouldn't have pictured the younger woman as a mother. But then, she has no reason to make such assumptions at all; they just met that very morning. "You have children? Be careful - this line of work can make you completely paranoid for their safety," she warns. "Cold-blooded serial killers and all."

"Well, your average person has a much higher chance of being in a car accident than facing off against a cold-blooded serial killer, so I rest my case."

"Point taken," Regina says coolly, trying to quickly rid her mind of the panicked thoughts attempting to infiltrate it. It's her own fault - she's the one who brought up cold-blooded serial killers in the first place. Sometimes she wonders if she isn't actively trying to make herself suffer.

"So..." Emma trails off.

"So, you have children?"

"A son - he's ten. He lives in New York with his father, so I don't see him as much as I might like, but...yes. I have a child."

"Ten?" Regina asks, before she can even stop herself. She's not trying to be judgmental - really, she's not - but Detective Swan seems quite young to be the mother of a ten year old.

"Yes, I had him when I was a teenager," Emma sighs. "I was stupid, blah blah blah, but I certainly don't regret his birth, and he's a great kid. Doesn't really take after me or his father in that regard," she adds with a short laugh.

"I wasn't...I'm sorry," Regina quickly apologizes. "I didn't mean to pry into your personal life."

"Don't worry about it. I never mind talking about Henry. How about you? Any kids?"

"No, I don't," she says softly, keeping her eyes carefully focused on the road. Henry?

"Cool. Do any of the guys? The ones I met...I don't really see them as parental types. But, I mean, I've only known them for a few hours."

"Locksley has a son. He's four," Regina explains, grateful for the change in subject. She always hates these kinds of personal conversations, and she was the idiot who started it in the first place because of her damn curiosity. "You'll meet him; he visits the station sometimes. He's quite adorable. None of the others do, though I suspect Nolan wants to have about twelve, once he finds the right woman."

"He really likes kids, huh?"

"He's practically a child himself." Emma gives a small chuckle at the joke, though she doesn't know the man very well yet, and Regina is able to put her previous thoughts out of her mind, at least for now.

The offending driver almost immediately confesses, which takes most of the fun out of interrogating him. Detective Jones whispers to Emma that Mills is basically foolproof at getting confessions out of a certain subset of male suspects who are easily distracted by her ample breasts or shiny hair. Emma has to agree that her partner is a beautiful woman, but she's almost offended that a "bad guy" would turn over so quickly. Regina makes their job look so easy.

A blood test confirms that his blood alcohol level is well above the limit, which explains most of his idiotic behavior, and his family confirms that he's had a drinking problem for quite some time. ADA Blanchard charges him with DUI and vehicular manslaughter and starts negotiating with his lawyer, a public defender who seems pretty wet behind the ears. Emma would know - she is, too.

"Blanchard's too soft," Mills complains. "Constantly making deals - ridiculous."

"She believes in second chances," Nolan argues. "Giving people the chance to reform their lives!"

"Idiot. A second chance to kill more people, that's what she's giving them!"

"Calm down, Regina," Locksley says lightly. "Well, everyone put in a good day's work today. It's a slow week so far, so let's close up shop. Humbert and Booth, you're on call tonight?"

"That's right, sir," Detective Humbert says quickly. Detective Booth nods beside him.

"Well, here's hoping for a quiet one. Goodnight, all."

"I love slow weeks," says Nolan, walking to the parking garage with Emma, Regina, and his partner, Detective Killian Jones.

"Me, too, mate. Let's get some rum!" Jones says eagerly. "Swan, we'll buy for you, since it's your first day."

"I'm in," Nolan agrees. "Mills?"

"I don't do rum," the senior detective says curtly. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

Jones shrugs. "Suit yourself," he laughs.

Emma follows Nolan and Jones - who insist on being called David and Killian after hours - to a drab, dirty bar called The Lion Flower. It's about what she would expect for a cop bar: greasy burgers and fries, cheap beer, some harder spirits for the grouchy, jaded old men (and Killian, apparently).

They're good guys; she has fun joking around with them after a day of trying and failing to impress her lifelong idol. Her first day in homicide was far from awful, sure, and she's glad they closed their joke of a case, but there's no escaping the fact that she spent much of it feeling incompetent.

She turns in early, making fumbling excuses to her two new coworkers, who are arguing over the professionalism of David pursuing his latest crush, who happens to be their ADA.

When she finally gets home, she quickly changes into flannel boxers and curls up under her blanket, but she can't sleep. Something's missing; it's been missing since Neal took Henry to New York. The apartment is too cold and too quiet, and she tosses and turns until she finally admits defeat and pads into Henry's old room. His teddy bear is still there - he claims he's too old for it now, so it stayed in Boston. She clutches it tightly to her chest, eventually falling asleep on her son's bed, wishing it was next weekend already and he was here with her.

When Regina returns to her apartment, she seals all five of the locks on the door and turns on every light. Then she goes to each room and checks the window locks and makes sure the shower curtain is still open. Finally, she pours herself a generous tumbler of whiskey before returning to the living room, placing her service revolver on the coffee table as she settles onto the couch, still in her work clothes because she can't stand the thought of opening her closet.

She winces as the whiskey burns her throat, but if she swallows enough of it, she can maybe get some sleep tonight without dreaming of a psychotic man with a knife, her fiancé's lifeless eyes, and a baby who will never draw breath.

She turns the TV on to the Weather Channel, as she has every night for the last ten years in the hope that enough background noise will help her forget she's alone.

Alone and still scared after all this time and so very lonely.

She gulps down the rest of the whiskey and squeezes her eyes shut. Sleep will eventually come, if she pretends long enough. She hears the weatherman talking about a cold front moving in from the North Atlantic, and the next thing she knows, it's morning again.