Description: AU in which Emma brews the coffee, Regina bakes the turnovers, and sometimes they make a little magic together when the customers aren't looking (or so they think). SQ one-shot.
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Once Upon a Time or any of the characters depicted, I make no profit from writing this, and any resemblance to real-world people, places, or events is unintentional and/or highly fictionalized.
Notes: This is pure, mindless fluff. It's written in a series of short scenes/vignettes, alternating present and past (should be fairly obvious which is which, but I'll put the flashbacks in italics just in case). As always, feedback of any variety is highly welcome and appreciated.
"Good morning!" Emma greets in an irritating, sing-song voice that's far too cheerful for five in the morning. Regina has already been working since four-fifteen, getting the muffins in the oven so they'll all be ready when the morning crowd starts rolling in around six. One would think that in a town as small as Storybrooke, Maine, people might be a bit more relaxed about how quickly they get their breakfast.
Anyone who thought that would be wrong.
"'Good' is an interesting way to describe it," Regina grumbles, wiping sweat off her brow with a floury sleeve. Their current arrangement – she opens, Emma closes – works well for them, but it doesn't change the fact that her days begin far too early for her liking.
Emma just laughs. "Your usual?" she asks. "Or do you want some of that Sumatran Dark Roast we just got in?"
"Usual," Regina replies with a grunt of thanks as she pulls a tray of apple-cinnamon muffins out of the oven. "I saved you the biggest bear claw – it's on the counter over there."
"Thanks. I'll get the coffee ready for you in a minute or so. Mmm – this is delicious. Seems weirdly fitting that someone who's a bear in the morning would be good at making bear claws." She laughs at her own terrible joke, stuffing the pastry into her mouth as she waltzes out the kitchen door to start setting up behind the counter.
Regina shakes her head and hopes the caffeine will be ready for her system soon.
She supposes she could make her own coffee in the mornings, but it always tastes just a little better when Emma makes it for her.
She and Emma Swan are unlikely business partners and perhaps even less likely friends, but against all odds, Magic Beans has become a resounding success. No one would have expected it: certainly not her mother, who'd believed that opening a coffee shop in a small town in Maine was the absolute worst way she could have spent her inheritance.
And certainly not the people of Storybrooke, who had been convinced in the beginning that Emma and Regina's little project was a threat meant to disrupt the status quo. They'd tried to run them out of town before realizing that, in fact, their coffee is pretty damn good and the apple turnovers are even better.
There were times when even Regina herself hadn't been convinced it was a good idea.
But those times are over now, they're steadily in the black, and she's quite certain that, besides the four o'clock wake-up call, this is her calling.
Maybe.
It definitely feels that way when Emma comes into the kitchen and hands her a latte (with a little crown etched in the foam) and says, "Here you go, Your Majesty," and then she rests her chin on Regina's shoulder, deeply inhaling the scent from the oven. "What are those?" she moans. "They smell amazing."
"Apple turnovers, of course. For the customers."
They do this little dance every day. The turnovers are Regina's most popular concoction: they generally sell out before eight no matter the price. Thus, they're the one item on the menu that Emma isn't allowed to freely sample.
"Don't you think this batch needs a little quality control?" Emma wheedles. "We wouldn't want to be handing out second-rate turnovers."
"We wouldn't," Regina agrees. "Which is why we're lucky that I never make second-rate anything."
"You're pretty humble today, aren't you?" the blonde teases, elbowing Regina lightly in the ribs. "Someday, I'll get you to let me taste your forbidden fruit." She tries to hide the slight blush that creeps onto her cheeks whenever Emma touches her. She's not sure if she's successful – if she's ever successful – and she wonders if Emma notices the way her body reacts to even the slightest contact. Perhaps she does it on purpose?
Or perhaps she assumes, like any normal person would, that the increasingly intense heat in the room comes solely from the oven and that the quickening of Regina's heartbeat (not that anyone outside her body would even notice that) is due to the caffeine that's finally making its way into her bloodstream.
After all, who would've expected Regina to start falling for Emma Swan?
No one.
She'd hated the idiot when they'd first started working together, but no one else had answered her ad for a barista and she'd needed to open up shop before the first month's rent was completely wasted. Emma always seemed a bit more like a Golden Retriever than a functioning adult human, but she'd gotten the beans-to-water ratio right and the dimwitted townspeople – for whatever reason – had loved her, so Regina had kept her on.
Now, five years later, Emma owns half of the newly-expanded project and Regina would consider her a friend. A frequently irritating friend, to be sure, but a friend nonetheless.
"This is by far the most idiotic, harebrained scheme you've ever come up with!" Cora screeches. "And that includes the stunt you pulled in Puerto Rico when you were eighteen!"
Regina hangs her head in shame at the mention of "The Stunt," as her mother likes to call it (It wasn't a stunt; it was love, she thinks bitterly.), but she stands her ground with regard to "The Harebrained Scheme."
"I think it's a very good idea, Mother," she says evenly. "Storybrooke hasn't had a decent place to get breakfast since Granny's closed down, my baking has always won first prize at the county fair, and independent coffee shops are becoming very trendy. A space recently became available on Main Street, and –"
"And you're forgetting that in order to rent this space, you need capital. Capital which, as far as I know, you don't have."
"I have Grandpa Xavier's inheritance," Regina says smugly, pleased to one-up her mother on something.
"That money is for law school tuition," Cora hisses.
Regina shakes her head firmly, determined to win now that she has the upper hand. "He never said that. Not to me, anyway, and the will never said that."
"How do you know what the will said?" Cora challenges. "You barely speak any Spanish. You were supposed to learn it that summer, but no, you spent your time making out with girls instead of studying."
Again, with the ad hominem attacks.
"Well, you don't speak any Spanish at all," she growls, "so you don't know either."
They both turn expectantly toward Henry, the only one who'd been able to read his father's will in its entirety. He looks up, startled, from his newspaper, and smiles at his daughter like he's about to rule in her favor. "The will never said anything about law school," he confirms. "And given Grandpa Xavier's legacy as an entrepreneur, I'm sure he'd approve of Regina using her inheritance for her own business venture."
Regina grins. Cora seethes.
"Well, don't call me when your little 'business venture' goes under after a month of no customers and sky-high utility bills," she growls before she stalks out of the room.
"Don't listen to her, mija; she's just worried about you," Henry says as he puts the paper down and beckons his daughter to come sit on his lap. "I'm sure your café will be successful. Will you have your apple turnovers on the menu?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll be in every day." He kisses her on the cheek and whispers, "I'm very proud of you for making the best of a bad situation. We both are. She's just..."
"I know," Regina sighs. "Thank you, Daddy."
Now, she just needs to find a partner – preferably someone to pour coffee and man the register while she's in the kitchen, doing what she does best and avoiding human interaction. There's only been one response to her ad so far: a seventeen-year-old girl by the name of Emma Swan who seems (not that she's one to judge, given her current predicament) like she may have spent some time on the wrong side of the tracks.
"Aren't you a little...young?" she asks the girl, a thin blonde dressed in flannel with huge glasses Regina assumes are meant to make her look older (They don't – just dorkier.).
"You're one to talk," Emma retorts. "Aren't you only twenty-two and starting your own business? Why can't a barista be seventeen?"
"Yes, but –" Regina sighs, unsure how to explain herself. It's not as if this is her life's ambition.
"Have you even tasted my coffee?" demands Emma. "Everyone at juvie said it was pretty damn good."
"I ca –"
Emma shoves the cup in her face and she takes a sip. It's pretty damn good. "You're hired," she says.
"Hiya, kid," Emma says to Henry, who's been sleeping on one of the armchairs in the corner while he waits for Regina's father to come in and take him to preschool. He's always been a remarkably good sport about their early wake-up time (better than Regina, anyway), mostly due to the fact that he gets to "help" Emma set up the register. "Can I get you a cocoa?"
Henry nods blearily and slides off the chair, following Emma behind the counter. "Don't forget the cinnamon," he tells her.
"Never. That'll be a million bucks – you paying with paper or plastic?"
Grinning, Henry hands Emma Regina's expired bank card and repeatedly presses the open-close button on the register. "Henry!" Regina warns, poking her head out the kitchen door.
"It's fine," Emma says quickly. "He knows not to touch the money. Right, kiddo?"
"I'm a em—ploy—ee," Henry says proudly, slowly sounding out the big word.
"Employee of the month," Emma laughs. "You want to help the queen set up the cupcakes?"
Eyes bright and serious – all traces of sleep have vanished – Henry follows Regina around to the bakery case, where she's laying out a huge batch of meticulously frosted chocolate cupcakes. "Be careful not to touch the frosting," she tells him, "and we're putting them in rainbow order."
Henry giggles and says, "Okay, Mommy," before eagerly getting to work. He's slow and careful, making no mistakes even with his tiny hands (they've had a few mishaps over the years, but he's learned from them), and he places his fists on his hips proudly when he finishes. "All done!" he proclaims.
"This looks beautiful, my little prince," Regina gushes, leaning down to place a tender kiss on the top of his head.
"Prince?" Emma chortles, faking a curtsey. "Your Highness."
"Well, if I'm the queen, my son would naturally be the prince."
"Oh yes, of course, Your Majesty. Then what am I?"
"The servant," laughs Regina, at the same time Henry blurts out, "The other queen."
Emma raises her eyebrows. "You know what? I think I like the prince a little better than you." She scoops him up into her arms, bouncing up and down around the shop like a galloping horse and Regina has to chuckle at the utter ridiculousness of it even as seeing Emma interact so beautifully with her child brings a warmth to her heart she hadn't known existed until the first time she saw it.
"Be good," she scolds, "both of you," and she returns to the kitchen as Emma gives her a mock salute and Henry giggles uncontrollably.
She works in near silence for the next half hour, except the few times that Emma comes in to grab trays of baked goods, but the younger woman has learned over the years not to make conversation when Regina's in her zone.
Finally, she's interrupted by a knock at the door, and she checks the clock to see that it's almost time to open up.
"Got the muffins, bagels, and donuts all set out," Emma reports. "House blend, decaf, and the new dark roast are brewing, and Ruby called to say she's going to be late."
Regina groans. "Of course she is." If it wasn't for the fact that Ruby makes the best hot cocoa in the state of Maine – by Emma's estimation – Regina would have insisted on firing her long ago.
"But she's bringing the new girlfriend with her this morning," Emma adds with a wicked grin.
"So what?" Regina asks irritably.
"What do you mean, so what? Regina Mills, do not try to pretend that you don't get a certain thrill out of judging new people. I know you too well."
Sighing and rolling her eyes, Regina says, "So, what do you know about this new girlfriend?"
"Her name is Belle. She apparently likes to read."
"Maybe she'll be a good influence – Ruby could stand to have some intelligent people in her life."
"Hey! She has us – and Mary Margaret."
"She has us," Regina echoes, not wanting to speak ill of Emma's beloved roommate, though to say Mary Margaret Blanchard is an idiot would be putting it charitably. Still, in spite of her severe lack of critical thinking skills and infuriatingly unwavering optimism, Mary Margaret is the closest thing to family Emma has and she's great with Henry, so Regina keeps her mouth shut.
"Anyway," Emma says, checking her watch, "I'm about to open up. I'll call you if there's a rush before Ruby gets here, alright?"
Wordlessly, Regina nods and adjusts her apron before getting the bread for their new lunch menu – the summer sandwiches have been a huge hit – ready for the oven.
"Dr. Hopper! Good morning," she hears Emma call out, her early-morning false cheeriness out in full force. "What can I get for you today?"
Ruby arrives at six-thirty, new girlfriend in tow, but they don't really have time to get to know her since that's when the morning rush begins in earnest. At seven, Regina pulls two sourdough loaves from the oven and joins Emma and Ruby behind the counter, ringing up the steady stream of customers so they can focus on preparing the drinks. She's far less chatty than the two of them (sometimes a lack of social skills can be a blessing as well as a curse), enabling her to get the entire line finished by seven-fifteen on the dot, just in time for Emma's insipid roommate to come in.
"Emma, Regina, Ruby, hello," she says politely before gushing, "Henry!" as he runs into her arms.
"Hey, M&M," Ruby greets warmly, while Regina punches the pixie-haired woman's usual order into the cash register. Hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Emma drinks it, too, as does Henry. It's their "family thing."
(The idea of Emma, Henry, and Mary Margaret being a family and having a "thing" together makes Regina want to destroy entire buildings in a blinding rage, even though she knows how foolish that is. It's not about her son – she's his mother and there's no one he loves more fiercely, she knows that. They're the equivalent of doting aunts to him and Mary Margaret is basically Emma's mother and there's nothing there for her to feel left out of, and yet she does. So much so that it's sheer agony and she doesn't even know why.)
Mary Margaret takes her cocoa and sits at the table in the corner to read some absurd romance novel like she does every morning. Beside her, Belle is reading Proust and Ruby lets out a satisfied little snort.
At seven-twenty, the Nolans stroll in, uncomfortably arm-in-arm, and Regina greets Kathryn warmly while trying to ignore the foolish woman in the corner who's staring at her reflection in the back of a spoon as she straightens her hair. The Nolans' marriage has been on the outs for a while – everyone knows that – but it's still unseemly (not to mention futile) to pine after a married man. It's a lesson Regina had learned the hard way after many nights of tears and whiskey.
David and Kathryn both order coffee to go, so they're thankfully on their way before either of the dimwits have managed to embarrass themselves, though they're even more foolish than Regina thought if they imagine no one saw the yearning looks they'd shot each other. Subtlety is neither of their strong suits, and the small-town rumor mill is a powerful thing.
Emma rolls her eyes at her roommate and says, "If you think whatever you're thinking of doing is a bad idea, you're probably right."
"I wasn't thinking of anything!" Mary Margaret exclaims. "I was just –"
"Yeah, you're both 'just.'"
"He's married. I would never."
"Unless you're a masochist who enjoys having your heart broken," Regina says under her breath.
"Mommy, what's a massssss—i...what?"
Emma laughs and Regina shakes her head. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Do you want to help Mommy test the next batch of bread?"
Henry leaps eagerly into her arms and plants wet, noisy kisses all over her face as she carries him into the kitchen, causing her to giggle in spite of herself.
"Aw, look at the Evil Queen in domestic Mommy-mode," Emma teases, and Regina shifts Henry's weight onto one arm so she can whack the other woman with a dishtowel.
They both show up at four in the morning on opening day, eager to get started even at the early hour. Emma gets the coffee machine running and swings through the kitchen door to find Regina. "Hey, you need a cup to get you started?" she offers. "Maybe a taste-test, you know?"
"No thanks," Regina mumbles, thrusting a batch of her apple turnovers in the oven before the smell can overwhelm her. She's not supposed to be drinking caffeine – not that the thought of coffee is in any way appealing to her right now.
"Really? It's like, four a.m. Caffeine is necessary."
"No, it's not," Regina mutters, cringing as the mug in Emma's hand comes too close to her face and she catches a strong whiff of the liquid inside. She clutches her stomach and sprints into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting the meager breakfast she'd been able to eat.
"What the hell?" the blonde demands. She's standing over her in the doorway and Regina just wants her to leave. "Are you sick?"
"Not – really."
"Oh my god," Emma suddenly breathes, leaning hard against the sink. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"I...oh geez. And I've been trying to shove coffee in your face. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Regina rasps, trying to push herself up and regain her composure. "You didn't know."
"Well, your secret's safe with me," Emma promises. "It – it is a secret, right? I mean, I just assumed..."
Regina looks down at her stomach and chuckles darkly, "It probably won't be a secret for much longer." She doesn't even want to think about trying to maneuver around a hot kitchen when she's eight or nine months along – perhaps this was what her mother had meant when she'd said it was a bad idea.
"Shit. Who's the dad?" Regina pales and Emma seems to realize what a mistake she's made. "I, um...sorry. None of my business."
Her better judgment is telling her to reply, "You're right; it's not," but her heart is broken and she aches, so desperately, to share this burden with someone – with anyone, really, and Emma's right here. "No, it's - he was my college boyfriend, Daniel."
"Was?"
"He...he died," she finally whispers. In a freak equestrian accident that so far, no one's been able to explain. It was a week after graduation and they were supposed to move into an apartment in Boston together and she'd been numb with shock and begged the universe to please, please tell her why. And then she'd been late.
"Shit," Emma says again. Then, more nosiness. "So are you going to keep it?"
"Keep what?"
"The baby!"
"Of course!" Regina exclaims. She's not ready to be a mother – absolutely not – but the idea of destroying the last connection she has to Daniel is completely unthinkable. "I...yes, I'm going to keep my baby."
"Okay." Emma nods. "If you ever need, like, a babysitter or something – no, actually, that doesn't make sense, does it? Since we'll be working the same hours and all of that."
The awkward offer warms her heart, and not only because Emma seems to assume that they'll still be in business by the time Henry's born (Henry Daniel, she's already decided – named for both her father and his). She brushes over the fact that she's not sure she'd want to hire a babysitter who'd spent time in juvie.
"Speaking of working..." Regina points out.
"Yeah, we should probably get to it, huh?" Emma holds out her hand and Regina stares at it for a moment, befuddled, until she realizes she's supposed to take it. The younger woman pulls her up with surprising strength for her thin frame and then offers, "Do you need a hug?"
"A hug?"
"Yeah, something humans typically do to show affection and support – involves putting your arms around the other person...want me to demonstrate?"
Regina sighs and nods, hating herself with a ferocity she's never before experienced. But then Emma's arms are encircling her and it feels so good – strong and safe and tender and she barely even knows this girl. She doesn't know anything about her and yet in this moment, she's completely dependent on her for comfort and it's so very wrong.
She clears her throat awkwardly and mumbles, "I...erm...let's get back to work, Miss Swan."
"Miss Swan?" Emma laughs. And her laugh is beautiful and her smile is beautiful and she goes back behind the counter to turn on the cash register while Regina flees to the kitchen, feeling chilled and exposed where Emma's arms had kept her warm only seconds before. When she's certain no one's looking, she wraps her own arms around her middle and she can still feel the ghost of Emma's touch there.
The doorbell jingles at seven-fifty on the dot and Regina quickly straightens her hair before following Henry up front because, while her father is incredibly reliable in what time he shows up each morning, it's never certain whether he'll be alone, and if he has her mother in tow, well...
"Grandpa!" Henry exclaims. No Grandma? Regina glances out the kitchen door and sees her father – just her father – and grins.
"Good morning, everyone," he says warmly. "Regina, sweetheart, do you have any of my favorite turnovers this morning?"
"Of course," she replies, grabbing the paper bag she always sets aside in the kitchen for him. ("Not fair," Emma always whines, but there have to be rewards for loyalty and longevity and her father has surpassed them all.)
He takes a bite and murmurs, "It's perfect, mija, just like you," before kissing her on the cheek. It's the same little dance they do every day, and she supposes now that's she's almost twenty-seven she should be embarrassed by it, but she's not.
"Here's your coffee," Emma says brightly, tilting her head towards him so he can kiss her, too.
"Ah, yes, my other beautiful daughter," he jokes as he takes a long swig of it. "Your coffee is also perfect." Then, of course, he plants a kiss on Emma's cheek and she smiles and Regina knows it's ridiculous, but she can't help the tiny prickles of jealousy she feels under her skin at the thought that her own father can kiss Emma Swan and she can't.
It's stupid. He's an affectionate man. Emma sees him as a father figure. But somehow it still stings that both her father and her son can call Emma Swan their family and she's just a coworker.
And friend, she reminds herself. Friends are important. Friendship is good.
Friendship is good, but if it were her choice, she'd want so much more.
"So," Emma says one day, a few months after they'd opened the café, "you and your folks seem...reasonably close."
Regina grunts in acknowledgement, huffing and puffing as she tries to maneuver a huge tray of muffins around her increasingly swollen belly. Emma immediately grabs a pot-holder and jumps in to help.
"And you?" she breathes out in a sigh of relief once it's been safely deposited on the counter.
Emma shrugs. "Don't have any folks to be close to. Kind of a loner actually – no family, no friends, no boyfriends, girlfriends – anything like that. I'm pretty much a model employee in that regard."
"Oh, right," Regina mutters, remembering at the last second that Mary Margaret Blanchard, whom Emma had introduced as her roommate, is actually her incredibly young foster mother (and apparently her final second chance in a long string of second chances). "What's that like?"
"I don't know," says Emma, hopping uncomfortably from one foot to the other as if she's bursting with loose energy. "Haven't really had any alternatives to compare it to. Not since I was three, anyway," she adds with a dark laugh.
"What happened when you were three?" Regina asks, overcome with curiosity, before shaking her head at her own lack of manners. "I mean, if you don't want to do sharing circle right now..."
"No it's fine," Emma says dismissively, "I've got everything all set out there." She jerks her head toward the front room, and Regina rests her elbows on the counter in a desperate attempt to take some weight off her lower back so she can focus on the story.
"Just...when I was born, my birth parents abandoned me on the side of a freeway. I don't – well, anyway, I got adopted right away by this couple. The Swans. They...they were cool, I guess. I don't really remember. But then when I was three, they got pregnant with their own kid and gave me back." She looks down at her feet and tries to force a smile. "But, you know, it's fine. "
But Regina knows it's not. It's not anything even remotely close to fine.
"Their own kid?" she exclaims angrily. "That's...that's awful! They adopted you! You were their own kid!"
Emma snorts. "Maybe not everyone's attitudes are as progressive as yours."
"That's..." Regina shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut, blinded by rage and gut-wrenching pain on Emma's behalf. "Why couldn't they have had two kids?"
"Money, maybe?" Emma suggests. "Anyway, they thought they had a choice to make, and they didn't choose me. No one ever chooses me," she adds, though her tone is remarkably devoid of self-pity. "Until you, actually, but I figure there weren't a whole lot of other applicants for the job."
Regina can't tell if the massive lump in her throat is caused by hormones, or exhaustion, or something else entirely, but her voice is thick with tears as she lies, "Actually, there were quite a few, but you were the best. I chose you."
"Oh god," Emma groans, "please tell me you're going to be less blubbery when this baby finally comes out, or I don't know how this partnership is gonna work out for us." But then she smiles and pats Regina lightly on the shoulder before giving her belly a little tap like she always does and ambling out to change the sign to "OPEN."
Meanwhile, Regina stares after her, fingers unconsciously tracking to the area still tingling from even the smallest of Emma's touches, and murmurs, "I'd always choose you."
The doorbell jingles again; Regina looks up from the trays of mini-cupcakes she's been rearranging and sighs deeply as her least favorite customer saunters in.
"Mr. Jones," she scowls, greeting him with a curt nod.
"Hey, Killian," Emma says brightly. "What can I get for you today?"
"Extra large house blend, black," he answers, greedily eyeing the bakery case, "and you don't happen to have any more of those turnovers, do you?"
Regina hopes, out of spite, that they don't but of course there's one left over and Ruby immediately pulls it out.
"It's your lucky day," laughs Emma. "You get to taste the forbidden fruit."
Regina thinks briefly that she might vomit at the thought, but then "might" changes to "will" when Killian mischievously waggles his eyebrows and says, "I wouldn't mind tasting some other forbidden fruit, if you know what I mean."
That's her inside joke with Emma, Regina thinks possessively, and she sees an angry, red haze in front of her eyes at the sound of the blonde's obnoxiously loud laugher – so shrill it almost sounds forced – in reply.
How dare she?
The idea of Emma Swan – her Emma Swan – acting like an embarrassing flirt and abandoning her integrity over a dumb boy hurts so badly that it nearly has her trembling.
You can't cry over dumb boys, she reminds herself.
But it's not over him, it's over Emma, whom she'd perhaps been stupid enough to believe, for a brief, shining moment, returned her feelings.
But she obviously doesn't, not if she's flirting with this leather-clad idiot who – oh god, is he wearing eyeliner?
"That'll be five dollars," Emma says, punching his order into the register. "Unless there's anything else you want."
"Well, I was wondering," Killian says slowly, looking around as though he's trying to make sure everyone is listening ("Asshole," Regina mutters to herself.), "would you be interested in going out sometime? Perhaps to the Rabbit Hole, tonight?"
That's when Regina stops listening. She flees into the kitchen as her face crumbles and tears of rage spring to her eyes, unaware of every occupant of the small café observing her retreat with eager curiosity.
All except Emma, whose eyes widen with concern and finally (possibly), understanding.
"Hey," Emma says softly when Regina returns at nine-thirty from her third date with Robin. "Henry fell asleep right on schedule. Good date?"
Regina shrugs and turns her face so Emma can't see the tears streaming down her cheeks, but it appears the younger woman is perceptive even in this dim light.
"What happened?" she demands. "Did you guys break up? You did, didn't you?"
"We...yes," Regina sniffs. "He – he decided to get back together with his ex."
"His ex? Oh, right, he was married."
"Yes, with a child. He...she..." She dissolves into tears again and feels like the biggest idiot in any universe.
"Oh god, Regina."
"It's so stupid," she cries, cursing herself for her weakness. "We just started seeing each other." They've been on three dates; it's not like she was in love with him or anything absurd like that.
No, it's not that he'd dumped her.
It's what he'd said in the process that's left her so utterly devastated.
"He said," she chokes, as the shaky sobs begin to wrack her entire body, "That everyone's only entitled to one epic love story in their lifetime, and Marian's 'the one.'"
"He's an ass," Emma declares.
"But he's –"
"Maybe he's not really an ass most of the time, but for our purposes, he is, okay?"
"Okay," Regina concedes, accepting the tissue Emma hands her and attempting to wipe away her tears.
"Anyway, that's a pretty stupid idea. I mean, if that's true, then your 'the one' fell off a horse and died at age twenty-two, and mine got me sent to juvie for a crime I didn't even commit and then disappeared off the face of the planet. I mean, probably to, like, one of the northern provinces of Canada or something like that, where only the polar bears can find him."
Regina sniffles. "We've both been fairly unlucky in love, haven't we?"
"Yeah, at least your little misadventures landed you a cute kid, though," Emma remarks, nodding toward Henry's room. "But, like, that's what I'm saying. If there's only one person for everyone, then we're both screwed. So I'd like to think there's multiple people out there, and we get to choose one, y'know?"
Choose one.
That sounds nice. Freeing, even.
It also sounds like a crushingly huge responsibility.
Emma clears her throat. "So, yeah, we get lots of choices – lots of chances. So you can never forget rule number one: don't cry over dumb boys. There's more where they came from."
"Don't cry over dumb boys," Regina repeats, laughing slightly through her tears, although those have slowed. "And what's rule number two?"
"I don't know yet," Emma replies with a shrug. "I've only got one so far."
"I think I can handle one rule." Regina blows her nose and offers her friend a watery smile, whispering, "Emma...thank you."
"For what? I didn't do anything."
For something she can't even articulate.
"For...being here. Supporting me. Helping with Henry. Making good coffee. I – yes, just...thank you for that."
"No problem," Emma says, grinning. "The kid and I always have fun, and, well, you know."
No, I don't know, Regina wants to scream. Please tell me, because the things I'm feeling just don't make sense to me.
She hopes that Emma somehow understands the pleading glances she's sending her way, but the blonde just reaches over and squeezes her hand and says, "I'd better get going. Early morning tomorrow, as always."
And she leaves and Regina's hand is cold and tingling and the ache in her heart is growing steadily stronger, and she buries her face in a pillow to muffle the grief-stricken cries that are coming back full force because she doesn't understand anything anymore.
She kicks the oven in frustration and tries to bite back the hot, angry tears that keep leaking out of her eyes. She has no right. Emma can flirt with whoever she wants – can go on a date with whoever she wants. Regina has no claim to her.
They're friends. Friends and business partners and why – why? – can't they be something more?
"It doesn't matter," she whispers, feeling a sob rise up from her chest before she can stop it, but it's nearly shocked out of her system when she hears someone clear their throat behind her.
She whirls abruptly around and sees Emma leaning awkwardly against the doorframe.
"I said no," she mumbles.
Regina shrugs one shoulder and scowls. "Okay."
"I mean, in case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
"Okay." Emma sighs and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet. "And, um...I also know that you lied five years ago."
Regina blinks.
"I lied?"
"Yeah, when you said – you said there were a lot of other applicants. I checked. There weren't."
"Well, there you go. I'm a liar. Should we get back to work now?"
"And," Emma continues, eyes darting frantically around the room as Regina stares at the floor, thinking it could use a good sweep, "I just thought I'd let you know: there aren't any other viable options for me, either."
Regina looks up, bewildered. "What?"
"I just...you chose me!" Emma finally bursts out. "I know you did. And now I want to choose you."
Regina's mind whizzes through all the possible meanings and double meanings of Emma's statement and only comes up with one.
"Really?" she breathes.
Emma nods and creeps closer as a radiant smile lights up Regina's face and she pulls Emma into her arms like she's been longing to do again ever since their first hug.
"I choose you," Emma repeats. "I'd always choose you."
And Regina whispers, "I'd always choose you, too."
She's unsure who initiates the kiss – maybe it's a mutual reaction – but before she knows it, her lips are pressed up against Emma's and every inch of her is tingling with unbridled joy as her body says everything it's been holding back for five years, her heart light with the freedom of finally confessing the thought she's long held in its depths, never quite able to articulate: that the two of them, of all the people in all the worlds, had somehow managed to choose each other, and together, their love creates something beautiful
They slowly separate and their foreheads rest together for one blissful moment before someone wolf-whistles from the kitchen door, and they turn to see Ruby – Henry in her arms – and her father and Belle and that idiot Mary Margaret and even Jones crowding in to watch and starting a round of applause.
"Finally," Mary Margaret sighs.
Killian turns to Ruby and demands, "Pay up."