Title: i could give you my apologies
Rating: R (sort of)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, nothing at all.
Summary: Emma chuckles, again, because Regina is the sappy romantic between the both of them, a firm believer in happy endings and grand gestures. (AU; Emma/Regina.)
Note: Once Upon a Time Pilot re-boot with Emma and Regina as Henry's divorced moms, from an Anon prompt on my Tumblr account.
And take away the spitting salt in you
And I could give you my apologies
By handing over my neologies
(I'll Believe in Anything, Wolf Parade)
A siren wails in the distance, mingling with other noises of early morning traffic – the beeps of a delivery truck in reverse and cars honking at one another on narrow city streets.
Emma Swan burrows further into her bed, relishing soft sheets and the warm body pressed against her side.
In a few hours, she'll put on her graduation robe and listen to former President Jimmy Carter address Penn Law's Class of 1998. She'll try to focus on his motivational speech about upholding the constitution and making a mark on the world, but find herself distracted over her mile-long list of things to do.
She's moving to Manhattan in two weeks for a job at Davis Polk – she's moving on a steady upward trajectory into the world of corporate law. It's a better life than what her high school guidance counselor predicted years ago, when Emma was still stuck in a failed foster care system, angry and bitter and on the verge of being another statistic.
"Go back to sleep, Swan." Regina Mills murmurs, sleepily.
"OK." But, Emma curls onto her side, instead, and watches Regina's eye flutter open and close. The gaudy neon sign (Fergie's) from the bar across the street provides Emma with enough light to study Regina's face at this early hour. She reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind the other woman's ear.
Regina Mills was a third-year law student during Emma's year as a 1L: Emma accidentally spilled beer all over Regina during a "Bar Review" which resulted in a heated exchanged complete with barbed threats and cutting insults.
Emma never really stood a chance.
"Swan!" Regina intones crankily. "The sun isn't even up yet, for God's sake."
Emma just chuckles in response, rolling herself on top of Regina with practiced ease. "So I've been thinking-"
"Great." Regina huffs. "Now, let's sleep."
"I wanna get married."
Regina shifts from under Emma. The surprise of the announcement jolts the sleep right out of her body. She blinks, once, twice, while Emma continues to smile that self-assured, shit-eating grin.
"If that's your idea of a proposal, you'd better think again." Regina finally threatens.
Emma chuckles, again, because Regina is the sappy romantic between the both of them, a firm believer in happy endings and grand gestures. "I bought a ring a month ago after your last visit. It's been sitting in my bottom drawer while I racked my brain for the best way to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me." She presses a chaste kiss on Regina's lips; she can't help herself. "Then, I gave up, because you're kind of a harsh critic-"
"-Swan-"
"-I love you, and I know I can make you happy because I'd do anything to make you smile. Stop being difficult and say yes already." Emma finishes before Regina can interrupt, again.
"You're lucky I think you're hot." Regina laughs, loud and boisterous.
Then, Emma finds herself suddenly on her back. Regina hovers above her with dark eyes and a wicked grin. Want coils in Emma's stomach, merging with the myriad of emotions (love and excitement and relief) that has been brewing all morning. She feels close to exploding – close to bursting into a million tiny pieces with a loud pop.
And, if she did explode from all the emotions – right here in her studio apartment in Center City, Philadelphia with Fergie's neon sign blinking outside her window and the loud hum of her broken refrigerator and the noisy city streets as the soundtrack – it would be perfect.
The condo sits on the waterfront in North End, overlooking the Boston Harbor. From her top floor unit, the entire city sits at Emma's feet, a new kingdom to rule over.
Emma stares at the lit candle in front of her, and closes her eyes to make a wish with desperation and dulled hope. She wishes for a cupcake she didn't have to buy herself on the way home from another late night board meeting. Mostly, she wishes for someone to be with her on her birthday.
"Happy Birthday," she tells herself before blowing out the candle.
Her mind jumps back to the latest contract she needs to develop for yet another acquisition. It's easier to think about work – about equities and liquid assets and contracts for merger acquisitions, which are far more interesting than birthdays.
Her thoughts are shattered by incessant banging on her front door. She glances at the cupcake, a little nervous and put-off – what was that saying? Be careful what you wish for.
"Be right there," she yells down the hallway when the knocking continues without reprieve. It stops, finally, just as Emma yanks it open.
"Hi Mom! Happy Birthday!"
Emma finds herself with an armful of an excited ten year old and hugs him back awkwardly as her mind tries to catch up with the last few seconds of her life.
Henry is in Boston is the first thought that filters into her head. Her mind feels foggy and hazy as she continues to wrap her mind around that single sentence.
Henry is in Boston. She thinks as she closes the door behind them, staring at the top of his head as he pulls her down the hallway chattering away about his 5thgrade teacher and new set of classmates.
Then: Regina is going to kill me finally filters through the fog.
"Henry!" She pulls her hand away, suddenly. "What are you doing here?"
He turns around with a pout and wide eyes. "I wanted to see you for your birthday." He responds, solemnly.
"Does your mother know you're here? How did you even get here?" Emma's hands fly to her hips as she stares her young son down. She holds in the string of expletives at the tip of her tongue, because really what the hell?
"I took a Greyhound. I came to live with you." Henry announces casually, walking away from her and heading straight for the living room. Emma blinks and waits for the punch line to this joke. She contemplates pinching herself because this has to be a dream.
Her ten year old did not just put his life in danger by taking a Greyhound bus from Storybrooke, Maine to Boston, Massachusetts.
"That's okay, right? I can live with you." He yells over his shoulder as he bounces on the leather couch.
Regina is going to kill her, and then their son, and then kill her again.
"Henry!" She's torn between crying and yelling, but settles for counting backwards to ten and then calmly, "OK, you've had your fun, now I'm taking you back to Storybrooke. Your mother is going to kill the both of us."
"No!"
"Henry! What possessed you to even take a bus on your own to Boston?" Emma sighs, making her way towards the scowling ten-year old. She tries to pull him into a hug, but he squirms out of her grasp and sits on the opposite end of the couch.
"I want to live with you." He insists.
"You're going to have to tell me why if you want me to take you seriously."
"You've never wanted me to live with you," Henry accuses, sullenly, refusing to meet her eyes. He picks at a lose thread on his jacket. "Why don't you want me to live with you?"
Hurt blossoms in Emma's chest, coiling around her lungs making it impossible to breathe. How is she supposed to respond to that?
She edges to him slowly, and reaches out to brush unkempt hair out of his face. "Hey, who says I don't want you to live with me?" She asks softly. She blinks away the sudden urge to cry. "I'd love it if you lived here, you know?"
Henry bites his lip and supplies the next word for her. "But…"
"But, you and I both know I travel too much for work." Emma pulls him into her lap and wraps both arms around him. He's slowly getting too big to sit on her lap, so she hugs him tighter still. "And, Mama's the one who knows how to cook and clean. You would starve here, and live in a gross condo."
Henry gives her a small smile at that. "You're a really bad cook."
"I know." Emma agrees seriously. "Don't you think your Mama's worried sick about you and probably misses you?"
Henry just scoffs, tensing in her arms. "Doubt it."
"Well, I think I should still take you back home, and then maybe, I can talk to your Mama about it?" Emma wonders how long it would take for Regina to kill her if Emma ever said the words 'I think Henry should live with me in Boston.' She doubts she'd have enough time to even get the sentence out.
After a long beat, Henry lets out a long suffering sigh. "Fine."
A baby is the next logical step in their relationship.
Emma has risen up the ranks at Davis Polk becoming a sought out lawyer in the corporate world while Regina has made a name for herself in the field of public interest. It's Emma who broaches the topic a few days after her 28th birthday.
It takes all of five minutes to convince Regina.
Before Emma knows it, they're looking at lists of sperm donors and moving out of their West Village Manhattan apartment into Park Slope, Brooklyn, an up-and-coming family oriented neighborhood.
"If I would have known you'd be this bossy, I would've made you carry him," Emma grouses as she stares at the green smoothie on the kitchen island.
"Drink it and stop complaining."
"It tastes gross."
"Stop being childish."
Emma's scowl only deepens when Regina forces the cup into her hands. "I'm trading you in for my secretary after this is over," Emma warns before tipping her head back to chug the goo as quickly as possible. It tastes as terrible as it looks and slides down her throat slowly.
"I'll kill her, and get away with it." Regina responds casually as she pulls another box into the kitchen.
It's their fifth day in the brown stone, and the majority of their belongings are still taped up in the boxes that line the entryway. Emma has argued (each attempt as futile as the last) that the entire process would go much faster if she were allowed to help, but Regina stubbornly refuses.
"Hey, Regina," Emma watches her counterpart move around the kitchen as Regina unpacks another box of silverware and china.
Regina barely glances up.
"What do you think of naming him after your Dad?" Emma asks hand splayed across her protruding belly. She knows Regina took the loss of her Dad hard despite the brave front she'd displayed at the funeral three months ago.
Regina's head snaps up immediately. "Yeah?"
Emma nods, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Henry Mills was like a father to her as well, and this was the best way Emma could honor his memory.
"I like the name." Emma confirms, grin mirroring Regina's thankful one. Emma thinks she's going to enjoy the rest of her life if it means being on the receiving end of that smile.
"Are you going to tell me why you ran away?" Emma breaks the silence when they make it onto I-95.
Henry remains unresponsive, hunched over the open pages of an album on his lap. His fingers float over the faces smiling brightly at him.
"Henry?" Emma tries again. She spares him a quick glance, taking her eyes of the road for a second. "What is that, anyway?"
He holds up the photo album without looking at her before bringing it back down to his lap. His eyes never leave the page.
Emma swallows at the site of the familiar beige covering. The thought of their wedding starts an ache in her chest – it was a June wedding, in the backyard of Regina's childhood home in the Hamptons. The happiness woven so intricately in those memories, bound so tightly to them, hurts.
Some days, Emma feels like it was another life, one violently ripped out from under her when she wasn't looking. And, now she's trapped in an alternate reality where daily life is wrapped in a wall of indifference.
The problem is she was looking as it happened, and had watched it all explode in front of her with a whimper. The previous life had fizzled into this new one.
"Where'd you get that?" She finally asks.
"Mama's study." Henry turns another page. "When did you and Mama stop being happy?"
"I don't…" Emma flounders. "I don't really know." Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Breathing is quickly becoming a task; she has to remember to exhale.
He stares out into the darkness as he mulls over her response.
"She's marrying someone new." He finally admits quietly.
The pain in her chest grows, even as she tries to shake it off. They have been divorced for three years, separated for four.
Emma has no right to feel betrayed, now.
They drive in silence for the next few miles with only the low hum of the engine filling up the small space of Emma's convertible. It suddenly feels too cramped and she wishes she'd leased an SUV, possibly one of those spacious Hummers.
"Mom?" Henry asks cautiously.
"Good for her."
No one utters another word for the rest of the trip.
Emma snakes an arm around Regina's waist and presses a kiss along the curve where neck meets shoulder.
"Is Henry asleep?"
"Yup. Down for his afternoon nap." Emma smiles against Regina's skin. "So I was thinking you could take a break from the laundry." She places an open mouthed kiss this time, tongue swiping at soft skin.
"I don't know, Miss Swan." Regina drawls, turning around to face the blonde. "I'm not sure you have me convinced of this idea."
Emma backs them into the washer. One hand curls around Regina's hip while the other snakes its way under the other woman's shirt. "I'm sure I could plead my case."
"I'm… listening." Regina's words come out in a pitchy gasp as Emma's hand on Regina's hip slides down the waistband of the other woman's sweats. Two fingers rub against already damp underwear.
With the washer rumbling loudly beneath them and Regina clutching a fistful of Emma's worn Penn Law t-shirt, Emma thinks it's all sort of perfect — her girl and her kid, all happy and healthy in a Brooklyn brownstone.
Happily ever after, indeed.
The car rolls to a stop before Emma feels ready to face her ex-wife. There's a strong urge to drop Henry off and drive away before she can get tangled into this mess, an urge that only grows at the sight of what was once their house.
Emma is better at running and suppressing emotions. She isn't built for tackling the situation.
"Ready?" She kills the engine and the dim glow of the dashboard dies, leaving the streetlamp above them their only source of light.
"Can I live with you?" Henry asks again with a new sort of desperation.
"Kid, that's something we need to talk to your Mama about," Emma tries to reason, still thrown off by his sudden desire to change their arrangement.
He nods, lower lip caught between his teeth, and takes a deep breath. "I'm ready," he tells her solemnly before pushing his door open and climbing out of the car. Emma follows suit and tries to coral her growing panic as they begin their slow trudge up the brick pathway.
Emma hasn't stepped foot in Maine for years. They had long settled on meeting halfway between Storybrooke and New York City during that first year of the split. Boston provided neutral ground for the rushed and wooden conversations as Henry travelled back and forth between the both of them. When Emma had moved to the city this the past summer, Regina had insisted on driving Henry to Boston for the exchange.
They make it halfway to the house when the front door is thrown open with abang and Regina flies through the threshold and down the path, a police officer in tow.
"Where have you been, young man?"
Henry – expecting a long-winded lecture to follow the question – freezes momentarily when he's suddenly pulled into a tight hug. He feels his chest squeezed tight at his Mama's fierce grip. It takes him a second to lift his arms and return the gesture. "I'm okay," he assures her softly, face pressed into the crook of her neck.
"Thank you for returning him home." The officer extends a hand towards Emma, sporting an easy smile that's friendly and sincere.
Emma's eyes dart from the offered hand, to the officer's face, to Regina and Henry. The pieces suddenly fall into place like lead weights dragging her heart down to her stomach.
She shoves both hands into her pockets, instead. "No problem." Her hands curl into fists, and her heart hammers an erratic rhythm in her chest.
Regina pulls away from Henry, snapped back into the moment at the sound of Emma's voice. "Graham, meet Emma Swan." She pauses. Her loose grip around Henry tightens for a moment as she reluctantly adds, "Henry's other mother."
"It's nice to meet you." Graham drops his arm back to his side, but his tone and smile remain sincere. He reaches around Regina to ruffle Henry's hair affectionately. "You worried us, buddy."
Us – the word rattles resentfully in Emma's head. She wants to run. Nervous energy crackles under her skin and pounds through her nerves. Emma wants to run from this sudden burst of emotions – too many mixing together to discern what she's actually feeling.
"Go inside and wash up, Henry."
"Ma-" He starts balefully, features shifting from contrite to frustrated in seconds.
"Henry, if you argue, I am going to ground you until your high school graduation." Regina cuts him off and fixes him with a hard gaze.
Henry deflates under scrutiny, and lumbers into the house sullen and incensed.
"I should also get going." Emma mutters once the boy disappears up the staircase. She is ill prepared for an argument with Regina in front of—in front of the cop. She wants to drive away until the past six hours are specks in her rearview mirror, and the situation becomes nothing more than a memory to be repressed and forgotten.
She needs to walk away now, because the alternative is a confrontation with raw emotions and racing thoughts and a definite lack of control.
"You couldn't have called?" Regina bites out harshly after Emma's spun around to walk away.
"He's back home safe. Talk to him about it, not me. I don't know what's going on inside his head right now." She calls over her shoulder undeterred from her main objective: to leave as fast as possible.
Emma moves towards her car, head down and hands still clenched into fists in her pockets. She ignores Regina calling out after her, ignores the verbal attack and veiled threats, because of the mounting pressure building in her chest – like a balloon on the verge of popping from unrestrained expansion.
She drives to the end of the block before she allows everything to pop.
Haphazard piles of paper clutter the coffee table. Emma leans into the sofa cushions as she surveys the mess in front of her.
They are two days from July 4th, and in the middle of nowhere at Regina's insistence. While most of their peers bought vacation homes in the Hamptons or along the Cape, Regina opted for a quaint town in Maine, an entire world away from the looming skyscrapers and ubiquitous concrete of New York City.
"Mommy, playtime!" Three year old Henry yells, riding his red tricycle into the living room. The yellow flag attached to the back seat waves obnoxiously in the air while the tires squeak steadily with each pedal.
"Not yet, kid." Emma flips through a stapled document distractedly. She curls a leg underneath her and only half listens to Henry babble about the apple tree in the backyard while he bikes noisily around her.
In the middle of leaving her secretary a message, Emma finds herself pinned down to the sofa, cell phone pried out of her hand. She's flat on her back with Regina sprawled messily on top of her, Emma's cell phone clutched victoriously in hand, like a footballer rejoicing in claiming a fumbled ball.
"You're breaking the rules of vacation." Regina uses her weight to pin the struggling blonde to the couch as Emma tries to reach for her phone. Holding it away from reach, Regina jabs the 'end call' button with her thumb.
"This isn't funny."
Henry watches on with interest, scrambling out of his bike to join the fun.
"Swan," Regina intones, testily, "we are somewhere in Maine where there are actual trees in the backyard and silence in the streets. You will not work while we are here."
"Playtime?" Henry interrupts, attempting to climb onto the couch with them. He tugs at his Mama's shirt to get her attention as he fails to pull himself onto the cushions.
"Yes, baby, playtime." Regina's lips curve into a mischievous smirk that floods Emma with dread. "We are going to play 'Hide-Mommy's-Phone'."
"Regina!"
Henry's eyes dart between his mothers, elfin grin mirroring Regina's as he nods enthusiastically. "Okay!"
Emma lets out an exasperated sigh, realizing her struggle is a failing one as Henry kisses her cheek before taking the phone from Regina with a thrilled yelp. "Count to ten while I hide, Mommy," he tells her seriously. He toddles out the living room giggling to himself as Regina goads him onward. "Make sure we can't find it!"
Once their son is out of earshot, Regina glances down at Emma, playful smirk transforming to a worried expression. Her brow knits together as she studies her wife. "Hey." Regina settles more comfortably atop Emma, lining her body parallel to the blonde's. She presses a kiss to Emma's cheek. "You're working too hard, Swan."
"It's a big case-"Emma's arms lift to encircle Regina's neck, fingers tangling in her partner's hair.
Regina kisses the corner of Emma's mouth to interrupt. "Stop."
"I just-" Emma hesitates.
"Stop." Regina orders softly. She leans down to brush her lips over Emma's in an effort to prevent her counterpart from arguing further.
"Oh, yuck!" Henry rushes back into the living room, pudgy hands covering his still cherubic face when he catches his mothers kissing on the couch.
Emma and Regina hold the kiss for a second longer before breaking apart with loud laughter, feeling the other's body shake with an uncontained sort of amusement at their scandalized three year old.
The sports car flies down the highway miles faster than the imposed speed limit. Emma has a heavy foot on the gas, urging the car forward and faster to get away from the town. Music thumps heavily from the stereo system so that the noise fills the empty space and drives out any lingering thoughts.
Her eyes stay focused on the winding road ahead, until the photo album left in the passenger seat catches her attention.
Despite her better judgment, she reaches across the console to open the cover and sees beaming, young faces, all naïve smiles and untarnished joy, gazing up at her. She hates them fiercely, those kids from a lifetime ago, who had believed so casually that the fairy tale would continue forever.
When she looks back at the road, there's a wolf in the middle of the street – ten feet away and unyielding. She pulls her foot of the gas and slams it down onto the brakes, jerking her steering wheel to avoid the animal. The force sends her car spinning wildly into the shoulder before hurtling into a sign: Welcome to Storybrooke.
Her head bounces sharply against the airbag- once then twice. The seatbelt digs into her skin as it tries to keep her in place. Emma fights against the desire to sleep, eyelids heavy and darkness coloring her vision.
The restaurant is almost empty by the time Emma rushes into the building, stumbling over her feet as she slides into the corner booth across from Regina.
"You're late."
"I'm sorry." Emma responds automatically.
It's the new rhythm of their conversations; Emma apologizes at every other sentence.
Emma tries to smile despite the tension hanging over their table. "I won the settlement."
"That's great."
"I'm sorry." Emma repeats impatiently.
When Regina had suggested dinner for their anniversary, this is not the scenario Emma pictured.
But then again, there is a lot Emma had imagined once upon a time that haven't quite panned out as expected.
Emma wakes up to a dull pain in her head and an ache in her lower back. She's vaguely aware of the mattress springs beneath her, and unfamiliar brick walls.
She turns her head to see the bars, and winces at the memory of last night that begins to emerge. She worries about the photo album and her car (though, mostly the wedding album).
Emma moves to stand when Graham saunters into the office and releases the man in the adjacent cell.
"Seriously?" She leans against the bars and watches him contemptuously. "On what grounds am I being held on?"
"Destruction of public property." Regina's voice echoes down the corridor before she turns the corner and comes into view. "Violation of custody agreement."
Emma takes a step away from the bars. This is exactly how she did not want to spend today.
"You and I both know I didn't violate anything." Emma folds her arms across her chest and glares defiantly at Regina. "This isn't a game. Let me out."
"I'm not here to argue, Swan."
Emma stills at the use of her last name. She can't remember the last time Regina referred to her as 'Swan' instead of 'Emma.'
"Henry's missing again. I don't know where he could've gone this time."
Emma runs the gamut of possibilities in her mind. Each scenario is worse than the last. She's tempted to reach across the bars and hold Regina's hand when she notices her own fear mirrored in her ex-wife's eyes. But, Graham's presence behind his desk reminds Emma those gestures are no longer hers to make.
She reminds herself that even without Graham in the picture, the gestures haven't been hers to make in years.
"Did you check with his friends?"
"He doesn't have any."
"He has to have friends." Emma shakes her head. "Everyone has friends. How did he pay for the bus?"
Regina chews on her bottom lip, "I don't-"
"Ms. Blanchard's credit card." Graham cuts into the conversation. "I saw the receipt in his trashcan yesterday when we were looking for him."
"Ms. Blanchard?" Emma looks between the two adults outside the jail cell. "Who's she?"
The name sounds familiar, but Emma can't place it.
"Henry's teacher." Regina frowns.
Emma steels herself for an argument as she holds the phone to her ear. It rings four times before Regina's voice filters through the speaker. "Hello?"
"Hey." The sound of Henry clamoring for attention resonates in the background. Emma smiles at the sound. "There's been a change of plans."
"Emma." Regina's voice is sharp. "If you don't make it home for his party, so help me god."
Emma flattens a non-existent wrinkle on her suit and nods against the phone, realizing only after a few moments that Regina can't see her. "I'll make it. Don't worry."
Regina's voice drops to a whisper. "Just come home, Swan. Can you do that?"
Emma swallows, "Yeah, yeah I can."
The school hallway is overflowing with kids rushing towards the exits for recess. Emma follows a half-step behind Regina, eyes taking in Henry's elementary school. She tries to picture him in running in the hallway, wonders which works of art that line the walls are his pieces.
Regret drops in her stomach, much like the night before, but this time she wraps it up in apathy and tries to repress its development.
"Ms. Blanchard, do you know where my son is?" Regina demands brusquely.
Emma hangs by the doorway, happy to sit back and watch Regina Mills in action from the sidelines rather than on the receiving end of an outburst.
"I assumed he was home sick," Ms. Blanchard responds calmly.
Emma wonders how many times Regina has hounded the poor woman if this visit barely fazes the teacher. Regina has long been the helicopter parent, who keeps an eye on Henry using similar techniques as Big Brother. Emma's parenting tactics are less refined. It's why she doesn't worry about Henry's safety in Storybrooke (at least until the last twenty four hours of their lives occurred).
She worries incessantly when he's in her custody, though, and she fumbles over the basics: healthy meals, appropriate bed times, and when to say 'no' to a wild idea.
"Would I be here if he was?" Regina barely pauses to launch into the next question. "Did you give him your credit card so he could take the bus to Boston to see her?"
"I'm sorry, who are you? "
"I'm Em-"
"That's Henry's other Mom." Regina responds before Emma can provide an answer herself.
Ms. Blanchard stills for a moment, and considers the accusation before digging into her purse for her wallet.
"You don't know anything about this, do you?" Emma asks, almost apologetically.
"No, unfortunately not." Ms. Blanchard shakes her head as she inspects the wallet. "Clever boy." She adds under her breath.
"This is a waste of time." Regina growls, charging back out as quickly as she had rushed into the room. "If you happen to see him, send him back home."
Emma's partly amused to find that Regina hasn't changed. A memory surfaces of a heated argument outside of the law school library that ended with Regina calling out a casual threat over her shoulder (You don't want to know what I'm capable of) before disappearing back inside the building.
They had spent weeks antagonizing each other after that disastrous first meeting at City Tap House, until Regina demanded Emma ask her on a proper date. Emma remembers staring back slack-jawed and flabbergasted, so much so that she'd actually complied with the order.
"Ms. Swan," Ms. Blanchard calls out as Emma prepares to follow after Regina. "Henry speaks highly of you. He really looks up to you."
Emma doesn't quite believe that. Henry's been his Mama's son since he was born, toddling after Regina when he was learning to walk, mimicking her expressions, and generally obeying every order with little complaint. Henry has her physical features, but his mannerisms are all Regina.
Emma smiles, anyway, and doesn't refute the teacher's claims.
"He's also a very lonely kid." Ms. Blanchard continues. "You might try to find him at his Castle."
"Thanks." Emma offers a stiff smile, and hurries down the hall before her ex-wife decides to leave her stranded at the school.
She wouldn't put it past Regina.
When Emma returns from another two week business trip, her world has turned inside-out.
She finds Regina at the kitchen island, bent over two cups of cocoa. "What's the occasion?" Emma smiles as she takes the offered cup. She dips a finger into the whipped cream covered in cinnamon and licks her finger clean.
"This isn't working." Regina tells her bluntly.
The world sputters to a stop.
"What do you mean?"
"We aren't working anymore." Regina makes a gesture between the both of them to emphasize a point. "When's the last time we had a conversation, Emma? When was the last time you were actually part of my life? Part of Henry's life? When's the last time we've even fucked?"
Emma stares, and blinks, and waits for the world to start again.
"I found an apartment three blocks from here. I took out a three month lease-"
Emma hears herself speak, but it feels closer to an out of body experience. She's watching herself interact with Regina, and screaming for everything to stop – or maybe for the world to kick start again.
But, it only continues.
Her life is a car crash she can't stop watching.
"I can move to the apartment." Emma volunteers.
Regina falters in her tirade. "What?" The word comes out sharp.
"I can move. I haven't unpacked my suitcase."
"That—that's it?" Regina stammers out. "You'll move?"
The idea of her world coming to a full stop is almost tempting, if it means quiet nights without bitter arguments and distasteful attempts at tearing each other down.
Emma is tired, too tired for any of this. She thinks of the contract sitting in her suitcase that needs reviewing, and the business trip next week to Shanghai.
With a slight nod of her head, Emma signs their life away.
Emma finds him at the playground, legs dangling over the edge of the wooden castle, just as Ms. Blanchard advised. She sends Regina a quick text message before grabbing the photo album from the backseat of the car and making her way to the ten year old.
Gray clouds collect above them. Emma wishes she had grabbed something thicker than a leather jacket as a gust of wind whips through the still park.
"Hey," Emma pulls herself onto the apparatus. She drops the photo album in his lap and takes the empty spot beside him. "I think you're going to need to break this new habit of yours." She runs a hand through his hair and pulls him close.
His body is cold from sitting outside all day. Emma rubs a hand up and down his arm to generate some warmth. She wonders if he can get sick, and tries not to let her thoughts escalate into irrational paranoia.
"I wasn't running away," he responds sullenly.
"OK, so what are you doing?"
He burrows deeper into her side, and tucks his head under her chin, allowing himself to be coddled for the moment. "I'm making a point." He feels her chest rumble as she chuckles at him.
"What point is that, kid?"
"I don't want to live here, anymore." He falters. "I want to live with you, now. Why can't I? Mama wanted to move here to get away from the city, but it's lonelyhere."
He jerks out of her grasp and jumps onto the sand, feet sinking into the soft ground from the force of the drop. "I hate it here, okay?" He clutches the photo album to his chest, like a shield to protect himself from the world.
"Henry." She drops beside him and bends to his eye level. "We are trying our best here!" The words burst out louder than she intended – sharp and full of frustration. It's the past twenty four hours bearing down on her – from Henry's willful antics to Regina's new life —, and she regrets letting the control slip as soon as Henry's face crumples.
"What do you know?" He yells. The fury in his expression reminds Emma of Regina (and damn, that isn't fair). "My life sucks!"
"Your life sucks?" She responds in disbelief before she can stop herself. She would compare and contrast their respective childhoods, but this isn't a contest with her ten year on whose suffered worse trauma from childhood.
She swallows down the desire to rant about the foster care system and indifferent guardians. "Your life doesn't suck, okay?"
But, Henry ignores her. He stares off at the water, body shuddering as he forces out all the words he had been holding back. "Mama's not happy! No one is happy anymore. And, then she's gonna get married, and pretend to be happy." He gulps in a breath of oxygen. "And, why would Mama want me if she has a new family where she can pretend to be happy?" His fingers curl tighter around the album, turning his knuckles white as the bones jut out.
Emma's flooded with another suffocating surge of regret – worse than the previous night. It presses down against her throat and builds pressure behind her eyes. "Henry." Her voice almost cracks at the name as she reaches out to pull him flush against her.
"That's not going to happen, okay?" She whispers fiercely as he trembles in her arms. "Your Mama loves you, you know that right?"
"Ask her if she's happy." He hiccups. "Stay a week and see for yourself."
The hallway is littered with boxes – some of them taped shut while others remain open, half filled with items that once decorated the brownstone. There are labels scrawled onto each one in Regina's neat print – kitchen, bedroom, living room.
Emma experiences déjà vu, which morphs into hot anger that twists in her stomach. She opens her mouth to begin yelling at Regina when her six year old charges into the hallway, howling in delight.
"Mommy!" Henry launches himself at Emma. "I missed you! You were gone for along time!" He wraps both arms around her middle and snuggles into her side happily. "Where's my gift?"
"Hey, kid." Emma ruffles his hair distractedly, eyes focused on Regina. "Looks like you and Mama were busy, though."
"We're moving!" Henry announces, oblivious to the growing tension in the room. "Are you packed and ready?"
Regina avoids Emma's hard gaze and heads up the stairs with an empty box in hand. "Bring him home before lunch tomorrow," are the only words the other woman utters.
Emma has half a mind to chase after her immediately, but reigns in the anger that swells and explodes with Regina's nonchalance.
"Baby, go and watch TV." Emma orders softly. She brushes back the hair that hangs in front of his eyes and presses a kiss to his temple. "I need to talk to Mama."
He frowns, "Is Mama in trouble?"
"No, we just need to talk."
Emma turns him around towards the direction of the living room, and he sighs dramatically before following orders. Once she hears the familiar sounds of the Disney channel, she bounds up the stairs two at a time, pulse thumping in her ears as anger pours through her veins in a mad rush.
"What the fuck?" Emma hisses as soon as she enters their bedroom – Regina's bedroom now. Or, was Regina's bedroom, given its almost empty state.
"We're moving to the house in Maine." Regina continues to empty out a drawer, barely sparing Emma a glance. "I was offered a job, and it starts in two weeks. Do you want to put the brownstone on the market, or should I?"
"You can't move to Maine!" The door shuts behind Emma with a click. She doesn't need to worry Henry over another argument. "We live in New York! Our lives are in New York!" She takes a hesitant step towards Regina, but falls back onto her heels, unsure of what to do.
Unsure of what she wants to do. A strong part of her wants to destroy everything in sight as a form of retaliation – break the vanity mirror, kick the boxes, smash the windows.
"Your life is barely in New York." Regina counters calmly as if she were discussing something mundane and ordinary. Emma's body hums with barely contained fury. "When was the last time you've stayed in the city for longer than four days, dear? Don't worry; Henry can stay with you for his summer vacation, and every other major holiday."
A beat and then, "if you can find the time," is muttered, low and resentful.
It's the sentence that breaks the damn, breaks Emma open and lets her anger spill out violently. She slams a hand on top of the dresser, bridging the last three feet of space between them. "I've done everything you've asked! When is it going to be enough? Why can't you just-" She tugs Regina forward, mid-sentence, and crushes their mouths together as words escape her. The kiss is brutal and desperate and needy.
Regina kisses back with equal fervor, matching Emma's anger with her own.
Emma guides them towards their bed (Regina's bed, Emma corrects the thought), and breaks the kiss when she feels them near the wooden frame. "Turn around," she pants, voice low and firm. Regina complies noiselessly, as if she had expected this all along. With one hand on Regina's shoulder, Emma presses the other woman's body down, bending Regina over the edge of the bed.
Emma doesn't pause to pull Regina's sweats down – there isn't time for it. She reaches around, slips her hand down the elastic waistband, and thrusts two fingers into Regina, who clutches onto a fistful of sheets at the intrusion and moans out an "oh—fuck." Emma drives her fingers in a punishing rhythm – hurried and furious. Regina tries to grind back into Emma's front, and Emma frowns. The hand on Regina's shoulder exerts more pressure; Emma throws her weight onto it. "Don't." The blonde growls out in warning. It takes minutes for Regina to come apart – body shuddering and fingers clutching tighter onto the sheets for purchase.
Emma fucks her until she stops writhing and her body settles from the high.
The room is still for a few moments with Regina half-collapsed over the bed and Emma's hand still inside her (almost) ex-wife. The only sound that fills the space is their attempts to gulp down oxygen into spent lungs.
"I…" Emma starts. She pulls her hand away, finally, and takes a hesitant step back as adrenaline dissipates into weariness that only propels her further into uncertainty. Her voice trails off as she wipes wet fingers onto the hem of her shirt.
Regina turns around and straightens up, though leans against the bed to support wobbly legs. "You what?"
"I-" The blonde tries again, but finds the words dying in her throat when their eyes meet. I love you, Emma wants to say. I'm sorry, she wants to add, wants to repeat like a litany.
But, the moment passes after a beat.
Emma just feels dirty and wrong and horrible, standing in the middle of what was once their room.
"I- I'll bring him back on time," Emma finishes stiffly, turning around to face the door.
Her clothes cling uncomfortably to sweaty skin.
Henry rushes out of the car before Emma can continue their conversation from the playground. He plods past Regina, who's waiting by the doorway and rushes up the stairs two at a time. The slam of his bedroom door rings like a shot across the front yard.
"Thank you for bringing him home." Regina tells Emma primly, rooted to her spot in the doorway.
"He's worried about you." Emma shifts awkwardly, glad that the Sheriff is absent for this interaction. She isn't sure what's she doing, or where she wants this conversation to go.
Emma should be in her car, halfway to Boston at this point.
"Well I'm sure you set his mind at ease." Regina's tone drips with sarcasm and folds her arms across her chest, defensively. "Have a safe trip back, Emma."
Emma holds her ground. This isn't for her, she has to remind herself. This is about Henry. "It was nice to see you, even given the circumstance." She buys herself some time, stumbling over her words to formulate a better plan of action. "I haven't… Birthdays have been lonely lately."
"Go home, Emma." Regina marches forward. Her Louboutins slap noisily against the brick. Regina gets close enough for Emma to see the anger unfurling across Regina's face – eyes growing hard and mouth set in a thin line. "Whatever it is you're trying to accomplish, don't."
Emma knows: she's too late for heroics, too late for grand romantic gestures, too late to sweep Regina off her feet.
But, when Regina turns to stomp angrily back into her house, Emma still catches Regina's elbow and curls fingers around it, holding the other woman in place – on the blind hope that maybe, just maybe.
Emma feels muscles tense under her touch. "Are you happy?"
A part of her wants Regina to say yes, and mean it. Even now, she still wants Regina to be happy, truly happy. Emma had let them go without a fight because she knew she couldn't do it. She had forgotten how to do it – how to make Regina smile, how to keep her promises, how to be present – so it was better to walk away without a drag down, knock-out fight.
Regina meets Emma's gaze wearily. "Happiest I've been in a long time." Regina finally answers quietly, freeing herself from Emma's grip.
Emma nods to herself, arm dropping to her side. "That's- I'm glad."
The door shuts behind Regina with a click that floods Emma's system with regret, pumping veins and arteries and capillaries full of that noxious feeling.
Four years later, Emma thinks, she should've fought.