A/N: This is written for Swan Queen Week #11: Soulmates, Day 1: Fuck Destiny, I choose you. It was initially uploaded on AO3 & I am cross posting it here (so if it seems familiar, that's why.)

A few notes on how I write; I demarcate time lapses with ::: & breaks between scenes with ...

Disclaimer: The use of these characters are not intended for profitable purposes. The author has no affiliation to the copyrighted material adapted within the text.

Warnings: Mentions/implications of homophobia, implied/referenced cheating.

The concept of soulmates is something revered, highly treasured, and a blessing that is not supposed to be a curse. Emma has found her soulmate, and she's been pushed toward the boy with roughish eyes and an easy charm that her parents still adore to this day.

Mary Margaret and David Nolan have told their love story a thousand times over family dinner, her father cutting into roast chicken, and her mother pouring too much wine into Emma's glass. They speak of their first meeting, of how Mary Margaret had been a regular at a local diner in their hometown, and how David used to come in at exactly the same time everyday. Like clockwork, their eyes would pick up and their coffees would be handed to them at the same time, and there was a certain pull that they had denied until they couldn't any longer.

Emma mouths the words as she listens, allows her hand to be cradled by Neal's as she tries to find steadiness in the familiarity of her soulmate. It's a fickle concept, if Emma has to voice her opinion, but after experiencing it with Neal during her years as a rebellious teen, Emma has been transformed into a believer for the concept— not so much the idea of what comes next.

"I wonder what I'll be doing when I meet my soulmate," Henry asks, putting a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewing daintily like his grandmother who looks on at him fondly.

"Probably something exciting," she tells him, her eyes widening and voice taking on a lighter tone. Mary Margaret loves Henry entirely too much, and Emma is grateful that she can hand her son over to her mother when she feels suffocated by the responsibilities of being a parent.

"Like riding a motorbike?!" David coughs at that, reaching for the glass of water Mary Margaret pushes toward him.

Emma had let Neal take Henry around the city for a ride on his friend's motorbike, and he's been obsessed with them ever since.

"Like riding a motorbike," Neal tells Henry, "or stealing one," he whispers in Emma's ear, and she slaps his arm as he chuckles.

Emma had been eighteen and looking for an adventure when she met Neal, and he had been a runaway looking for a quick buck in the backend alley of a few restaurants. They had met trying to steal the same car, and Emma had given Neal enough attitude to walk away with a flip of her golden hair. The next day they had met trying to steal a different car, and the day after that, and after that, until Neal had laughed with a crowbar in his hand and an easy smile on his lips that had uttered the word Soulmate.

Emma had denied it, but she hadn't seen Neal thereafter, the spell of the soulmates broken with the realisation of it. Only when she had come to the terms that someone was made for her, almost two years later in the middle of her college years studying criminology, had she met Neal again, a teaching assistant for a primary school that had come into college for a short course in sociology. Now, six years later with a four year old son and a commitment to be together forever, Emma is supposed to be happy—only she isn't.

They're washing the last of the dinner dishes when Mary Margaret picks up on her dull mood, and Emma wipes plates to stack them on the counter without meeting her mother's eyes. "Something the matter?" Mary Margaret asks, handing Emma another plate that she dries and then places atop the stack, throwing the dishtowel on the counter to heave up the heavy pile of crockery to put it away in the cupboard all at once.

Mary Margaret shakes her head at her daughter, watching as she carries too much, allows it to pile up until she's staggering under its weight, unable to deal with whatever she's stowed away for later until something or the other breaks. This time, Emma manages to safely transport the plates, but Mary Margaret is far more concerned with the frown lines around Emma's mouth and lack of shine to her hair that eerily resembles the look Emma had before she ran away from home.

"Everything is fine," Emma answers with a small smile, her voice too soft, and her shoulders slouching too much. Something is wrong, and Mary Margaret finds herself ill-equipped to deal with the tumultuous emotions Emma experiences. This is why she adores Henry, and she's a bad mother for thinking such things, but he's so much easier as a child than Emma had been, and his view of the world hinges on the vast imagination that Neal encourages. Emma had come out of the womb angry, and it's David who soothes their daughter when Mary Margaret sees too much of herself in her.

Their short conversation is ended when the last glass is dried and put away, leftovers pushed into containers and split between the two homes. Neal is more than gracious with his compliments, and Henry imitates his stance when he tells Mary Margaret how delicious that chicken was. It's easy for her laugh and kiss his face, but harder for her to watch how Emma dulls even more at the interaction.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Emma asks her father, and David nods his head in the affirmative before kissing his daughter's forehead.

"I'll be late," he warns her, "this case with Jones is going in for internal investigation and they're doing interviews in the morning."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Emma argues, walking to the door with David's hand on her back, Neal and Henry already buckled into the car from where she can see them.

"Emma," David soothes, his voice deep and familiar, "I'll be fine." Emma sighs in defeat but allows herself to be hugged, her eyes closing against the sharp cologne that hasn't changed since she can remember. When she releases him, Emma doesn't say goodbye, she doesn't have the energy to.

:::

It's been a few hours since internal investigations have begun, and Emma starts the day by getting all her outstanding paperwork out of the way. She's not on patrol duty until after lunch, and she hopes she will get to see her father before she has to leave.

Emma has been a police officer for just under three years now, working her way into the field armed with a degree and a stellar reputation of the Nolan name from her father. She isn't oblivious to the fact that she might've only gotten a job because of David, that juvenile record a glaring red dot on her otherwise immaculate background. She's only lucky that society has changed enough to see her having a child out of wedlock as none of their business—and sitting for her final exams as a senior year college student with a rounded belly had earned her more than enough stares; but Henry is a blessing in disguise that Emma can push in her mother's face when she becomes a tad bit overbearing.

"Coffee, Nolan?" Graham asks, setting down a cup of coffee on her desk regardless.

Emma takes a sip of the beverage, made with just the right amount of sugar, and the right amount of milk. "You're too good to me."

Graham laughs that boyish laugh of his, and Emma leans back in her chair to distance herself from paperwork that's making her eyes burn. "Not good enough," he teases, winking at her when she balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. It bounces off, and Graham hits it with his shoulder so that it falls into the wastepaper basket by Emma's desk.

"Impressive." Emma and Graham straighten up, postures becoming rigid and their smiles dropping at the sound of the devil herself. "I'd say this looks more like a basketball court than a police station. You've really outdone yourselves this time."

Emma growls low in her throat and Graham places a warning hand on her shoulder to stay seated. Today isn't the day to piss off the assistant district attorney, not when she's handling the case her father is being investigated for. "You're welcome to join in the game if you'd like," Graham says with a smile, his Irish accent thicker and his charm going from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds.

ADA Regina Mills holds his gaze for a hot second, her gaze then shifting to Emma for a moment where Emma sits with a clenched jaw and narrowed gaze. There's something about Regina that grates on her nerves, and whether it's the fact that this woman always has a stick up her ass, or was born to be mean to everyone without an easy charm and full beard, Emma doesn't really care—although Regina definitely has a type.

"I'll pass," Regina says slowly, her eyes still on Emma and her grip on the files she carries tightening. She doesn't bother to say anything else, and the click of her heels as she walks further away from them and into the interrogation room helps Emma relax.

"Bitch," Emma mutters under her breath, her cheeks hot and her palms clammy.

"A hot bitch," Graham agrees, one eyebrow raising in question until Emma reluctantly nods her head in agreement. The only thing Regina has going for her anyways, is the way those pencil skirts fit around her very toned behind—not that Emma looks there specifically, but because it's very hard to miss regardless.

Graham takes his leave shortly thereafter, and Emma finishes her scalding hot coffee to have something to do with her hands. They've been inside for far too long, and it's creeping toward one o' clock where she'll have to eat her lunch in the squad car.

"Emma Nolan?" Emma's head snaps up at the call of her name, and she swallows down the lump in her throat that has formed there with the very real possibility of David getting persecuted for something he didn't do. Twitchy fingers reach into her desk to retrieve a peanut butter sandwich, and she scarfs one slice down that she washes away with water before standing up to follow orders. This can't be good.

"These are just routine questions," District Attorney Albert Spencer says, his cold smile not very reassuring when the only other people in the room is Captain Gold, and ADA Mills. Emma nods regardless, fingers twisting within each other as she wills her heartbeat to slow down to normal.

They ask her things about herself, things that are to be written down on a questionnaire, and not wasting the voice recorder's time with it. "Are you aware of any unusual behaviour Detective Nolan has been displaying recently?" Ah, and now they get into the crux of the matter after trying to make her more comfortable, and failing spectacularly it seems.

"No," Emma answers honestly, keeping her voice short and clipped. Seated in front of her, Regina smirks with her eyes as she writes the response down.

"Has Detective Nolan announced any surge of income, an inheritance, or been displaying unhealthy spending habits?" Emma narrows her eyes at this, a disbelieving smile on her face before she can school her expression back into a mask of professionalism.

"No, Detective Nolan hasn't come into any money that I know of, and he hasn't been displaying unusual spending habits." In fact, her father's spending routine consists of paying for the essential things, and then handing over the rest of the money to Mary Margaret who manages it from a joint account. There hasn't even been plans for a holiday as far as she knows. Her parents are very set in their routine, and other than the yearly trip overseas that's booked months in advance, they don't do anything else that's extravagant.

Captain Gold nods at DA Spencer to dismiss Emma, but before she can scrape back the metal chair, ADA Mills pins her down with a stern look that has a snarl automatically curl over Emma's lips. "We will need to look into your bank records, Officer Nolan," Regina says, voice casual and smooth like she's the smartest person in the room. "This is a sensitive issue and we have to cover all our bases." DA Spencer coughs from beside her, but ADA Mills sits with a straight-backed posture and sin on her lips.

"Fine," Emma agrees, staring down Regina with a heated glare, "I have nothing to hide."

When Emma gets up to leave, DA Spencer and Captain Gold walking in front of her, ADA Mills stops her at the exit of the interrogation room, lithe fingers brushing across her chest where bread crumbs fall from Emma's uniform. "Pathetic," Regina hisses, her words sharp and cold, but her actions leave Emma stunned as Regina walks away with an extra sway to her hips.

:::

"I just don't get why you hate her is all," Graham says a few days later, Emma chewing on a bearclaw and sipping from the strawberry smoothie Neal had made for her that morning.

"Because," Emma stresses, her voice too close to a whine, "she's just—she's just, ugh!"

"I agree," Graham teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her that might suggest he isn't thinking about Regina in the same way she is.

"You need to do something about that crush of yours. If Regina is irritating, then you're near unbearable with the way you act around her." Graham snags her smootie and Emma reaches for it, hitting her elbow against the handbrake of the squad car as she does so.

"That's what you get for being mean." And Graham is as childish as Henry when he sips from her smoothie and chuckles in glee as Emma rubs at her elbow. She's known Graham since she entered the station as a rookie, and he had immediately taken her under his wing. It had been good fortune that Emma had been paired with an officer who was easy to talk to, someone she could ask stupid questions, and not be judged for wanting to know the why of things.

"Seriously, you should just man up and ask her out so I don't have to suffer through this any longer." Finishing off her bearclaw, Emma crumples the paper bag into a ball and shoves it into the pocket of the passenger seat. They'll have to clean out the car before their next patrol, because pretty soon there won't be space for Emma to sit, and she's confident enough that Graham will leave her behind just so that he doesn't have to do some dirty work.

"I'll man up when you man up," Graham says, leaving her to ponder whether the statement is made in jest, or for something else entirely when he answers a call for a domestic disturbance that's close to where they are.

:::

Friday rolls around with the weight of the week still fresh on her shoulders, and Emma has been piled with paperwork that doesn't seem to end no matter how many files she sends out. David and Killian have both been absent since the internal investigation began, and the looks she gets for being the daughter of a potential dirty cop has her quieter than usual. It's also probably why she doesn't jump at the sound of ADA Mills voice floating through the station.

"Well, I have whatever I need," Emma hears Regina say, and she clenches her hands into a fist when Graham automatically stands up at the sound of her voice. "…no, I'll get it myself… thank you, Captain."

The ominous clicking of heels comes closer, and Emma prays that this time Regina moves to any other desk but hers—Regina only seems to gravitate here, taking the long route to the interrogation rooms that Graham absolutely picks up on, blaming it on his charm that ADA Mills simply cannot resist. Unfortunately, Emma's prayers do not work, and Regina's black pumps stop right in front of Emma's desk, her nude painted fingernails resting lightly at the edge of dark wood. "Officer Nolan," Regina greets, and Emma picks her head up from where she's been pretending to fill in paperwork, a bored expression on her face.

"ADA Mills," she greets just as coolly, and she swears she sees a hint of a smirk on Regina's lips.

"You have a file I need for an upcoming case, a Mr B. Sanchez, file number 5491, theft." Emma shifts back in her chair and pushes it toward her drawers, the meticulously labelled files coming into view as she opens the appropriate drawer, searching for a case that's beneath Regina to argue for, not when she has other attorneys who can handle something that Emma thinks is at rookie level at best. Pulling out the file, Emma stands to hand the manila folder to Regina, hands brushing as Regina's fingers slide against hers with unnecessary touch.

Graham clears his throat beside them, and Regina startles just a little before pulling the file out of Emma's hands abruptly, tucking the folder beneath her arm. "If that's all?"

"That will be all," Regina dismisses, turning to walk away.

"Uh, Regina," Graham starts, and Emma picks her head up at him in surprise. If he's going to do what she thinks he's going to do, then this moment is a little too private for her to belong to. Still, Emma also doesn't want to miss out, and tries to make herself as small and invisible as possible.

"Officer Humbert," Regina acknowledges him for the first time since her arrival, and Graham seems to melt at the way she says his name—which in Emma's opinion is a little flat if she says so herself.

"I was wondering if you'd like to… go out sometime, maybe?" Emma wants to smack him across the back of the head, because for all his charm and smooth talking, he has certainly left his game at home this time.

Regina smiles genially at him, hands holding the folder in front of her like a shield. "I have a soulmate," she says, and Graham's face falls just as Emma's takes on an expression of shock. Regina's gaze slides from Graham's face to Emma's, holding it there with an intensity that's a little more than usual. "Officer Nolan." And then Regina shifts and walks away, heels clicking against the floor as she exits the station without another word.

Emma sits in her seat confused, pen grasped too tightly in her hold as she replays the conversation over and over again. Regina has a soulmate? Regina, the ice bitch, has someone who actually likes her? And… the way she said Emma's name, Emma isn't sure if it was Regina's usual way of dismissal, or whether she had been announcing Emma as her soulmate.

"Did you..."

"Yeah," Graham agrees, and Emma slouches in her seat at the fact that she isn't going mad. So Graham noticed Regina's last words too, and obviously they aren't soulmates, because having a soulmate means meeting them doing exactly the same thing as you, every single day, until one of you realises what the actual hell is happening—all her meetings with Regina have been with them doing completely opposite things, and with vast times between each one.

"She rejected me—I went after a girl who has a soulmate." And Emma's still alone in this.

Patting Graham's back as he sits next to her, Emma sighs out in relief over Graham's crush finally being put to rest.

:::

It's family dinner again this week, and it's Emma's turn to host. Neal flutters between helping Emma cook and keeping Henry occupied, and in it's in these moments that she's grateful for him. Their relationship might've started out a little rough, but when they found each other again, they certainly made the best of it in whatever way they could. Emma had committed herself to Neal to keep her parents happy, and one drunken night testing the universe had amounted to the child she adores with all her heart, but still can't connect to no matter how hard she tries.

Tonight is also the first time she'll see her father again after the internal investigations have begun, and she's not ready to hear him give her bad news just yet. Emma has gotten used to having her father around, reminding her to eat when she's busy with something, or offering to take her out on a ride along like she's a little kid again with stars in her eyes. Tonight might just eliminate all of that, and she's not emotionally stable enough to handle it.

In the distance, the doorbell rings, and Emma washes up lettuce for a salad only her mother will eat. "I'll get it!" Neal yells from inside the house, leaving Emma to move around the kitchen with Henry watching her from the doorway, the chatter of his grandparents not enough to make him move.

"Do you want to help me make the salad?" Emma asks the boy, and he nods slowly as if any sudden movements might change Emma's mind. She can't help that she isn't the fun parent, or the most present one. Neal is a preschool teacher who spends all day with him, finger-painting and making sock puppets, and he brings Henry home where he takes care of him until Emma's shift is over at the station. By the time she gets home, Henry is already in bed, and it's only during stolen moments like these does Henry get to spend any time with her.

Wiping her hands dry, Emma reaches down to pull Henry onto the kitchen counter, grabbing whatever ingredients she needs to set it within reach of her son. They work silently, Emma making the dressing as Henry places each lettuce and carrot piece into the bowl with precision that shouldn't belong to a four year old, but when Emma gives him a taste of the dressing, he's fussy enough to stick his tongue out in distaste.

"Oh yeah? Think you can make a better dressing?" She teases him, tickling his sides until he squeals with laughter, the sound drowning out a second doorbell that they both ignore.

"Salt," Henry says, reaching for the saltshaker as he sits on Emma's hip, turning it a few times until he mixes the dressing with a spoon and hands a bit for Emma to taste on his finger. Emma licks a bit of the dressing, Henry putting the rest in his own mouth as they make identical expressions of concentration.

"Better," Emma says.

"Good," Henry nods, as if he's achieved something great, and then throttles Emma with a hug that she returns. It's because of him that she stays, because of her parents who want too much from her, but insist they want nothing at all. This is as much as she can give everyone without being entirely selfish—and destiny picks the path you're supposed to walk on, yes? Who is she to step aside and rebuke the gift of a soulmate?

"You're in good spirits," Emma hears, and her blood runs cold.

"ADA Mills," she greets, feeling underdressed in her jeans and t-shirt, Regina standing in her home with stilettoes and a borderline inappropriate black dress.

"Your father insisted we meet here, I hope it isn't too much trouble." Of course it's trouble! This is Emma's household, and there's something about inviting someone you don't like into their home that crosses all sorts of lines.

"Regina!" David exclaims, a smile on his face, "you made it."

Regina's eyes flicker from David to Emma, then to the boy she holds on her hip that looks too much like her. "Indeed."

"Regina has some good news for us—"

"If this is about the case, then this is very unprofessional." Emma manages to make her voice sound stern, and Regina's eyes darken at the low tone of it. Something is seriously up with ADA Mills, and Emma has a façade she has to keep up with instead of worry about a woman who makes her feel uneasy.

"Regina is also a family friend," Mary Margaret cuts in, her tone leaving no room for arguments. They've raised Emma better than to misbehave with guests, but then again, this is the same Emma who ran away to find herself. Thankfully that phase hadn't lasted long with destiny pushing Neal in her path.

"Well the food is getting cold, Regina, you're welcome to join us." Neal places his hand at the small of Emma's back, possessive in his easy stance and friendly words that Regina stands up straighter at.

"I shouldn't—"

"We insist," Emma cuts in, jaw tense and her entire family pushing her in a corner. She can handle Regina for one measly dinner and then never see her again until the next big case.

Emma lays out another place setting for Regina next to Henry, and Mary Margaret entertains everyone by asking Regina questions about the Mills family that seem too personal for Emma to tune into— yet she still does, catching pieces of gossip that doesn't actually seem very interesting at all. Emma doesn't want to know that Regina's mother is pursuing an article in 3D printing of human organs, and she also doesn't want to know that Regina's father is doing as well as usual with his tailor business. What Emma wants to know is who Regina's soulmate is— but Mary Margaret doesn't ask after it, and Regina doesn't say anything on the matter either.

When Emma brings out the lasagne, setting it down on the table where everyone hums at the aroma, only one person looks at the cook with a quirk of her eyebrow and her cutlery at the ready. Emma is more than happy to step up to the challenge.

…

"What?"

"Nothing," Regina says, chewing on the piece of lasagne she swallows slowly.

Neal, sensing a bit of hostility, throws Emma a charming smile and shovels a forkful of lasagne into his mouth. "Tastes great, babe," he says around a mouthful of food, and Regina's nose wrinkles in distaste. The entire table chimes in, but Regina remains silent, sipping from her glass of water as Emma stares holes into her head.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks again, because there's no Graham here to hold her shoulder and tell her to be quiet, and they're in her domain where she's pretty sure she can be as rude as she wants.

"It's just missing something is all," Regina says casually, and Emma's face grows red with the exertion of keeping her comments to herself. "Could use a bit of kick—I find red pepper flakes to do the trick."

"Red pepper flakes?" Henry inquires, and the half insult already formed on Emma's tongue is swallowed down with a wash of water. Regina's entire demeanour changes when she glances down at Henry, her face softening and her rigid posture becoming soft.

"It's a spice," Regina tells him, and Emma watches carefully as Henry begins to chew Regina's ear off about every spice under the sun and how he helped make the salad dressing. Regina eats more salad then necessary, telling Henry what a great palate he has, which launches an entirely new conversation that makes Emma's ears ring.

It's taken her four years to begin a tentative relationship with the boy she gave birth to, but ADA Mills forms a bond with Henry within a few minutes and Emma's jealousy burns a hole in her stomach.

After dinner is done and desert is served (blueberry pie sitting untouched in Henry's plate as he eats from Regina's, Neal holding onto Emma's hand as she makes to scold him), Emma has reached her maximum capacity for dealing with ADA Mills. Regina tells Henry the recipe for apple turnovers, and he listens intently as she wipes away the crumbs from the corner of his mouth; Regina's actions maternal enough to have fire come out of Emma's nostrils.

…

It isn't a surprise to Mary Margaret when Emma carries all the dishes to the kitchen and starts washing it by herself, but it is suspicious that she's still unhappy even after Regina had announced during desert that David is let off the hook with the investigation completed. Apparently, the money they have been searching for has been found, and neither Killian nor David had been responsible for it.

Neal pours everyone a drink, even Henry who holds up a cup of juice, and he toasts to good fortune that Emma is not a part of, not when there's the sound of harshly handled dishes and muttering that's too loud to be anything but ramblings of an angry woman. Mary Margaret makes to go to her daughter, but Regina slinks into the kitchen with two glasses of whiskey, and Mary Margaret leans further into David's side as he smiles down brightly at her.

…

"I thought you could use a drink," Regina says, placing one of the glasses on the kitchen counter as she sips from the other casually. It's good whiskey, and she's surprised at Neal's taste considering his table manners.

Emma keeps washing dishes and placing them noisily on the dish rack, and Regina picks up a dishtowel to silently wipe the crockery and set it aside. "You don't have to do that," Emma says, and it's the first polite thing Emma has said to her since they've first met years ago, Regina drilling the rookie who had still been learning the intricacies of filling out appropriate paperwork. They've pretty much hated each other since that case, only Regina's been more inclined to pulling the pigtails of the girl she likes in the playground. Looking at it now, perhaps there was no need for any of that, not when Emma has a soulmate she never mentions, and a son who is beyond adorable.

"It's the least I can do," Regina responds, "I've barged in on a family dinner after all."

Emma scoffs, setting the last of the forks into the dish rack. She works with ease, wiping down the sink and washing her hands free of soap before reaching for the whiskey she sips at. "Henry didn't seem to mind."

"He's an adorable child," Regina is quick to say, and Emma only raises her eyebrows in agreement. She hasn't met a mother who won't gush about their children, but Emma is subdued about Henry, distant when she interacts with him. "You never mentioned him before." It's said with a hint of nonchalance, but the curiosity burns in Regina's eyes as brightly as everything else does.

"You've never mentioned a soulmate before."

Regina chuckles, abandoning her task of wiping the dishes to lean against the kitchen counter instead. "Because there's nothing to tell." And the civility of this conversation in Emma's kitchen no less is unbelievable on too many levels. Reaching to grab the bottle of apple cider she's never had a chance to drink, Emma pours a measure into the two empty glasses. She's feeling too much today, and maybe, with this little conversation, she can finally find herself a friend that's outside the circle of soulmate and parents.

"Maybe that's a blessing," she tells Regina, and Regina takes the glass offered to her with a frown.

"My soulmate is a happily married man with a three year old son, I don't think it gets any worse than that." They're sharing pieces of themselves, and Emma's pouring them another glass of apple cider as they stand too close, the family friends Mary Margaret used to talk about now coming to the forefront of Emma's mind. Was this the same high class friends her mother had lost when news of Emma's runaway stint had made itself widely known?

"Better than having a soulmate you don't want," slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and the concerned look Regina shoots her way has her choke out a laugh. "I mean, there is worse." Because she's living the nightmare of holding onto someone acceptable, and Regina has the freedom to choose whoever she wants—someone not sanctioned by destiny, but based on her own free will.

"I suppose," Regina agrees, giving Emma a once over. She drinks the last bit of cider, tongue coming out to swipe along her bottom lip to catch the last few drops. They aren't supposed to be standing here, making small talk that dips below the belt of appropriate, not with their history of Regina's lingering gazes and Emma's stiff postures.

This time, when Regina places the glass down on the counter, she doesn't offer Emma any heated stares or low rasping dismissals, in fact, Regina runs her fingers through her hair and nods at the ground in goodbye instead; a quiet, "I should go," announcing her departure as her heels click all the way out of Emma's home, leaving an open wound behind.

A/N: This will update every second day until completion. The story is completely written & consists of 3 chapters. Let me know what you thought in the reviews :)