A/N - Hello, dearies! Here's the story I mentioned earlier. I've been working on this for several weeks now, and I've got a few chapters written. I'll post them after I've proof read them obsessively. It's a little different than my usual stories, but I hope you all like it! Let me know what you think so far! Enjoy!

It was late in the evening, Emma knew, but it was a tradition. Every night at exactly seven o'clock, she dropped by Regina and Henry's apartment, stayed there for half an hour, found delight in Henry's infectious laughter, listened to him talk about his day at school, and then said goodnight to the pair. But tonight, work kept her out until half after ten, right as the full moon reached its highest peak in the starry sky. So, Emma ran. She ran like her life depended on it. She carried her Target-bought, midnight-black high heels in one hand and her Salvation Army-found clutch in the other as she sprinted through the jam-packed city. Over the white-painted lines and through the busy intersections, Usain Bolt had nothing on Emma Swan. Passerby gawked at the athletically built blonde who barreled through the masses in a skin-tight, olive dress; her bare knees were exposed and her loose curls were windblown, almost as if the breeze were a natural hair straightener.

At the very end of Cobble Hill, Emma slowed to a steady jog and ignored the steady jabs in her ankles. The hustle and bustle of New York City wasn't enough to distract her from the finish line she envisioned. Ambulance and police sirens wailed through the already loud attractions eastward, followed by the blaring and barking of a firetruck. Just three more blocks, and Emma would arrive at her destination.

In total, it had taken the bail bondswoman under half an hour. 17 streets, 210 businesses, and 42 honking cars later, she'd made it; she'd arrived at Regina Mills' classy loft. The question was, would she open the door for the blonde? Or would she make Emma wait in agony until the next night to resume the ritual?

Emma rang the buzzer and counted how many times it chimed before an irritated tenant picked up. "You're late," the resident stately flatly. There was no static in the speaker, as Regina's apartment was quite upscale and had a reputation to preserve. There wasn't even one piece of trash anywhere near the entrance.

"Please, I'll just be a sec," Emma begged, her feet aching terribly from her strenuous journey.

"He's asleep," the bodiless voice informed.

"I promise, I'll be quick. Regina, please?" Emma waited in misery for an eternity before she heard the lock un-click. Without any hesitation, she yanked the door open and bounded up the four flights of stairs with the last bit of energy she had in her. She took the stairs by threes, although her knees pleaded for her to slow down.

"Five minutes," Regina said as she let Emma into her home. "He's got school in the morning." In her lavender, silk pajamas, the brunette's arms were folded firmly over her chest and hypnotic eyes were narrowed at her friend, who frankly had looked better in the past.

"Thanks, you rock!" Emma whispered, already curving past the glass dining room table and tiptoeing down the wooden floorboard in the hallway. It was the first door on the right, she could never forget.

Although she couldn't see him, she could hear Henry's breathing, soft and steady. The moonlight from his half-closed window streamed in through the thin curtains and fell upon his calm face; his messy, brown hair pressed against his forehead as he laid with his cheek on his pillow. Blue, striped blankets were pulled over his shoulders and tucked tightly under his chin, as if it were the only thing that kept him rooted to the earth. His sneakers and school shoes were organized neatly on the small shelf Emma had nailed next to the closet when he was four years-old, right over the silver walls she'd painted when he was six. In fact, most, if not all of the decorations in his room were either built or created by the woman; they were some of the fondest memories she held.

With the agility of a cheetah, Emma stalked the edge of Henry's mattress and lowered her lips until she was less than an inch from his forehead. As carefully as she could, she kissed his smooth skin. When she stood tall again, Henry flopped onto his other side, his back to Emma.

Straight down the corridor, around the beige, concrete counter, and over Regina's briefcase, Emma reentered the kitchen/living room. Her friend had gathered two glasses and a bottle of wine, and waited the circular table. Sitting in one of the black chairs, Regina motioned for Emma to do the same. "Just because Henry's asleep, doesn't mean I am," she said. "Come, sit down. Let's hear the latest chapter in Emma Swan's adventures."

Realizing she was still holding onto her shoes, Emma took one look at the setting and cracked a smile. She galumphed to the seat across the brunette, tossed her deathtrap-choice of footwear onto the carpet, and fell back in exhaustion. Regina was already pouring her a drink. "You would not believe the night I had," she exhaled. She took three serious swigs of the red substance and waited for the burning sensation to kick in before going on. "This guy, I swear to God, is one of the worst scumbags out there. Three ex-wives, seven kids, two Ferraris, and four homes. Been extorting loads of money for at least a decade. This asshole—" Emma caught herself and glanced around the room for any sign of Henry (Regina forbade Emma to swear around him). When she didn't see him, the blonde went on with her story. "This asshole has the nerve to miss his court date twice— twice!— claiming he was 'incapacitated with the flu.'" Leaning in for extra emphasis, Emma finished with, "That bastard spent his days at the golf course!"

"No?" Regina gasped with a hand over her chest, as if she'd just been given the juiciest piece of gossip. Of course, Emma knew it was all for show. "Well, did you arrest him?"

"Gina," Emma scoffed condescendingly, "I don't have the power to do that. But, if I did, he'd have felt more than just the metal on his wrists. The only reason I got here so late it because that pathetic wimp blended in with the rest of Times Square. I had him, too."

"You chased him all the way to Times Square?" Regina wowed, genuinely amazed at the woman's tenacity.

Emma shrugged as if it and been a walk in the park. "Sometimes you gotta do whatcha gotta do," she recited in a terrible De Niro impression. She grabbed something from her purse and waved it in the air; it was small and folded in half, and it looked like buckskin. "I'd like to see him get home without any cash or credit cards, though. He took a taxi to dinner." The two women shared in light laughter, comfortably nursing their liquid relaxer. "What about you? How was a day in the life of a newspaper editor?"

"You know, same as always; research this, contact that person, retract this, headline that," Regina rattled off with a tiresome wave of her wrist. When she shifted even a centimeter, the reflective material caught the overhead light. "No rest for the weary," she said with mock martyrdom.

"Is that old guy still being a creep? That- what's his name- Sidney… uh, I know it," Emma snapped her fingers, "Glass?" She set her elbow on the table and rested her head on her closed hand as she listened to Regina.

"Thankfully no. He's on vacation this week. If only it was the rest of his life."

"What about you? How are you doing?"

As if Regina didn't know what Emma was referring to, she picked the lint off of her shirt complacently. "I'm just fine, dear." That word— "dear"— always brought back dark memories for the woman, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't remove it from her vocabulary. It was as engrained in her mind as it was to say "thank you" and "you're welcome."

Letting Regina's lie slide for now, Emma set down her empty glass and resisted the desire to pour another. She had to be sober enough to make her way her home. After a few seconds went by, she sat up again and put on a somber facade. "And Henry? Did he have a good day?" Regina waited just a nanosecond too long because Emma immediately jumped on her. "What happened?"

While her friend may have had to trek back to her own apartment, Regina was already meters away from her bed; she refilled her drink. "Oh, you know, it's that same student at his school. He tried bothering Henry again today." She attempted to sound as casual as possible because she knew Emma would flip out if she were anything but. "It's all settled, dear; it was worked it out."

"Yeah, that's what you said last time. I thought private school was supposed to weed out the bullies."

"In theory," Regina remarked smoothly. She swirled her wine in a circular motion, the way she'd learned that "sophisticated beings" did— training from her mother. The digital clock over the stove lit up as it hit the halfway mark between the hours; it flashed in time to the angry horns and rogue police cars just outside the window. Regina saw it through her peripheral vision and gave little thought to it, but Emma had a perfect view of the alarm. The usual yearning in her eyes returned as she realized her was her cue to go, the same grievous shivers she got whenever she had to leave rolled down her neck. Regina caught her friend of 22 years stretching her legs in anticipation to stand up and felt bad for the blonde; she couldn't imagine having to leave her son every night, not like this. But, alas, it was the arrangement.

Emma put her cup in the spotless sink without making any sort of sound and slid her aching feet back into her pumps. It was like walking on a gravel road barefoot, the way her toes pinched together and the uneven ground arched her limbs unnaturally. She flipped her her hair seamlessly over her shoulder, a maneuver Regina was secretly jealous of, and smiled graciously at her host. "Thanks for bending the rule," she said as she hugged the tired mother, silently cursing herself for being so tardy. "It won't happen again, I swear."

"It better not," Regina warned. "Henry enjoys his time with you."

Emma's heart rate quickened in pace at the very thought of Henry saying such a thing. It wasn't as if she figured Henry hated her or anything, but it was a big deal. He was a big deal. Emma curled her fingers around the cold, metal doorknob and began to twist it when a new thought formed in her head. She kept her hand around the lever and glanced back just enough for her voice not to be swallowed by the wall. "Hey, tomorrow's Friday… I heard there's a new movie coming out for kids Henry's age. You think you'd up for that?"

"What is it rated?"

"R," Emma jested. In times of anxiety, she used humor as a coping mechanism, or so her therapist had said. "It's PG, Gina. I checked."

With a heavy sigh, Regina gave in without a fight— but only because it was so late. "Very well. We'll talk before then."

"Very well," Emma replied in her best impersonation of Regina. "See you tomorrow." Regina waited in the finely furnished hallway until she heard the creaking of the front door and retreated back into her and Henry's apartment for the night. After that, Emma was on her own.

Outside, the temperature had dropped several degrees and Emma's legs weren't exactly feeling the love. Then again, neither were her bare shoulders. This is about the time of night when the sketchy folks come crawling out of their shadows and caves and faced the evening rush. Homeless beggars, stoned hipsters, drunk fools, and pushy hustlers emerged from the unknown and lined the streets, all to watch innocent people walk past. They were used to being ignored by everyone else, no matter how obnoxious or assertive they were. Their heckling was reciprocated with the usual middle finger or complete disregard of their existence.

Neon lights hung in restaurant windows and steam rose from the sewer grates in the middle of the street. Hundreds of yellow taxi cabs zoomed by Emma, who was too cheap to hail her own. She didn't live very far from the Mills's; it was a 25 minute walk at the most, 35 in high heels. Fortunately for Emma, she wasn't easily frightened by the nighttime characters, no matter how aggressive they got. She realized she had her job to thank for that; she faced enough sexist, arrogant, disgusting people every day of her life. A few shifty individuals at night didn't exactly scare her. Thinking about, there wasn't much that scared her at all.

As she crossed over to her block, finally, Emma unlocked her handbag and started rummaging for her keys. She'd packed them in there somewhere next to her mirror and pepper spray, but under her pocket knife. Or did she leave that at home and bring her switch blade instead? When it came to self-defense, Emma didn't mess around.

With every concrete apartment that she had passed, her legs felt heavier and heavier. Few residents were still awake at midnight on a Thursday. Porch lights had been shut off, except for Emma's, which served as a beacon of hope for the exhausted bail bondswoman. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a long day at work.

It took her three tries to walk up the five steps to her front door, which was pathetic, she knew. She was just glad no one had witnessed such a misfortune. She was well aware of how it looked: a healthy, vibrant, 30 year-old, unable to climb a tiny set of stairs. Unlike Regina's place, crumpled fast-food containers and empty beer bottles lined the sidewalks, remnants of careless litterers. Aged gum was splattered across the cement and cigarette butts had been rubbed into the cracks. There was a faint scent of french fries that lingered in the air, whereas Regina's complex smelled like Chanel No. 5 and Champaign.

When she finally reached the invisible finish line and stuck the key in the hole, she leaned against the solid surface for a good 14 seconds before peeling herself off. Emma twisted the handle and almost fell face-first onto the sneaker-scuffed, linoleum floor. She'd never been more appreciative of the creaky elevators in the eight years she'd resided there than she was right then.

Emma's own living situation was vasty different than Regina and Henry's. For one thing, she didn't have a dining room table because she preferred to eat on the couch. Her kitchen counters were a mess, covered in microwave dinner boxes and empty Pepsi cans. Her carpet wasn't as immaculately stainless as Regina's with a few drops of grape juice here and there. What Emma considered to be the living room was really just a futon pressed against the wall, a television set on the floor, and its wires bunched up behind it. And most importantly, there were two bedrooms in the apartment: one for her, and one she used for guests, which didn't happen very often. There was no teenaged boy inhabiting the last room on the left, no posters of Green Day and the Rolling Stones, no school uniforms folded on a bed with blue, no striped blankets, and no shelf with sneakers and school shoes. There wasn't even a closet. The room was filled with boxes of the things Emma had yet to unpack from her move almost a decade ago.

Kicking off her shoes for real this time, Emma drifted through her home like a zombie and undressed as she made her way to her bed. Her entire ensemble had been shed by the time she slid under the covers, not caring enough to brush her teeth or tie her hair up. She let the cotton sheets become her nest for the remainder of the night; her entire body melted into the foam mattress as if she were making a snow angel. The covers clung to her slim form as if static ran through her limbs and hugged her like a companion. As she flopped onto her other side, she saw the pulsating glow from behind the shades and knew it was the moon- the same moon that was looking after Henry. Closing her eyes and settling into the fetal position, Emma drifted away to the tune she'd learned in foster care as a child: "I see the moon and the moon sees me, the moon sees the somebody I want to see. So God bless the moon and God bless me, and God bless the somebody I want to see." After repeating it several times, Emma finally let go of the day's hardships and anxieties and gave into what her body was begging her to do: sleep. The next morning would come soon enough and so would her night with Henry. But, sometimes, soon enough felt like forever.