Author's Note: I'm halfway through the next chapter of Give Me No More..., so hopefully that will be up soon. But in the meantime... Who wants to go to summer camp?


The trees outside the car window are lush and green, the June sun filtering through in long fingers of light that shine even through the tinted windows of the towncar.

It's not far now. Half a mile, one left turn, and she'll be back.

It's been less than a year, but it feels like a lifetime, and for a moment Regina regrets deciding to return after everything she's been through. The drive through town a few miles back had assaulted her with memories - late night pizza runs, and secret dates at the single-screen movie theater. Standing on the corner of Mifflin and Main, sipping Big Gulp Cokes from the 7-11, and talking about her course selections for the fall. Whether she'd take Political Science (her mother's demand) or Eastern Philosophy (she'd been curious, wanted to see the world through the eyes of other people). Daniel had told her to take philosophy; she'd registered for Poli Sci. Defying her mother, as lovely as it sounded from this little Maine hamlet, was never really an option for Regina Mills.

And that's why she's here, she thinks with a heavy sigh, looking away from the window to the woman riding next to her.

Her mother.

Her mother who sits straight-backed with a pinched expression, who echoes her sigh, except Cora's is tinged with disappointment.

"Are you sure this is how you want to spend your summer, Regina?" she asks, for the thousandth time.

"Yes, mother," Regina tells her, again, tired of the script and trying not to let her annoyance color her voice. She fails.

"You don't think it's a bit... beneath you?"

Don't sigh. Do not sigh. If you sigh, she will criticize.

"I enjoy it," Regina says carefully, then adds, "And it looks good on an application - it's character building, shows I have a sense of responsibility. It helped me get into Yale."

Appealing to her mother's ambition usually works, but today all it gets her is a stern reminder that, "I helped you get into Yale, dear. Lord knows your GPA was abysmal."

3.89, Regina thinks bitterly. It was a 3.89. It was nearly perfect. Nearly. Would have been pristine, if she hadn't struggled under the weight of make-up homework for four AP classes during a severe bout of mono that had kept her out of school for nearly a month in her junior year.

Anger burns under her skin, hot and heady, making her fingers shake. She grips them together tightly and looks back out her window, exhaling slowly as the car slows and turns, passing under the arched sign with kitschy wooden letters spelling out CAMP STORYBROOKE.

She imagines all the bad feelings washing away as she passes through, like a cleansing waterfall, cool and sweet, and she tries very hard not to listen to her mother - she's only stuck in this car for moments more.

"An internship would have looked even better," Cora says, and Regina purses her lips and breathes carefully, in and out, thinks of the imaginary waterfall.

Let it all roll off... you're almost free...

"Regina," her mother says, displeased with being ignored.

"I heard you," Regina tells her evenly. "And anyway, I missed the application deadline."

"Yes," Cora says coldly - the rout they'd had over that particular "oversight" on Regina's part had been fierce and loud. Had left Regina with a red, stinging palm print on her cheek that she'd had to bundle her scarf high to hide when she stomped out of their chalet to take her seething anger out on the slopes. "I remember that, dear."

The car stops, blessedly, and Regina cannot climb out fast enough.

It's a warm day, made even warmer by the artic temperature Cora had insisted the towncar be kept at. Regina's ankle-length white slacks and the short-sleeved cashmere sweater that clings to her (tastefully, of course. One mustn't look slutty) don't help any either. It's a ridiculous outfit to arrive at camp in, and there'd been a terse disagreement about it this morning when Regina had arrived for breakfast in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Regardless of their destination, they weren't mongrels, her mother had told her. She wasn't on the clock yet, and so she would comport herself with class and style. One of her slick pumps (the same teal blue as her sweater) wobbles slightly on the gravel of the parking lot as she steps out of the car, and Regina blushes uncomfortably and hopes there is nobody here to witness her looking like a fool. Like a rich, snotty fool.

She scans the edge of the lot and sees only a few people - the unmistakably lithe lankiness (and criminally short shorts) of Ruby Lucas, facing away from her at the snack hut, she thinks she sees the messy blonde waves of Emma Swan with her, and that might be David and Mary Margaret canoodling in the distance, but she can't make them out clearly enough to be certain. Daniel would be here, she thinks with a sharp pang of loss. He'd have come in yesterday, would have stood waiting for her all morning if he had to, so that he could've whisked her away from her mother with a polite (albeit unappreciated by Cora) smile, and strong arms to schlep her bags, and she'd have been relieved and giddy, and she cannot think about this for one second more, so she continues her sweep of the area.

There's a guy she doesn't recognize perched on the fence in front of a beat-up old sedan - short, dirty blonde hair, a chin covered in stubble, in jeans and a Beatles t-shirt and Ray Bans. He's watching her, she notices almost immediately, and so she looks away quickly, retreats to the rear of the car before her mother even has a chance to emerge from her side.

Joe, their chauffeur, had popped the trunk before getting her mother's door, so she lifts it and reaches for her duffle bag - pauses a moment and toes out of her shoes, the gravel digging into the soles of her feet but she doesn't care. She reaches down and grabs the shoes (wants to leave them right there and walk away from them, but they're Louboutins, and her mother would kill her), then heaves the duffle onto her shoulder with a grunt. It's nearly as heavy as she is.

"Regina, dear, put that down," her mother hisses as she comes into view. "Joseph will carry the luggage to your cabin."

Regina shakes her head, "I've got it, mother," she insists, adjusting it slightly, then reaching in for her smaller bag and lifting that, too.

"Miss Mills, why don't you let me-" Joe tries, but Regina is adamant. He's only offering because her mother is there; Joe lets her fend for herself most of the time when he chauffeurs Regina alone, and for that she's grateful.

"Really, it's fine. It's not that far to the cabin," It is, but she doesn't care. She will not have her belongings carried by the help like some incapable princess. Not if there's any risk of running into anyone she knows - or worse, doesn't know. "And you have a long drive back to the airport."

"If you're certain," he says, and Cora huffs her name behind him, but Joe has her back - he always has her back. He smiles and holds out her handbag - she'd left it behind on the floor of the car in her haste to flee. Shit.

Regina tries very hard to look like it's not a strain when she opens her palm to take it from him, but that's when Cora puts her foot down.

"No," she says firmly. "I don't care if she is certain, you will carry her belongings to the cabin, or this will be the last time we require your services, Joseph."

Regina freezes, and so does Joe.

That bitch, she thinks, and then she berates herself mentally for speaking ill of her mother - and squeezes her eyes shut with a reminder that sometimes her mother deserves it and this is one of those times.

She opens her eyes again with a resigned sigh and tilts the duffel bag toward Joe, who hefts it with an apologetic face angled just right to be hidden from Cora's view. She gives him a tight smile, and shifts her smaller bag to her newly freed shoulder, then adjusts her grip on her handbag.

"He can take them both," Cora says stiffly, but Regina will not - will not - traipse through this camp with nothing but her purse while this perfectly kind man hauls her things like a pack mule. Thankfully, her mother has found something else to criticize before Regina even has a chance to respond: "Put your shoes back on."

"Mother," she says tightly, "I'll break an ankle on this gravel in these pumps."

"Nonsense," Cora says, "It's only a few feet to the footpath."

"Goodbye, mother," Regina attempts, but her mother's face goes hard - harder than the stony mask she'd already worn, and she says, Regina, shoes, with such firmness that Regina drops the pumps and toes back into them, her face burning, bits of gravel grinding against the ball of her foot where they'd stuck to her skin.

She cannot get away from this woman fast enough.

Once she's obeyed, Cora's face melts into a sweet, saccharine smile and she steps forward, wraps her arms around Regina in a brief hug. Regina finds herself hugging her mother back automatically, despite her anger. Despite everything, she knows she'd feel guilty if she stalked off without a proper goodbye. "Be good, dear," Cora tells her, and Regina nods, steps back.

"Goodbye, mother," she says, forcing a smile. "I'll see you in August."

She turns without another word and heads for the path, studiously avoiding Beatles-shirt-and-Ray-Bans as she steps onto the path not ten feet away from him, Joe following behind her. She already knows her cabin assignment - Monarch, one of the middle school cabins - it's halfway up the hill and she teeters on her heels until she is out of view of the parking lot and then kicks them off angrily, wants to kick them all the way up the hill, but bends to scoop them up and shoves them into her purse. Joe, bless him, says nothing, just pauses with her when she stops and then follows again when she continues.

By the time they get to the cabin, he is panting and sweating lightly, and she points him to the bed that will be hers (bottom bunk, closest to the door). He lets the duffle fall next to it with a heavy thud.

"I hate to say this, Miss Mills," he tells her with a grimace, "But your mother may have been right about that bag. Did you pack cinderblocks?"

Regina chuckles and drops her own bags onto the mattress, then shakes her head. "I'd have managed on my own. But, thank you. Sorry if she's pissed on the drive back."

"I can survive Cora's temper," he assures her before offering his hand. Regina takes it, shakes, and he says, "Have a good summer - enjoy your freedom," before dropping her fingers.

"I will," she assures, then thinks Daniel, and adds, "I'll try." She rocks slightly on her heels, then gestures for the door. "You'd better go - mother doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Don't I know it," he smirks, and then he leaves, and Regina is finally, finally alone.

She slumps down onto her mattress, and the springs squeak noisily. Ordinarily it would annoy her, but as she stares up at the bottom of the top bunk, she can't help but grin.

She's free - for the next nine weeks anyway, she's free.

No tea times, no society functions, no four inch spike pumps that cost more than some people pay for a month's rent. Just kids, and cafeteria food, and the stables, and the craft house, and the lake, and fresh air.

She lays there for five whole minutes, breathing deeply, and then she sits up and reaches for her duffle.

Time to settle in.