A/N: Many thanks to my lovely betas winged_mammal, preciselyregal and crashed17 for all the help and support. Also to darkersky for being awesome.
This story will be told in three episodes, so bear with me. It might take some time, but we'll get there.
your heart is the only place that I call home
Episode 1: there is nothing in the world that we can count on
Chapter 1.
tomorrow you can totally erase me from your mind
September 22nd, 2008
Emma Swan is used to being mistaken for poor. She doesn't really mind; she considers it the remnants of her origins. It helps that she has never cared for the heels and power suits typical of those with deeper pockets. She much prefers jeans and boots and tank tops. Sometimes, if people look carefully, they'll realize that some of her jeans are top quality and a few of her leather jackets are designer brand, but Emma doesn't care much about where her clothes come from. She hates shopping and everything she owns is derived from personal taste and a spur of the moment decision rather than a need to show off. It just so happens that every now and then her taste gets a wee-bit expensive and she can afford to treat herself.
Usually, she'll just smile and revel in the fact that people can't be more wrong about her. But after a long flight, all Emma wants is a good shower and to lie down for a while.
"You must be new," Emma says, not making any effort to avoid the playful smirk that comes to her lips as she takes in the pleasant-looking girl staring at her like she is mad just for requesting a room.
"Excuse me?"
"Here." She pulls out a gold card from her wallet, the stylized R forming an insignia with her name signed neatly underneath, and puts her passport right next to it. Her previous experiences have taught her that people's first instinct is to assume she's stolen the card. Watching the girl's eyes almost bulge out of her face would've been amusing if she hadn't been so fucking tired.
"I am so sorry, Miss Cohen, I didn't know." The girl fumbles with the pen in her hand, scribbling something on a post-it note before she starts clicking away at the computer. "We have the Regal Suite available. Would that be good enough for you?"
"It's Swan now," she manages to say, offering a tiny smile. "Or will be, once I'm done with the paperwork. And yes, the Regal is more than enough, thank you…" Emma glances at the nametag in a quick movement, "Kate."
"Of course," the girl says, typing furiously. "How long are you planning to stay?"
"I don't know yet." Emma shrugs, impressed with how fast Kate's fingers are passing her data to the hotel's form. She'd never been to Royals Boston before. "Probably just a couple of nights. I'll let you know."
"Should I order room service for you?" Kate asks, with a million-dollar smile. If only people were always like that, instead of just after her family name had been brought to the forefront.
"Not right now, thanks." She picks up her card and her passport from the counter. "I'll call reception if I need something."
"Anything you need, Miss Co –– Swan. Shall I call someone to carry your bag?"
"Nah, no need," Emma replies after a short look at her sports bag. "I'll see you around."
She turns and drags her feet to the elevator, checking the card the receptionist has given her before telling the elevator attendant to push the button for the top floor.
The Regal Suite is everything one might expect from a room of that name. Emma can't say she is surprised since she's been to many Royals hotels before, but she is appreciative of the fact that they have actually tried to make the place look majestic, with its dark wood furniture and the tapestries on the walls. She laughs when she sees the extravagant canopy bed in the bedroom and catches herself wondering about the practicality of it should she bring someone upstairs.
She places her bag by the bedside table and pulls her cell phone out of her pocket, finally remembering to turn it on. She scrolls down her contact list, absentmindedly humming a pop song she'd heard on the radio in the taxi, and presses the call button when she finds the name she is looking for.
"Emma Swan!" the person on the other side exclaims, after two rings. "Long time no see!"
"Hey, Janey!" Emma replies, her smile passing on to the tone of her voice. "What's up? I'm back in the States!"
"I gathered, but the important question is: are you in Boston?"
"Where else would I be?"
"Home, maybe." There's a chuckle on the other side of the line, but the use of the word home makes Emma quiver. "You do have a U.S. address, contrary to popular belief."
"Yeah, well, right now home is where you are. I promised I'd be here for you."
"And I'm glad you delivered. Now where are you, exactly?"
"Royals."
"Figures." There is a snort and then a moment of silence. "So we meet tomorrow for breakfast?"
Emma's lips quirk up against her will. Jane knows her too well for comfort, but she can't imagine it being any other way, not when Jane is such an annoyingly perceptive example of a human being.
"Tomorrow, yes, and I'm fine with whatever. Give me a time and a place."
"There's this nice place downtown I'd like to try," Jane says, somewhere between hopeful and tentative. "Eight?"
"Early bird."
"Oh shut it, like you ever sleep!"
Emma laughs, a genuine, joyful sound that she isn't expecting. She has missed Jane, apparently. "Text me the address. I'll be there."
"Okay. Later, Swan!"
The blonde stands for a moment, a vacant look in her eyes and the phone mute on her ear, before realizing what she's doing and dropping it on the bed. She strips down to her underwear and digs inside her bag, looking for her rope. The plan is simple for now: exercise, shower and nap.
~~.~~.~~
When Emma enters the hotel bar, it is already ten in the evening. She had dozed off for a bit longer than she'd meant but that is to be expected when one hasn't slept for more than a day. With lots of cursing and accidental trips in the over-furnished room, she had put on her best pair of jeans and the only tank top that wasn't dirty after her troubles in Paris. She'd looked at her red leather jacket, her favorite, but decided against it as it is still too warm for such things.
She really needs to buy more clothes.
The bar is packed, which surprises her as it is only Thursday. Does Boston have a high season in September? She idly examines the place, but can't be bothered to pay much attention to the people there. Still too sober for that kind of analysis, she only needs a table for the time being. Preferably one that gives her a good viewpoint.
She ends up sitting at a table by the corner, feeling like a creep. A young woman by herself in a bar, looking at everyone like they are potential targets? It wouldn't take a genius to understand what she is up to. She orders a cheeseburger and a beer, because it won't do to have all the alcohol she intends to ingest that night on an empty stomach, and takes great enjoyment in how large and tasty the damn burger is. Screw French cuisine, she likes it big and greasy like they have in America.
A guy comes and asks if he can sit on the free chair in front of her. Emma takes a swift look at him and nods. Not exactly what she has in mind, but she is always up for conversation. She likes seeing what sort of bullshit people come up with.
Unfortunately for her, the guy turns out to be pretty nice and she is stuck talking about travelling and cultural differences for almost an hour. That's what you get when British and American travelers sit together doing small talk. She sighs in relief when, two beers and a gin and tonic later, he gets up and says his goodbyes with a big grin on his face, like he has genuinely enjoyed the chat and that's all he'd wanted from her. Which, Emma supposes, could be the case. Some people don't want much more than to pass time and enjoy other people's company. She has a hard time envisioning how it is possible for someone to endure being in the presence of other humans without wanting anything in return. Isn't that how society works?
She leans back in her chair and whispers a thank you to the waiter who brings her another gin and tonic. Her brain is already on its way to being wrapped around the fuzzy feelings of liquid courage and so she holds on to her glass like it is a lifeline, the cold on her palms bringing goosebumps to her arms. She doesn't have a very clear idea of what she wants out of her night, or rather, who she wants. She just knows she needs something because Paris had been a mess and she is to stay in Boston for a while and staying always left her with a residual feeling of restlessness that won't go away no matter how hard she tries.
It is when she scans the bar counter and sees her that Emma realizes she won't be able to focus on anybody else for the remainder of the night. She sniffs the air as if it is somehow possible to smell the woman from so far away and narrows her eyes, taking in the view before her. A pantsuit, black, obviously expensive – with killer heels to boot. The hair is dark and not too long, stopping at shoulder length. But it is the plump, blood red lips that catch her attention. Those lips are sin and Emma can't wait to indulge in temptation.
She takes a few minutes to observe the brunette who seems to be alone and also doesn't appear to be interested in engaging in conversation. Maybe it is the way she scowls every time a man tries to lock eyes with her that gives that impression. Or maybe she is just a bitch. Emma does have a peculiar knack for feeling attracted to the wrong type. There are no nice girls or sweet guys, it is always that: evil ice queens or useless scumbags. Deciding now is not the time to start worrying about such frivolities, she finishes her drink in one sloppy gulp and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She stands up and makes sure all of her clothes are in the right place. She isn't wearing a suit, but she knows she can pull off a pair of skinny jeans like no other. With any luck, the brunette will agree.
Emma sort of slides over, rather than sits on, the bar stool closer to the very appealing brunette. For an awkward moment, she isn't sure if she'll fall down or manage to sit up straight, so she grips the counter until her knuckles turn white and her heart stops beating so wildly. She winces and then almost grins to herself when she finds her balance. Great. There goes the opportunity to look like a smooth motherfucker. She'll have to think of something else.
But the truth is, Emma doesn't really feel like thinking. She feels like enjoying herself and having fun. For once, she wishes things didn't have to be so complicated and why does everything always take so much effort anyway? She just looks at the gorgeous woman beside her and when their eyes meet, a frown on the brunette's face, Emma smiles an earnest, gleaming smile that reaches her eyes.
"Hard day?"
The woman arches an eyebrow, like she can't fathom why anyone would dare speak to her, and doesn't even try to be discreet as she looks at Emma from head to toe, in a slow and deliberate movement of appraisal. Emma should feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but she can't find the strength to care and keeps the bright smile on her face until the woman relents, her features softening.
"Yes," she breathes, dismissively turning her attention to the wall of fancy bottles and crystal glasses opposite the counter.
"Yeah, tell me about it." Emma crosses her arms atop the bar surface. "Remind me never to fly seven hours next to a crying baby ever again."
The brunette looks puzzled for half a second, but quickly schools her features back into uninterested nonchalance. "I prefer driving."
"Well, you can't exactly drive from Paris to Boston, can you?" Emma jokes with a chuckle, allowing her curls to fall to the front of her body. "Name's Emma. Emma Swan." She extends her hand in a moment of bravery, not really expecting to see the gesture returned.
"Regina," the woman concedes, after a pregnant pause. She meets Emma's hand with her own and the contrast feels wonderful and welcome to the blonde. Regina is warm where Emma is still cold, and Regina is soft, so soft that Emma forgets herself and holds on for a moment longer than socially acceptable.
"Sorry," she says, somewhat clumsily, wanting to hide her hands in her pockets but finding she can't, not in her position.
Regina just smirks, her brown eyes shining with a mirth that tells Emma she knows exactly the effect she has on people and how much she enjoys it. "Paris, huh?" She sips her drink and does it in such an elegant manner that Emma has to suppress a sudden urge to gasp. "And what did Paris want with you, Miss Swan?"
It is in that instant that Emma realizes she is way out of her league. Regina has at least a decade on her and appears poised enough to be perfectly aware of who she is and what she wants out of life. Hell, she probably already has everything she wants. Emma is none of those things. Those things scare her shitless.
"I don't think Paris wanted anything to do with me," she groans, averting her eyes for the first time since they've started the conversation. "It was just one of those weeks, you know?"
"I don't think I do. Please enlighten me, dear."
Oh, the damn woman is making a fool out of her. Emma isn't sure if she's tipsy enough to not be embarrassed, but to hell with it, she might as well go all in if she's already gotten herself into the situation.
"I always wanted to go to Paris." Regina lifts a quizzical eyebrow, an almost curious expression on her face, and Emma thinks it's all the motivation she needs. "I was traveling around Europe during the summer and saved Paris for last, because… It just looks so nice in the movies, you know?" She shrugs with a self-deprecating smile. Regina lets out a sound that could be interpreted as a laugh and Emma's heart jumps a beat, an anticipation of sorts leading her to continue. "With all the lights and the not-so-white buildings all perfectly lined up in squares and rectangles. When you're in Paris, it feels like you're perpetually listening to Edith Piaf and maybe it's just a gigantic mental trick, but it smells like roses so often you'd think they have planes dropping a fragrance every two hours."
"You seem quite taken with the city."
"Don't get me wrong, Paris is gorgeous, but high expectations never helped anybody."
"That's one thing we can agree on, Miss Swan." Regina raises her glass a little, as though she were making a toast, and Emma wonders why she hasn't ordered another drink yet.
There's a minute of silence that feels like an eternity to Emma. She's past tipsy at this point and time always passes a bit awkwardly when she's drunk. A million thoughts cross her mind and none of them seem adequate to help her move along with the conversation, but in the end she doesn't have to.
"So what happened in Paris?
It's a window of opportunity if Emma's ever seen one and she takes it for the blessed opening it is. Emma tells Regina about Paris because there's nothing left to lose. She tells her about the creepy guy hosting her and feels grateful when Regina doesn't ask why someone who obviously can afford a five-star hotel is crashing at strangers' houses. She tells her how something wasn't feeling right and so she just packed and got out of there (but she doesn't tell her how natural fleeing comes for her). She tells her how in her haste she left her passport behind, hidden in a hoodie under the bed because she carries her passport everywhere, and got herself into a tricky mess (but she doesn't tell her how it was her breaking and entering expertise that got her out of the situation).
Regina listens and smiles in all the appropriate moments and even laughs once, a rich sound that somehow manages to vibrate inside Emma's chest like it belongs there. Emma beams and orders them another drink. Sometimes beginnings are difficult, but after the initial awkwardness the conversation flows so effortlessly that it's one in the morning before they notice it and it's the bartender who has to tell them the bar is closing.
Emma feels a pang in her heart because it's too soon to say goodbye, she's not ready to let this go yet. She finds bravery in the alcohol pulsating in her veins and grabs Regina's wrist once they reach the lobby, forcing the other woman to face her. Regina allows herself to be spun around and she doesn't seem entirely displeased at the contact even if she is surprised, but Emma doesn't care, can't care, she just closes her eyes and takes a leap of faith.
A leap that is more like a kiss really, and Emma wants to melt at how Regina's temperature is just right, at how her lips seem to mold into hers even though Regina is not exactly responding. She's just there, which makes Emma pull away with a shy smile and a red tint on her cheeks.
"Look. I'm free, you're free, the night is young…" She trails off, but there's no mistaking her hopeful tone. She's sure she's capable of more eloquence but the ability for words has abandoned her there, standing at the mercy of brown eyes boring into her own. It kills her, this game of chasing after people, this competition against herself for everyone else's attention.
Regina might just be her personal miracle though because she removes her hand from Emma's grasp but the corners of her lips turn up and her smile reaches her eyes.
"My room."
Emma's knees buckle and she's impressed when she makes it to the elevator without tripping over herself. The elevator ride is filled with seconds of tension that make her pulse race and her pussy moisten.
She's not even sure anymore if this is the alcohol making her horny or if it is all Regina but it doesn't even matter. As soon as Regina closes the door to her room on the second floor, Emma shoves her against the nearest wall and kisses her like she'd wanted to kiss her since she laid eyes on her – with lips and tongue and teeth.
That Regina is kissing her back so fervently is nothing short of astounding and Emma can't be bothered to hide the moan forming in the depths of her throat. With a quick motion, Emma throws her tank top to the floor and for a half-second she feels ecstatic for her choice of underwear, despite the deep pink-almost-purple lace of her bra not being an exact match to the black of her boyshorts.
She pushes Regina harder against the wall and pulls one of her legs to her waist. There are too many clothes and Emma needs to feel more of Regina or she'll go crazy.
She would never say it out loud, but Emma is absolutely in love with the way Regina's hands haven't left her head. They've grabbed her face, like she wanted to make the kisses impossibly deeper. They've grabbed her neck, sending shivers down Emma's spine, and now they're holding firmly to Emma's hair in an odd mix of violence and tenderness that leaves Emma unsure if she should groan or whimper.
Regina stops the kissing to deftly get rid of Emma's belt and the blonde can't really tell if it was out of desire to see her naked or if the buckle was hurting her where Emma's body was pressed against hers.
Emma is a lot less disciplined, or a lot more impatient, and soon her hands are traveling all over Regina's body. She lets go of the leg to open the buttons of the brunette's shirt and for a moment she thinks she might cry because Regina's breasts in that rather devious bra are one of the most glorious visions she's ever had the privilege of seeing. She figures she should take her time but the loudest part of her just tells her to fuck it and she quickly gets rids of the bra to cup both breasts, hard, marveling at the weight in her hands.
There's an urgency to what they're doing and Emma is not surprised when Regina almost magically gets rid of her own pants and starts pushing her towards the bed, their lips still clashing together like they had no other purpose in life. It makes Emma grin into the kiss and when the back of her knees hit the bed, something in her snaps and she disentangles herself from Regina, leaving a considerable space between their bodies.
"No, no. Wait," she pleads. Regina stares at her, wild-eyed and messy-haired, the apparent rejection putting a scowl on her face. "Let me look at you."
There's genuine surprise in Regina's eyes, like nobody ever wanted or cared to look at her before (and how is that even possible?). Emma is quite certain her own eyes are glowing with something like reverence because this woman… This is the most gorgeous woman Emma has ever bedded.
"God, you're fucking beautiful."
"Crass," Regina replies, but she's smiling and her hand is already on its way to Emma's neck. They both fall on the bed, a mess of limbs and wet kisses.
Emma parts Regina's legs and settles between them. She's still wearing her jeans which makes her growl with annoyance at having to jump out of bed, but Regina doesn't seem to mind. She sits up and expertly unbuttons Emma's pants, pulling them down in a deliberate, teasing motion. Emma is sure she won't survive tonight when those lips find a resting place against her stomach and, a few seconds later, she feels teeth pulling at her underwear. She closes her eyes, enjoying the sensation, and it's Regina's subtle hesitancy that causes her to wonder about Regina's experience with women. If this is Regina's first time… Well, people always told her that first impressions are important.
Sliding her boyshorts the rest of the way down in a movement she hopes is somehow both sexy and reassuring, Emma gives the brunette a look that is meant to tell her she's about to be so thoroughly fucked she'll have difficulties walking straight. Regina only smirks and falls back down on the bed, her body held up by her elbows in an inviting stance.
Emma takes a moment to thank whoever had brought this goddess upon Earth before removing her own bra and following her lead, hovering above Regina with a playful glint in her eyes. She wants to ask her about the scar on her lip and the birthmark on her shoulder but maybe now is not the time as Regina switches their positions, making Emma fall on her back with an embarrassing yelp. Regina shows her a victorious smile before covering her mouth with her lips again. Being kissed in such a way makes it seem like kissing would be enough but soon Regina presses her thigh against Emma's core and all conscious thought abandons her.
When she slides her fingers inside Regina's panties, she finds her hot, oh so hot, and wet, and it takes all of her self-restraint not to ravage her into oblivion. Another Emma, at another time, would have, but now she wants to take it slow, savor every bit of Regina and give her a night she won't forget.
With her middle finger, she circles Regina's clit and Regina tears her mouth away from Emma's to bite her shoulder in a silent plea for more. Emma doesn't comply. Instead, she gently penetrates her with two fingers and then removes her hand completely.
Regina's head snaps up, a clear demand in her eyes. Emma smirks before licking her fingers dry, her eyes never leaving Regina's. She resists the urge to laugh at the way Regina looks like she can't believe what she's witnessing and Emma seizes the opportunity to regain the upper hand. Being on top always was more of her thing.
Emma kisses Regina all the way down to her breasts, at which point she takes a nipple in her mouth while skillfully pinching the other hard enough for it to be unclear whether Regina's cries are derived from pain or from pleasure. Emma's other hand returns to where Regina wants it the most and their combined breathing becomes heavier, louder. Emma grows more and more aroused with Regina's nails firmly holding on to her ass, pulling her closer, and she thinks she might come undone with the way the brunette is biting and breathing into her ear.
She slithers two fingers inside Regina's waiting entrance and uses her thumb to keep stimulating the clitoris, her rhythm and pressure changing in an effort to understand what makes Regina squirm. A few minutes of exploration and it's clear Regina prefers her thumb to draw lines instead of circles, but in the end it's Emma's fingers pressing the sensitive spot inside at the same time that her thumb presses her clit just a little more vehemently that sends her toppling over the edge.
It's a beautiful sight, one that makes Emma feel pure joy and fills her chest with pride. Regina's body arches, her cunt craving for Emma's touch, and she grabs the sheets so hard the blonde is afraid she might rip them. Some seconds tick by, Regina's lips parted and soundless, until she finally comes with a moan, her torso landing on the bed with a soft thud. She's panting, her arms are limp and Emma can't help the smugness of having elicited such a reaction.
Emma moves to Regina's side and decides that she's done with Regina's panties. She briefly contemplates ripping them apart but opts instead to simply slide them off, smirking a little at Regina's feeble effort to help. Kissing her jaw, sucking her earlobe, Emma keeps on slowly sliding her fingers in and out of Regina's pussy until she feels her body responding to her ministrations again.
Regina whimpers, still spent, and Emma is vaguely aware that that sound is probably one she doesn't produce often. The thought vanishes when Regina's lips capture hers and this time they don't stop kissing until Regina comes again, biting hard on Emma's bottom lip, her wetness all over Emma's hand.
Emma tastes the blood in her mouth and pulls away from the kiss. Regina's eyes are still closed and there's a hint of a smile on her lips. When her eyelids flutter open, brown meets green and Emma shudders at the intensity she perceives there.
"Miss Swan…" Regina drawls, sitting up. "I believe you've had enough fun for one night."
"I beg to differ, my lady," Emma counters, straddling Regina's lap with all the energy of someone whose body hasn't been assaulted by two orgasms in a row.
Regina surprises her by enveloping her right nipple with her mouth, alternating between sucking and nibbling.
"Fuck, Regina…"
Emma likes watching. She really does and looking down at those perfect, supple lips busy with her breasts, at the locks of dark hair covering half of Regina's face, at long lashes caressing her skin… It's so much more than Emma had hoped for her night. She gasps, feeling Regina's palm covering her center, and rolls her hips to push for more contact.
"Harder," Emma growls, one of her hands lost in the brunette's hair, the other scratching random patterns on her back. She huffs, a finger sliding inside her, but it's not enough. "More."
Regina bites her nipple, clearly unimpressed with the instructions and adds two fingers, knuckle-deep. Emma thanks her by pulling her hair and kissing her ravenously, riding Regina's hand at a furious speed.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She knows her body and knows the effect alcohol has on her ability to orgasm. She wishes she could just push Regina back to the sheets and sit on her face but Emma is nothing if not considerate and so she does the next best thing.
"I need to taste you," she half-begs, half-demands in between shallow breaths.
"What?" Regina sounds shocked, or maybe she's just mad because her fingers curl briskly inside Emma and her palm presses the blonde's clit so as to actually hurt.
"I need to taste you," Emma whispers pleadingly, her hips still thrusting into Regina's hand. "Please let me taste you."
Regina doesn't reply, doesn't stop and Emma is so close to her climax it is physically painful not to get there. She removes Regina's hand gently and entwines their fingers together, the slickness she feels there making her core clench with urgent need.
"Lie down."
"And if I don't want to?" There's no real resistance in her voice. She's already falling, her hair spread on the pillow.
"All you have to do is say no."
Emma lies on her stomach, grips Regina's thighs and dives nose first in her wet pussy. The taste makes her moan instinctively. Regina tastes good; not too salty, a touch of sour, not too sweet. Regina tastes so fucking great it could easily become her favorite meal. And it's not only that Regina tastes good, Regina is obviously annoyed by not making Emma come – Regina is pissed, in fact, and clutches Emma's hair with brute force, pushing her cunt against her face. Emma appreciates the roughness, the way hips rock steadily into her waiting lips. She enjoys it so much that all it takes is thirty seconds of her own hand circling her clit for Emma to crash like a wave, her tongue never stopping the strong strokes in and out of Regina's entrance.
"Are you happy now?" Regina groans, breathless once more, lifting Emma by the hair to stare right into her eyes.
"Very." With a last caress on her over-sensitive clit, Emma brings her hand to Regina's core, two fingers sliding in so they can press her G-spot. "Now let's see how happy I can make you."
~~.~~.~~
Emma loses track of time. She sucks on Regina's clit way longer than either of them would have expected, but she doesn't seem capable of stopping, not when Regina comes like this; hands seizing sheets, hair, breasts; and not when her sex only has moments to rest before Emma strikes again, softly before her orgasm starts building up and then confidently once Regina is about to reach yet another climax.
They both lose track of time and lose count and lose themselves in each other until Regina can't possibly handle it anymore. Emma climbs up, leaving a trail of warm kisses all over Regina's torso, and finally settles on top of her, forehead resting on the spot where neck meets shoulder.
Regina squeezes Emma's chin between her thumb and her forefinger and forces her to look up. Emma does and for an instant she's genuinely terrified of the emotion she sees in Regina's eyes. The brunette seems to sense this and just leans in to place a gentle peck on her lips, so tenderly Emma thinks she might melt.
"Thank you."
The brunette smiles the tiniest smile and shuts her eyes, still on her blissful high, her left hand forgotten on Emma's hip.
~~.~~.~~
She's sound asleep in minutes and Emma swallows the pang of regret coursing through her by tucking the duvet around Regina's body before she leaves.
Emma enters the café in a haze, face flush from speeding all the way there, and looks around wildly. Jane hates it when she's late. She finally spots her at a table by the window and makes a run for it, embarrassing herself in the process by knocking an old lady's bag to the floor.
"Janey, I'm so sorry!"
"Why, namaste, didi." The girl grins, all cheeks and dimples, a twinkle in her eye. "I think I can survive for five minutes more when I haven't seen you in six months."
Emma sits heavily on the empty chair and glares at her sister.
"You know I don't understand it when you start speaking foreign like that," she whines, taking hold of the steaming mug in front of her. "You ordered for me?"
"It's Hindi, not foreign. A little respect for my origins, please." Jane winks. "Hot chocolate, whipped cream and cinnamon for you, big sis. Some things never change."
"God, I missed you!" Emma confesses, a wide smile brightening her face. It's odd, how she just sat there like she'd seen Jane yesterday, not even sparing her a hug. "Tell me everything."
"Already bought the apartment. Two bedrooms, kitchen and living room kinda mixed together, very cozy. You're gonna love it."
"Perfect!" She then stops for a moment, the frown on her face hidden behind golden curls. "Did Jack come to Boston with you?"
"No, Josh did. He helped me pick the apartment but I took care of the rest myself." Jane takes a long sip of her drink, eying her sister carefully. "He's still in town, actually. Jack asked him to watch over the annual quality assessment for Royals Boston."
"Family empire is not only about benefits." Emma snorts and rests her face on her hand lazily. "I'm surprised I didn't run into him. Then again I didn't exactly spend a lot of time in the public areas."
"I didn't tell him you were there or he'd have gone looking for you. You know Josh."
"Such a good brother, choosing houses with one sister, leaving the other one to her business," Emma jokes, with a slurp to her cocoa. "Sorry I wasn't there for the boring part."
"Well, since you're the one moving in with me for my introduction to the big college adventure, it's safe to say I forgive you."
Emma laughs and, on an impulse, awkwardly hugs Jane over the table.
"You're staying at the apartment already, right? Let's invite Josh over and have a movie night, just the three of us like old times."
"Oh my," Jane says, voice dripping with affectionate sarcasm. "Emma Swan proposing a plan indoors? The gods of sex must've been blessed with a huge offering last night."
"Indeed."
"Who was it?" She leans forward, conspiringly. "He? She? Neither?"
"It was a woman this time. No," Emma exhales, trying to find a more suitable term, "let me rephrase that: it was a fucking goddess this time."
"That good?" Jane asks, after a congratulatory fist-bump that leaves them giggling like teenagers sharing a secret language.
"If I tell you I've had better but I don't think I've ever enjoyed a random hook-up this much, would it make sense to you?"
Jane raises a quizzical brow. "You mean she's hot but bad in the sack?"
"Oh, no no, not like that! I just don't think she's very versed in the world of ladies." Emma shrugs and finishes her drink. "I also didn't give her much of a shot, to be honest."
"You never do, Emma," Jane points out, and there's more kindness than criticism in the inflection of her voice.
"Yeah, I know." She sighs. "I'd definitely give Regina another shot though."
"Regina, huh?" Jane leans back on her chair and crosses her arms, her expression the definition of all-knowing. Emma wants to punch it out of her face but Jane's the person she likes the most in the world so she settles for covering the mocking look thrown her way with an open palm. "We have a name!"
"Yes, we do," Emma grunts, self-consciously. "Now can we go get my stuff and officially move in to the new place? Is it furnished? Or do we need to go shopping?" She stands up and holds out a hand. She doesn't know exactly where it comes from, but she's feeling quite content, excited even. "And tell me Josh isn't busy today, I'd love to see him!"