This Game We Play

by kirkmills

A Murder. A Visitation. A Family Dinner. When the citizens of Storybrooke are shaken by a mysterious but deadly invite, Emma finds herself heading up the investigation on a seemingly unsolvable case. Though the Sheriff of Storybrooke would probably rather face the strange spirits invading her town than the toubles of her own personal life. SQBB April 2014.

1. The Party at Town Hall

A/N: I wanted to write in a Post Neverland timeline, but not have to waste time writing around the dreaded love triangle. So I made the creative decision that niether Hook nor Neal have made an appearance in Storybrooke. Rumpel also did not return from Neverland with everyone else, so isn't around. Some might call this cheating, I call it taking creative liberties. It means you get more Swan Queen anyway.

Huge massive eternal thank yous to my fantastic beta Maria (ohthesefeelingz). The woman is a legend. She took me to school and then some. Also a mention must go to the Cristina to my Cristina - because we struggled through this together.

Check out the mix for this story by jay-sanch at the SQBB tumblr.

SQ*SQ*SQ

It's a cold, windy November day in Storybrooke, Maine. The town's inhabitants go about business as usual, bundled up in huge variants of scarves, hats, and other assorted knitwear. The sky is gray, the threat of yet another rain storm clouding the sky. Despite the grayness in the sky though, there's a general excitement hanging in the air as December – and the festive season it brings with it – grows ever closer. For the longest time things in the strange town have been difficult, unsettled, but things finally seem to be calming down – and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Quite to the contrary, this re-descent into boring normality is greatly appreciated by some.

Obadiah Jenkins had never been one for adventure – even in his old life. In Storybrooke he was just a kid from the orphanage, under the care of the nuns. In the Enchanted Forest he'd never been much better off, though at least back there the orphanages hadn't been run by prudish nuns. He was fifteen years old – he knew how to take care of himself – and the constant fussing, rules and regulations they enforced on him (and all the charges under their care for that matter) got more than a little infuriating.

The boy shivers, pulling his sleeves further down his fingers with his stiffening thumbs – careful not to let go of the handles of his death-trap of a bicycle. He wasn't an idiot, he knew how to ride a bike, but the rusty, rickety Ciocc Mockba he'd had for his paper rounds ever since he could remember (most likely because his part-time job had come part and parcel with the curse that made him Obadiah Jenkins) had barely been in one piece twenty eight years ago. Nowadays it was truly a wonder to him that it didn't fall apart every time he sat on it.

In the distance there's a low rumble of thunder, and he grumbles as he looks up at the sky – it's going to start raining again, and then he's going to get wet. If there's one thing Obadiah Jenkins hates, it's getting rained on. It's probably a little ironic then, that he has a job which keeps him outdoors, summer and winter, in Maine of all places.

He rides along a little further, coming up on Mifflin Street – almost done. The wind's picking up as he travels down the deserted street, and as he approaches the end he watches in a strange mixture of awe and annoyance as the last paper he threw is picked up by a particularly violent gust and swept up into a tree.

"Oh you've gotta be kidding me," he grumbles under his breath, practically launching himself off the bike and heading for the tree, watching with hardly-veiled distain as it falls over with a loud, whining clang.

"Piece o' crap," he snaps over his shoulder, pulling the zipper on his jacket up with a little more force than necessary.

He takes two or three more steps towards the tree before stopping abruptly – actually taking his surroundings into account. His eyes widen as he actually looks at where the damned paper has lodged itself. It's no ordinary tree, that's for sure – it's a beautifully pruned and attended apple tree. One he passes everyday (just a little slower than all the other trees on this street, if he's being honest) and whose owner he knows will most assuredly not be happy to see him clambering around in it. Unfortunately for him though, the paper's lodged up high – higher than he can reach from the ground – and there's no way to get to it without climbing. He could leave it there, of course, just let someone not get their Daily Mirror today – but the last time he did, the lecture he got from the Mother Superior – no, Blue – had been mind-numbing to the point where he promised both her and himself that from then on he'd just do his stupid job.

Nope, that paper's gonna have to come down – and that means that he is gonna have to go up.

The teen reaches forward with his frozen fingers, reaching for a handhold in the lower branches before hoisting himself up carefully into them. He scrambles up the narrow boughs, wincing and cursing internally as the smaller branches and twigs scratch at his face. He doesn't know what kind of awful luck he has that the paper is in about the most difficult to reach place in the entire tree. He scrambles forward until he's clinging to a branch that he's pretty sure was never meant to hold fifteen year old boys – and then a movement in the corner of his vision catches his attention.

His head snaps up, his eyes widening as his mind digests just what he's seeing. The mansion's dark, except for one window glowing with soft yellow light, and in that window Obie can just make out a tangle of flesh and limbs. His eyes widen further still as the bodies move, falling into an illuminating beam of light, and as they move he sees a flash of breasts pushed flush against each other.

Obie almost falls out of the tree. That's a woman. The person who Regina Mills has pressed naked against her window is a woman. If Obie's being honest – he's always had a thing for the Mayor. Milla always used to tease him it was because he had 'Mommy Issues' – that he'd never had a maternal figure and Regina's stern nature was what got him attracted to her. He maintained it was the fact that she was hot. Either way, he'd never imagined he'd actually get to see her in this position – and with another woman – if his fingers weren't frozen stiff he'd have to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't just another of his many lurid dreams about the woman.

Instead he just shakes his head, eyes returning immediately to the two figures in the window – paper long forgotten – unable to tear his eyes away from the way the Mayor is sucking on the other woman's neck, hands tangling into her blonde curls.

He's so distracted by the tangle of flesh in the window that he doesn't hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps crunching on the frosted leaves below.

"Did mommy never tell you spying is a truly despicable habit?"

This time Obie does fall out of the tree. He spins around on the branch, losing his grip and landing flat on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. The owner of the voice walks towards him, towering over him. They're dressed in basic skinnies and a pea coat, but he can't really make out anything else – it occurs to him vaguely that maybe he's concussed.

"Oh, that's right, you never had a mommy."

He coughs, trying to breathe in enough air for a response – but before he can open his mouth to speak, the figure's retreating again, only stopping when they reach the Mockba.

"Piece of crap, this," they drawl, giving it a kick and watching the rust flake off, "you should watch yourself – wouldn't want you to get hurt."

He coughs again, sitting half-up to stare after the figure as they head back off down the street – still unable to make out their face.

It takes him another few minutes, but eventually he manages to sit up. Unable to resist the temptation, he turns back to the window – but Regina and her blonde lover have disappeared, apparently unaware of anything happening in the garden just outside. He sighs heavily, scrambling off the floor, and groaning as his back protests the movement. He casts a furtive look up only to see the paper still lodged firmly in the tree's branches – sitting there as if mocking him. It isn't worth it. He's frozen down to the bone, his back already aching, and he just wants to go home.

He drags himself back over to his bike, pulling the contraption off the ground with a little more force than necessary. Blue's going to kill him, he thinks as he climbs onto the bike and heads back the way he came, but he doesn't really care anymore. A few minutes ago he'd thought he was in a dream, now he just feels tired, sore, and – if he's being honest – a little creeped out.

The bike creaks in protest as he rides home, the frozen gears not quite up to the work, but Obie still peddles faster than comfortable for his aching back – unable to shake the feel of something watching him the entire way.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Emma Swan's running late. She's always running late if she's honest – but she's never felt like that's really her fault. Anyone would be perpetually late if their job was as perpetually boring as hers. It's not that she's not suited to being Sheriff – she is – but Storybrooke's crime rate has been getting steadily lower since the breaking of the curse, and these days she's lucky if she gets to make a DUI arrest a week. Most days the most exciting thing that happens is Alex sicking up on Thomas' paperwork. At least having Alex around the place makes things a little more interesting though – even if she does feel more like a babysitter than a Sheriff.

Emma had been a little shocked to come back from Neverland and find that Ruby had re-populated the station in their absence. The expression on Ruby's face when she'd reluctantly handed back the golden Sheriff's badge had been priceless, and her temporary deputies had all fallen about with laughter. She'd felt bad about having to relieve them of their duties when she and David were back, but she just didn't have the budget to keep them all there. Ruby, Jefferson, and Lilly still had their other jobs – and Thomas (firmly re-attached to his old name since the curse breaking) had Alex to support – so in the end he was the one she kept on full time, though the other three were always around as backup support. Of course she hadn't banked on hiring Thomas meaning she was also hiring his two and a half year old daughter as well – but since Ashley had picked up a job at the school, and the Sheriff's station wasn't exactly tight on professionalism, it made sense for Thomas to take Alex in the day.

Emma grabs for something to eat off the kitchen counter, only to make a disgusted face and toss it back when she realizes the item she picked up is an orange. She'll just swing by Granny's and grab a bearclaw instead. She picks her leather jacket up from where she flung it on a chair the night before, enjoying the feeling of no longer having to search for it. One thing she most assuredly does not miss about living with Mary Margaret – being tidied up after. She shrugs into the jacket and taps the pocket, confirming the location of her car keys before finally stumbling – a little too literally for her liking – out of the front door.

She doesn't lock it behind her – she never does. It seriously does depress her some days how pathetically low Storybrooke's crime rate is. She needs some excitement, something to get her blood running again. She hates to admit it – considering the circumstances that took them there – but she misses Neverland. She misses the action, the excitement, the thrill of the chase. She misses the way they all combined their talents and put their differences aside, the way that they worked together – like a team. Most of all, though she's even more loathe to admit it, she misses working with Regina. She misses the way they bounced off each other, the way their techniques differed and yet somehow complimented each other, the way their magic felt when it was combined. Not that the magic is something she really wants to repeat – it scares her, the power within her – and she knows that using it comes with a price. She just wishes there was a way she and her son's other mother could work like that again. She liked being a team.

Emma shakes her head. It's silly, a silly thing to miss. She should be grateful – she is grateful – grateful to be home and safe and with Henry, but she never counted on having to compromise between safety and excitement.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, praying it's not another call from Nova about the convent's cat being stuck in a tree – she already has enough scars thanks to that fleabag.

"Sheriff Swan," she answers, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

"Emma, thank God! Where are you? Did you get one too?" It's David on the other end, sounding frantic and, frankly, a little scared. She sends up a silent prayer to whatever entities might be chilling in the clouds above her please, please be something good.

"Did I get one what?" she asks, keeping her voice steady, trying not to let the hint of excitement building within her slip through into her voice.

"An invite," he replies, as if it were obvious. Emma deflates, it's clearly not even work related.

"An invite to what?" she asks warily. "Please God tell me that Archie isn't having another poetry reading. I swear if I have to listen to him jabbering on about the feel of grass beneath his tiny feet one more time I will shoot the goddamn cricket right where it hurts."

"What? No, Emma, have you checked your mail this morning?"

She frowns – David normally would have scolded her for that, or at least laughed. Maybe something really is happening.

"Mail?" she asks, interest peaking once again. "No, why?"

David's gulp is audible. "Check it," he replies quietly. Emma's frown deepens but she walks along her path to the mailbox anyway, shifting her phone to her shoulder and tilting her head to keep it there so as to free up her hands and open it.

There's an envelope in there. Strange, she and Henry rarely get any mail – it's not like Amazon delivers to Storybrooke. She pulls it out and examines it carefully. The envelope simply reads 'Miss Swan' in a strange swirling cursive and she begins to feel just the slightest hint uncomfortable. She opens it carefully, keeping the phone balanced on her shoulder, and pulls out the contents – a small rectangular piece of cream colored card – flipping it over so she can read it.

Her green eyes narrow and then widen as she takes in the swirling letters, reading them over once, twice, three times to try and comprehend their meaning. Or rather, their implications.

Miss Swan, it reads.

It is my greatest pleasure to invite you, dear citizen, to a murder. Thursday November 21st at 21.30 sharp. Location to be announced. I do so hope to have the honor of your company.

Yours,

Murderer

She blinks at the words, as if it might make them go in better. They're typed, all except her name which is written in that same strange swirling handwriting as the envelope. As for what they mean, she simultaneously does not understand them, and thinks that there can be no question as to their meaning.

"Emma?" David's voice in her ear rouses her from her daze. "You still there?"

"Y-yeah, here, sorry."

"Did you find it?"

She nods before realizing that, of course, he can't see her and coughs out a slightly strangled 'yeah'.

"What does it mean?" she asks, voice still quiet.

There's the slightest rustle of fabric from the other end and she guesses he's shrugging, also forgetting the action can't be seen. I guess I get that from him then, she thinks with a tiny smile.

"Who got them?" she asks, trying to shake off the ever-growing feeling of unease the invite has brought her.

"Everyone," he replies with a long breath, "the whole town if the mob outside the station is anything to go on."

That gets her attention. "Mob?" she asks

"People are panicking, they're all pounding our doors asking for an explanation. You need to get here, Emma, the people need to see their Sheriff."

"I'm not their leader," she snaps back immediately, hating the responsibility her parents seem desperate to throw on her every time there's the slightest hint of a crisis. "I can't comfort them."

"Well it's you they're calling for," he replies simply, "it's not me they want to talk to, Emma."

She sighs heavily, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Fine, fine. I'm on my way just…just do your best to calm them down, yeah?"

"Sure thing," he replies and she hangs up quickly.

She takes another breath and then feels a smile spreading across her face. So maybe it wasn't exactly what she was expecting, and maybe she's a little creeped out – but hey, at least something is happening finally. She was just wishing for it after all. Emma shakes her head before turning it heavenwards and mouthing 'thank you' at the sky – even she's not sure whether it's sarcastic or not.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Nothing?"

Ruby shakes her head and Emma lets out a frustrated growl. "How can there be no scent on any of them? That doesn't make any sense, Rubes."

The brunette just shrugs apologetically. "You don't have to tell me. It's weird but…" She shakes her head sadly. "I guess there's nothing we can do about it."

Emma harrumphs and kicks at her waste bin before collapsing into her chair – whatever gratitude she was feeling for this case dissipating entirely. "I can't wait to tell the town," she bites out sarcastically, swatting at one of the many piles of invites on her desk, "I'm sure they'll just love knowing their police force have no answers for them."

Ruby smiles sympathetically and lowers herself to perch on the edge of the desk. "Maybe you shouldn't tell them."

Emma's head snaps up. "What?"

Ruby shrugs again. "Look for all we know this is just some sick practical joke – in fact that's actually the most likely explanation – so why not just tell them that? Tell them that with no further evidence of threat the Sheriff's station are taking this as some sort of prank, but that you'll be keeping an eye on the situation just in case."

The blonde eyes her friend up and down carefully, eyes narrowed. "You got pretty comfortable doing my job for me didn't you?" she asks, a little petulantly.

Ruby just flashes her a grin. "Can't help it if I'm a better Sheriff than you are, savior."

"Get out," Emma grumbles, and Ruby laughs – but hops up nevertheless.

"You love me really," she says as she dances out of Emma's office and towards the exit.

"Debatable."

"You do!" she calls

"You should be so fucking lucky," she calls back after her, eyes fixed moodily on her filing cabinet. "I don't go in for brunettes with murderous tendencies anyway!" she adds

"Pity," a deliciously sarcastic voice says from behind her, launching her heart to her throat, "and I thought we were getting along so well."

Emma spins around in her chair, eyes widening. "Regina!"

"Sheriff," the woman inclines her head. "Bad time, I take it?"

She opens her mouth then closes it a few times before shaking her head. "No, no! It's fine, sorry, come in."

Regina smirks but steps just inside the office anyway, leaning carefully against the doorframe.

"Since when do you call me 'Sheriff'?" Emma asks then, frowning. "I thought we'd moved past all the stupid formalities."

Regina laughs and then fixes her with a pointed look. "Oh, haven't you heard? The Sheriff is the most sought after person in town right now – something to do with a murderer I hear?"

Emma sighs and rubs a hand across her face. "Oh, that."

"Yes that," Regina replies, eyes hardening. "Would you like to explain to me what exactly is going on?"

"I don't know," Emma says honestly, "I have no idea."

"Evidently." She lifts herself smoothly from the doorframe and walks forward, resting her hands on Emma's desk and leaning down until their eyes meet. "Why didn't you call me?"

Emma gulps, desperate – though apparently unable – to break away from Regina's gaze. "I didn't…I wasn't sure if…"

"If I had something to do with it?"

"No!" No, that wasn't it. Of course it wasn't. Regina had moved past that – she'd moved past suspecting her of that.

"Then why? You could clearly use some help."

"I…" Emma swallows nervously, consumed by the intensity of the brunette's eyes. "I was going to," she says eventually, "just…just not while everyone was here."

Regina's eyes narrow dangerously, but she says nothing, waiting for further explanation.

"Everyone's freaked," the blonde explains carefully, "and they don't…I mean they still…most of them still see you as, well…"

"The Evil Queen?" Regina supplies, expression turning unreadable.

"Yeah," Emma coughs, "her. I figured if they saw you they might turn on you, blame you. Out of sight, out of mind, ya know?"

Regina's eyes narrow further, scrutinizing Emma, before finally straightening up again.

"You were going to tell me?"

"Of course," Emma nods her head, a little more vigorously than is actually comfortable, but she wants to get her point across.

"When?"

"When I came to drop off Henry," the words are coming to her a little easier now Regina isn't so close to her. It's the truth, all of it, she just couldn't get it out so easily with the brunette in such close proximity. She doesn't know why, doesn't like to analyze it – but something about the woman's presence just does things to her. It's like her head fogs up and her IQ drops ten points whenever she's near. It's frustrating at the same time as it's fascinating.

"You were going to discuss police business with our son in the house?"

Emma shrugs. "It's nothing gory – besides he'd probably be too busy reading to eavesdrop anyway. He's gotten really into some book series lately – you noticed that?"

Regina's head snaps up. "What book series?"

"I dunno. Just know that he's had his nose stuck in them every moment of the goddamn day lately."

The brunette lets out an exasperated sigh, "Good lord, Emma, please tell me you are not letting our twelve year old son read things uncensored?"

"Well you clearly haven't been censoring him either!" she shoots back quickly, defensively.

"Because he hasn't been reading around me! Which clearly implies he knows I wouldn't approve."

"Aw crap," Emma mumbles. "D'you think it's bad?"

Regina bristles, "For your sake it better not be."

The blonde flinches at the threat – if it is, she's in serious trouble.

The other woman shakes her head then. "Anyway, your incompetence as a parent isn't really relevant right now. Would you like to fill me in on the situation with this so called murderer – I'd like to know how badly you and your pathetic parents have messed up the control of my town."

"Fine," Emma sighs, "I guess you'd better sit down."

.

.

.

It's pushing midnight when Emma finally gets home, exhausted. Talking things through with Regina helped a little, as she suspected they would, but both women came away frustrated with the distinct lack of anything to go on. Maybe it was just a practical joke, the blonde thinks to herself – it would certainly explain the lack of anything else to go on.

She slips out of her jacket and tosses it onto its usual chair before kicking off her boots and padding in as quietly as possible to check on Henry. He's sound asleep, curled up in a tight ball. Ruby's passed out sprawled across the couch and Emma doesn't have the heart to wake her, instead grabbing a blanket and draping it over her sleeping friend.

She wanders back into the kitchen and grabs a beer out of the fridge, leaning against the counter tiredly. She stands there drinking in silence, and it's when she's about half way through the bottle that she hears it.

Quiet – so quiet she's almost sure she must have imagined it – she hears the sound of children's laughter. It's distant, as if the noise was coming from far away, and it almost sounds a little distorted. It's a little eerie. Emma shakes her head – she's so tired she's imagining things. The alcohol on an empty stomach probably hasn't helped either – even if it is barely 4%. Alcohol, an empty stomach, and exhaustion. No wonder she thinks she's hearing things.

She sighs again and puts down the beer, running a hand through her blonde curls and heading back out of the kitchen. She needs to sleep, she has a lot to do in the morning.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"What. The hell. Were you thinking?"

"Oh come on, Emma, it's a good idea!" Snow replies, voice taking on a familiar note of whining.

"And how do you figure that, exactly?" Emma closes her eyes, desperately trying not to lose it.

"Look, whatever you tell them about it just being a joke, the people are still freaked out. They need something to distract them."

"And a party is gonna do that?"

Snow smiles, the expression incredibly patronizing given the circumstances. "Look if everyone's just sitting around at home on the 21st they won't be able to take their minds' off it. They'll just be at home alone getting ever more paranoid. This way they'll not only have a distraction, but they'll feel the safety of numbers – they'll have you and all your deputies – they'll feel protected."

Emma shakes her head. "It's stupid."

"Maybe," Snow shrugs, annoyingly calm, "but I guarantee you it'll work. Everyone will feel much better about the whole thing if they have somewhere to go that evening, people to be with."

The blonde lets out a quiet grumble, but says nothing else, turning instead to the pile of paperwork on her desk. Hoping, however vainly, that it might make her mother leave her alone.

"Grumble all you like, Emma, but I promise you it's a good idea. David and I are going to announce it now."

"You're what?" she shoots out of her chair again.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic, Emma. Look, if it doesn't work you have my full permission to say I told you so – but it will – so you won't have to. In the meantime, I'm going to go and do what you apparently couldn't, which is to comfort and appease the masses."

Emma opens her mouth to respond but Snow, still not finished, cuts her off, "I mean I realize you haven't been doing this very long, the whole savior thing, but when you have a position of power you must learn how to use it properly."

"I do use i –"

"Never mind it now, Emma, we'll talk about it later," Snow says finally, turning on her heel and sweeping out of the door.

The blonde falls back down into her chair a little dumbstruck. She doesn't know what the hell she possibly could have done that's made her mother start acting so goddamn infuriatingly lately. A tiny little part of her has begun to understand what Regina had against her – the woman's perpetual optimism is enough to make her want to rip her hair out for starters.

She lets out a frustrated moan and drops her head to the desk, nails digging into her scalp. Why her parents are so insistent on her being a leader to everyone she doesn't know, she only wishes they'd stop.

"Exasperating, isn't she?"

Emma's head snaps up, eyes widening as she sees Regina at her door.

"How? How do you keep doing that?" she snaps and the brunette rolls her eyes.

"Do what?"

"Keep sneaking up on me?" Emma's fully aware that she sounds like a petulant child, but in the present moment she doesn't really have the energy to care.

"Some of us don't feel the need to stomp around wherever we go," the woman replies. "Don't blame me if I don't choose to deafen people with my footsteps."

"Hey I do not stomp! Besides it's not like heels are exactly quiet miss 'I can't leave the house in less than 4 inches'," the last part turns into somewhat of a whine as she lowers her head back to her arms.

A delicate eyebrow raises halfway up Regina's forehead "Miss Swan, it's truly not my fault if you have no regard for fashion."

"Don't you fucking 'Miss Swan' me, Regina. I've had a very long day."

"It's eleven thirty," she replies evenly

"Exactly."

"AM."

Emma's head snaps up again "Seriously?" she whines. "That's all?"

The edge of Regina's mouth pulls up into a small smirk. "May I apologize on behalf of time for not moving at the speed Emma Swan would like it to."

The blonde just huffs in response.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asks after a few minutes of silence, "Other than trying to give me a heart attack, of course."

"Henry," she responds, as if that's explanation enough. It's not, and Emma just looks up at her from where her head is resting on her arms until the brunette carries on with a sigh, "He wants us to have dinner."

Emma screws up her nose, frowning. "Dinner?"

"Yes, Miss Swan, it's a meal that people tend to eat in the evenings."

"I know what dinner is, Regina," she snaps.

"Really? That's not the impression I was getting," the other woman shoots back easily.

"Regina," Emma warns.

The smirks but carries on, "Dinner," she repeats, "as a…family."

Emma's eyes narrow, "Whose family?" she asks carefully.

Regina grits her teeth, "Our family. All of it."

Emma's frown just deepens. "Like – my parents as well?"

"Unfortunately."

"We're not a family."

Something flashes briefly in Regina's eyes, gone just as quickly as it came, and then she sighs. "I know that – and you know that – but try telling Henry that."

"Seriously?" Emma asks, raising her head a little way off her arms. "He really wants you, me, him, and my parents to sit down and have dinner together?"

Regina only nods.

"In the same room? The whole 'family' thing?"

She nods again.

"Damn, kid's dumber than he looks."

"Like mother, like son," Regina mumbles, just loud enough for Emma to hear.

"I am not dumb."

"What's that on your cheek?" the other woman asks by way of response and Emma's hands fly to her face. Sure enough there's something hard digging into the flesh there, and when she pulls it away she sees it's a paper clip.

"You were saying?" Regina asks as Emma inspects the small piece of metal.

"Shut up, Regina," she grumbles in response, throwing the small piece of stationary angrily across the room and watching it bounce off the wall.

"Like father, like daughter," the brunette mumbles again.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, dear," she replies easily. "Only that apparently manners are hereditary, and your shepherd father has none."

Emma sighs, she can't be bothered to argue anymore. "Regina, what are you really here for?"

"Excuse me?"

"You could have told me about dinner over the phone, so why are you really here?"

The brunette shifts her weight slightly, looking a little uncomfortable, before taking a few steps forward.

"I don't want people thinking it's me," she says simply.

"That what's you?"

"The invites, 'Murderer', all of this. Whatever comes or doesn't come of it, I don't want people thinking it's me."

Emma frowns, "Since when do you care what people think of you?"

Regina swallows, looking distinctly uncomfortable, "I don't…it's not…it's just that Henry –"

"Oh," Emma interrupts, "you mean you don't want Henry thinking you've got anything to do with it." It's not a question.

The brunette looks at her and there's something just slightly desperate in her wide brown eyes "He's just begun to really trust me again, Emma," she says, voice quiet and small.

The blonde nods in understanding, the tiniest of smiles pulling at her lips. She'd never admit it aloud, but she loves when Regina does this – when she opens up to her, lets her guard down. They still fight, in fact ninety eight percent of their time together is spent fighting, or at least in some kind of banter – but now there's two percent of the time when they actually talk to each other. It's been happening increasingly ever since they returned from Neverland. Something changed over there – what, she doesn't know – but something. Whatever it was though, it's making life much easier for her lately, and as such she finds she's endlessly grateful for it.

"I won't let that happen, I promise," she says sincerely. "But honestly I don't think Henry would either."

Regina nods, not meeting her gaze, and Emma's internal lie-detector starts to twinge slightly.

"Regina?" Emma asks carefully. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She shakes her head, looking up to meet her gaze, "No. I just don't want our son thinking I'm back into…shall we say old habits."

"You sure that's all it is?"

"Quite positive, dear."

Emma sits up, folding her arms across her chest, "Because…if there is something else, you know you can tell me."

Regina shakes her head, and Emma sighs as she sees the walls going back up. "I assure you, I'm fine. You should get back to work – I suppose I'll see you at this godforsaken party your mother's throwing."

"Wait, you know about the party?"

"The whole town does."

Emma groans, "Already?"

Regina raises an eyebrow. "Your mother's a fast worker when she wants something, and she's made it quite clear that the whole town is to be there."

"I'm going to kill her."

The brunette smiles, turning to look back over her shoulder as she leaves. "Be my guest."

SQ*SQ*SQ

The morning of the 21st of November dawns bright and cold. As Emma exits her Bug outside the diner she senses a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation in the air. Personally, she just feels tired and grumpy. In two days her mother has somehow managed to throw together the biggest party Storybrooke has possibly ever seen – almost as big as the Boxing Day Masquerade Ball – and, just as her mother wanted, everyone has promised to come. Though honestly, she doesn't think much persuasion was needed in most corners, people were spooked by the invites, they need a distraction.

Emma kind of hates that her mother was actually right about that.

She pulls her hat off and runs a hand through her hair as she walks into the diner, heading straight for the counter and the scantily clad waitress behind it.

"How aren't you cold?" Emma asks and Ruby grins at her.

"Maine, Emma. Twenty-eight years," she shrugs, "you kinda get used to it."

"Ahuh?" Emma's not convinced.

"Besides," her friend leans forward conspiratorially, "my ass looks good in shorts."

Emma rolls her eyes, "Your ass is gonna freeze in shorts if you go outside like that."

"Good job I don't have to go outside then," she replies, reaching underneath the counter for a paper cup and the coffee pot. "Here. You're too grumpy without caffeine."

Emma grunts in response. "Got a lid?" she asks just as Ruby pulls one out from behind her back, eyebrow raised in amusement at Emma's shocked expression.

"I got your back, Em, in a very literal and caffeinated sense."

Emma narrows her gaze. "What do you want?"

Ruby's face takes on an all-too-innocent expression. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're being nice to me," Emma says, as if it that makes it obvious.

"I'm always nice to you," the brunette replies simply

"Too nice."

"Is there such a thing?" Ruby's voice is high-pitched and impossibly sweet. Emma wouldn't even need her internal lie-detector to call bullshit.

"Ruby – spill."

Her friend sighs, deflating a little. "You're really not going to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"You know what!" she replies, voice low – almost a whisper.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Erm, Rubes, I really don't."

Ruby looks deeply affronted by this denial. "Seriously? I mean I get why it's a secret and all but I thought you'd at least tell me about it!"

The blonde is completely perplexed. "Ruby, what the hell are you talking about?"

She just huffs and pulls a paper bag out from under the counter. "Fine, don't talk about it if you don't want to. Not like I tell you all my secrets or anything." She chucks the paper bag at her and Emma looks inside to see two bearclaws. "Don't eat 'em both at once," Ruby grumbles and then turns on her heel, storming back into the kitchen.

Emma sits there for a moment completely dumbfounded, before finally picking her hat up from where she'd dumped it on the counter and pulling it on, picking up her coffee and heading outside. Maybe Ruby was hung-over? Or maybe she was still drunk from something. It's the only explanation she can think of.

She shakes her head, sighing, as she heads back to the Bug. She'll see Ruby at the party tonight and find out what it was she'd done, then she'll apologize profusely for whatever it is and buy her a drink. Ruby had a bad temper, but thankfully her friend had never seemed one to hold grudges.

She's so caught up in wondering what she might have done to get Ruby so pissed at her, that she doesn't look where she's going and next thing she knows she's crashing into someone else – hot coffee spilling everywhere.

"Shit, fuck! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims shaking her hands to try and dislodge droplets of the scolding brown liquid.

"Don't worry about it, Em, happens to all of us."

Emma looks up and sighs in relief. "Oh, hey Lilly," she smiles, "I'm really sorry."

Her part-time deputy laughs, mimicking Emma's arms movements to try and shake the liquid off them. "It's cool…well actually, it's effing boiling, but you know what I mean."

Emma laughs, thanking her lucky stars that – of all the people she could have spilt hot coffee over – the one she chose is Lilly Bana. She'd never really known Lilly, not until she'd come back from Neverland to find that Ruby had hired her as a deputy at the station, but these days she's endlessly grateful that she did. The redhead seemed effortlessly loyal, and was possibly the least high-maintenance friend Emma had ever had. Whereas Ruby got huffy if Emma didn't tell her every single thing she did – and apparently things she wasn't even aware she'd done – Lilly took what information was offered and never pushed for more.

"Hey, Em? You okay?" a small line appears between Lilly's delicate brows and Emma shakes her head quickly.

"What? Oh – yeah. Sorry. I'm just…having a weird day is all."

Lilly nods in understanding. "Yeah I gotta feeling today's gonna be pretty weird for all of us."

Emma can't argue with that.

Lilly looks down at her shirt and makes a little face. Emma flinches. "I'm really sorry, Lil."

The redhead smiles and shakes her head. "It's fine, honest. I've got sailing classes all day so it's not like anyone will see it – you chose the right day to spill coffee on me."

"Well it was premeditated," Emma jokes and Lilly shakes her head fondly.

"I should go or I'll be late. I'll see you at the party, Em," she smiles again and gives her a gentle pat on the arm before walking off down Main, towards the harbor.

Emma groans, that goddamn party. It hasn't even happened yet and she's already sick of hearing about it. There's a burning sensation on her skin that she hadn't really noticed before and she looks down to see how truly drenched in coffee she is. Her white tank is now a disgusting brown color, the material sticking to her and turning embarrassingly see through.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath, scrambling for her car keys and jumping in the Bug. Now what's she gonna do? She's already running late – David had called right before she left the house saying they needed her at the station, something to do with Leroy, Pongo, and a drunken game of darts. She didn't have time to go home and change – the one disadvantage to her new house was that she was no longer conveniently in the center of all town action. It did, however, mean that she was out of the way and could escape from the madness of Storybrooke citizens at the end of the day. Henry loved it too, it was located right where the edge of the forest met the beach – isolated and private. He called it their secret fortress.

Right at this minute though, she could do with a more conveniently located fortress. She pulls out her phone to look at the time – 9.13 – how's it got to that time already? It doesn't really matter, at the end of the day she doesn't have the half an hour it would take to drive home and back into town again. She'd borrow a shirt from Ruby – but the waitress apparently isn't talking to her now – besides which she's not one hundred percent sure if Ruby owns any shirts that go below the midriff.

Her mother will be at school, and her wardrobe's a little too frilly for Emma's tastes anyway. That only leaves one person she can think of, so without pausing to debate it further, she turns the key in the ignition and begins to drive.

.

.

.

"What did you do?"

Regina seems completely un-phased by Emma's appearance, merely a little amused.

"Coffee," she replies, "hot coffee."

"Did no one ever teach you how to consume liquids in a proper manner? Or are you just incredibly incompetent at that too?" the brunette asks, tapping her fingers elegantly against the doorframe.

"I ran into Lilly, if you must know. A bit literally," she adds, quieter.

"Oh, believe me my dear, that part is evident." Regina seems to be enjoying this much more than she should.

"I need a shirt," Emma grumbles, ignoring the jibe.

"I'm sure you have plenty at home."

"I don't have time to go home," she bites out, getting more infuriated.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have bought a house as far away from town as possible, then," Regina retorts, eyebrows raising.

"Regina," Emma says, voice taking on a whiny quality that she knows will annoy the woman enough she might just give her a shirt to shut her up.

The brunette sighs. "Oh for goodness' sake – come in then." She pulls the door open wider and steps to the side, letting her through.

"Wait here," she instructs once she's shut the door behind them, before turning and disappearing up the stairs. She returns a minute or so later, her finger hooked around a coat hanger.

"I seem to remember you have a certain fondness for this one," she says, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Considering you stole it from me."

Emma coughs awkwardly, eyes drifting over the soft silk shirt she's borrowed once before. "That was Henry's idea."

Regina laughs. "Really, Miss Swan? You're blaming a child for your thieving tendencies?"

"Hey, I do not have thieving te –" Regina's mouth is twitching at the corners, the woman's obviously trying to suppress a smirk, and Emma sighs. She's just winding her up. "Thanks for the shirt," she replies moodily and Regina merely inclines her head, brown eyes practically twinkling.

Emma stalks off towards the bathroom. "It's not funny," she mumbles as she disappears inside.

Regina's answering chuckle is enough to make Emma slam the door behind her in annoyance, even if it is a strangely beautiful sound.

SQ*SQ*SQ

The situation at the station turns out to be a lot less dire than David had made out – just another of many of Leroy's drunken pranks gone wrong. Admittedly Archie is a little hysterical, considering he thought the dwarves had turned his beloved dog into a dartboard – but Emma doesn't see it as anyone's fault but his own that Archie's enough of a lightweight that after two beers he can no longer tell the difference between live dogs and stuffed animals.

Archie doesn't seem to agree with her.

"I understand it was all in jest, Emma, but really – the psychological damage that can be done to a person in situations like these…it's all about cause and effect you see. Emotional pranks can have devastating outcomes – especially where alcohol is involved. It's not just me I'm thinking of…there are more, let's say unstable citizens in this town who this kind of prank could have dire, dire consequences on – they should be stopped from doing it again in my opinion. You should put some sort of policy in place to make sure –"

"Oh yadda yadda yadda – it was just a joke, bug boy. Not my fault if you can't take your booze," Leroy calls from his cell – voice a little slurry. Emma has to try very hard not to nod her head in agreement.

"That being said – there are some kinds of joke which just aren't funny. Emotional distress is really nothing to joke about." Archie pushes his glasses up his nose nervously, looking what Emma imagines he believes to be sternly at the man behind bars.

Leroy just waves a hand dismissively. "Oh go write a poem about your 'emotional distress' and leave us all in peace. Some of us have hangovers."

Emma can't stop her mouth from twitching into a smile but schools her features quickly before Archie turns back to her, "I trust you'll deal with this, Sheriff?" he asks, voice a little shaky.

"Yeah I…got your back, Archie," she sighs, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I promise Pongo's not getting skewered on my watch."

He hesitates a moment but then nods, seemingly more to himself than her. "Well…good. I'll see you at the party then."

He turns and heads for the exit and Emma has to bite her tongue to refrain from screaming about the damned party. She sighs, running her hands through her hair, waiting a few minutes until she's sure Archie's well gone before walking over to Leroy's cell.

He's grinning at her when she walks over, and she has to try very hard not to grin in response.

"You – shut it," she grits out, battling the way her mouth seems determined to pull up into a smile.

"Aww c'mon, sister, you've gotta admit it's hilarious," he slips past her and out of the cell, turning back to meet her gaze. "I thought the dude was gonna have hysterics."

"He nearly did," Emma responds. "You should know better than to play him like that."

"It was a stuffed toy, Emma," he chuckles.

"I know."

"A stuffed monkey toy."

Emma chokes on the laugh that bubbles out of her throat. "A monkey?" she asks, voice strangled sounding as she tries desperately not to laugh.

"A monkey," Leroy confirms. "A blue one."

She can't stop it, the laughter takes her and she's powerless to resist. "It was blue?"

Leroy's chuckling too. "Yep. I told you the guy was a lightweight."

She has to wipe a tear from her eye she's laughing so hard.

Leroy regains himself a little quicker, straightening himself up. "Anyway, I gotta go – seeing Nova." He heads to the door. "See you at the party, sister," he calls over his shoulder as he exits.

That sobers her up.

"Oh…fuck the party," she mutters angrily. She can already tell this evening is going to suck – especially considering Ruby isn't talking to her. Maybe Lilly will be able to relieve some of the boredom. She pulls her phone out and sends a quick text to her friend.

Tonight's gonna suck and Rubes isn't talking to me. Promise me you'll come be my drinking buddy?

She walks back into her office and collapses into her chair. Her phone buzzes a minute later.

Sorry, Em, I gotta stick with Fred tonight. He and Jake broke up – he's taking it pretty rough. How come Rubes isn't talking to you?

Emma groans. If she doesn't even have Lilly to drink with her tonight she's utterly screwed. Thomas and Ashley will be busy with Alex, her mother will be busy being her mother, and David will of course be right alongside her in her duty of hostess. Ruby isn't talking to her. Fred's depressed, Lilly's looking after him.

God, it's like this party was actually planned to be hell on earth for her.

She feels bad for Fred though – Lilly's sweet, soft-spoken brother was pretty smitten with his boyfriend. They'd seemed pretty solid too – Emma can't help but wonder what happened to them. She's still pissed though. She needed Lilly tonight.

The blonde pulls out her phone and sends out another text.

Jefferson. You. Me. Vodka. Tonight. Please.

Her phone buzzes again almost immediately.

Emma. Me. Grace. Father. Be. Must. I.

She lets out a little scream of exasperation.

Fuck you. And stop watching Star Wars. She replies.

Love you too do I.

Emma rolls her eyes but smiles a little. Jefferson's a good friend to her these days – he's almost like the brother she never wanted – she can't really blame him for trying to be a good father.

Unfortunately, that only leaves one other person she can spend the evening with – and she's 99.9% positive that that person won't want to do vodka shots with her.

It's always worth asking though.

She picks up her phone and presses speed dial 5, waiting impatiently as the phone rings twice before the woman on the other end answers it.

"If you spilt coffee on that shirt you're not getting another one – you can walk around naked for all I care."

"Like that, would you?" Emma grins. Regina seems unamused.

"What do you want, Emma?"

"Vodka. And someone to drink it with," she says simply.

"If you're calling me to drink vodka with you then you must be truly desperate."

"That's not true."

"How many people did you ask first?" God, she can practically hear the raised eyebrow.

"That," she starts, defensively, "is completely irrelevant. The point is that I'm asking you now."

"My dear, I wouldn't get within fifty yards of you if you'd been drinking vodka. Besides, you seem to be forgetting that your son is going to be at this party – what exactly were you planning on doing with him whilst you vomited alcohol over your father's shoes?"

"Hey, that was one time!" she replies indignantly. "And I was sick at the time."

"Yes," Regina counters smoothly, "from drinking vodka."

Emma opens her mouth to argue, but can't seem to find a response quick enough.

"Forget about it, Miss Swan, you're going to have to suffer through this evening sober just like the rest of us." Regina seems to be far too happy about this, but that's not what the blonde finds herself dwelling on.

"You are going to be there then?" she asks, realizing too late that she sounds a little like a hopeful puppy.

"Of course. Apparently the townsfolk's complete abhorrence for me is not enough for even me to get out of this godforsaken event."

"Mary Margaret's seriously making you go too?" Emma's a little shocked, it's not like her mother's exactly a fan of Regina's presence.

"Your mother is a complicated and infuriating woman," the other woman says by way of response "Thankfully you only inherited one of those traits."

"I'm not that complicated," Emma replies defensively and Regina chuckles darkly

"No, dear, you're certainly not."

The blonde lets that sink in for a minute before huffing angrily, "Wait, I'm infuriating? Speak for yourself – you're the most infuriating person I've ever met!"

"Me?" the amusement in Regina's voice is almost tangible. "At least I have respectable manners and a decent fashion sense. How many leather jackets do you own exactly?"

"How is the number of leather jackets I own even relevant to this conversation? See that is exactly why you're infuriating – you take completely irrelevant things and throw them into arguments just to try and get the upper hand!" she snaps.

"Well, at least I don't resort to petty insults and name-calling when arguments aren't going my way," Regina shoots back just as quickly

"I do not –"

"Evil witch, crazy bitch, self-centered cow, heartless jerk, selfish asshole."

Emma blinks in surprise. "What?"

"Those are your favorites, dear," Regina's voice has taken on an unreadable quality, much calmer than it was mere moments ago.

"My favorite what – insults?"

"For me, yes."

Emma feels an unease a lot like guilt twist at her stomach. "I've said all those things to you?"

"At one point or another," Regina sounds like she's shrugging, like it's no big deal, but suddenly Emma feels terrible. The fight drops out of her and she's left with an uncontrollable urge to just hug Regina and make the pain of all the stupid things she and others have said to the woman go away.

Instead, all she does is murmur out a slightly strangled 'sorry'.

There's an awkward silence and then Regina finally speaks again, voice quiet and reserved, "I'll see you at the party, Emma." Then she hangs up.

This time Emma doesn't have anything to say in response.

SQ*SQ*SQ

She decides she can't be bothered to change – on top of which her mother will know the shirt she's wearing is Regina's, and that's sure to send her head spinning in confusion. It's the best kind of payback Emma can muster for having to go to this stupid thing – at least in the short term.

Instead she uses the time staring inanely at paperwork she probably should have done weeks ago, pretending like she's incredibly busy whenever anyone calls to see what time she's arriving.

Eventually – as the hands on her office clock snap into the five-to-nine position – she decides she can't really put it off any longer. Her mother's going to kill her for being so late, no point pushing her ire any further.

.

.

.

When she walks through the door she has to take a deep, calming breath. As promised, the whole town is there – and she just knows they're all going to have all sorts of inane questions for her. She ducks her head quickly and heads straight for the drinks table, rolling her eyes at the pathetic standards of alcohol provided.

She makes a grab for what look to be the last two bottles of beer before turning around to survey the room in search of somewhere she can hide for the remainder of the evening. As she turns, though, she nearly knocks out a teenager with one of her beers.

"Whoa – hey! Careful, kid, I could've scalped you."

The boy looks up at her, eyes wide and a little panicked. So apparently he didn't find jokes about scalping funny, then.

"Hey look, I'm sorry – just – watch where you're going next time, yeah?" she asks, softening her voice a little before moving to step past him.

"Sheriff," he chokes out, one hand flashing forward to grab her arm. She looks down to their point of contact and up again, confused.

"What do you want?"

"I…" he hesitates, the panic swirling in his eyes. Honestly, he almost looks a little unhinged. "I need to talk to you," he says, so quietly she has to strain to hear it above all the chatter.

"Yeah well office hours are nine 'til six, kid. Come see me at the station – I'm off duty now," she waves a beer at him and raises her eyebrows, looking pointedly at the hand on her arm.

He doesn't move. "No, no, you don't understand. This is urgent, please, I need help."

She hesitates, finally taking the time to really look at him.

The boy's lanky and slightly disproportioned – a sure marker of mid-adolescence. He has a head full of slightly unruly ginger curls and deep green eyes that remind her of the forest surrounding town. They're soulful and sad. They're also brimming with a mixture of panic and fear, red-rimmed, and bottomed by deep set shadows.

She turns her full attention back to him, a small frown creasing her forehead. "What's up, kid?" she asks gently.

"Well, it all started about three days ago, see I was on my paper round when –" he stops short, eyes widening as they fix on something over her shoulder. She turns to see if there's anything there that should merit such a response, but all she sees is crowds of townsfolk – some she recognizes, some she doesn't. She's distracted for a minute as someone moves and she catches sight of Regina. She's holed up in a corner reading a book, occasionally looking up with a scowl at the townsfolk around her.

Emma shakes her head, trying to focus. She turns back to tell the boy to continue – but he's disappeared. She can just make out his ginger head weaving its way back into the crowd, away from her. She shakes her head, throwing her arms up in exasperation. Teenagers.

She takes a swig of one beer, turning slowly on her heel and letting her eyes drift back to Regina. The woman looks unfairly adorable, tucked away in a corner with a book on her lap, glass of wine balanced carefully in one hand. Well, she warned her she was going to be her drinking buddy, time to make good on that promise.

She's halfway across the room when she's interrupted again. Kathryn's there, looking wild and frantic.

"Emma!" she practically yelps. "Thank god, I've been looking for you – I've got to speak to you Emma it's important something's happening, something bad, something…oh god terribly bad, Emma, I don't know what it is but it's bad so bad – the gnomes you see – it's got something to do with the gnomes!"

Emma blinks, staring at the woman in a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Wait, back up there a minute. What, exactly, do you think is happening?" she doesn't know what's going on this evening – or why she's so popular all of a sudden – but she's not entirely convinced that the citizens of Storybrooke aren't all just going a tiny bit bonkers.

"Gnomes!" Kathryn exclaims, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Gnomes?" Emma repeats, calmly and carefully, trying very hard not to look at her father's ex-wife like she's mad.

"Exactly, Emma, exactly! It all started with the gnomes, you know. They were everywhere – terrible things – but then the children. Emma, the children! God help us all! You've gotta burn them you see. Burn them, it's the only way!" she's panting, face flushed, and eyes bloodshot. Emma's not sure whether the woman's drunk, crazy, or a mixture of both.

"I'm sorry which children exactly are we…burning?"

"The children, Emma! The children, we have to burn them – the gnomes will tell you. If there's gnomes then you'll know!"

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. Kathryn's clearly had too many – way too many.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Kathryn," she pats the woman on the shoulder, probably a little patronizingly on reflection, but the woman's either pissed off her head or batshit crazy. She carries on past her, ignoring the woman as she continues to rant about burning gnomes. For God's sake she just wants to talk to Regina – it's like someone wound up a bunch of clockwork crazies and set them on her one at a time as an obstacle course to prevent her possibly getting any joy out of the evening.

Actually, she wouldn't put that past Mary Margaret, the mood she's been in lately.

It's not that she doesn't love her mother – she does. In fact, being without one for so long means that a part of her spends its time worshipping the very ground she walks on just for actually existing. Ever since Neverland though, the woman's just been a little overbearing – it's one of the reasons Emma decided it was high time to get a place of her own, that and the fact that she had caught her parents in the act more times than she wanted to think about. It's truly depressing to think that her parents have a more active sex life than she, even if they are all the same age.

She doesn't know why her mother's been so possessive lately, so insistent on trying to 'parent' her, though she has the smallest sneaking suspicion it's guilt-propelled. After all, the woman was going to abandon the child she'd already abandoned once before to stay in Neverland building treehouses and starting a new family.

Honestly, Emma kinda hopes she feels guilty about that. She's pissed, not to mention more deeply hurt than she might be letting on. It's something they're going to have to talk out eventually, she knows, but in all truth she's a little scared of what the conversation might bring. She doesn't want to lose her mother, not now she finally has one, but she just wishes the woman would stop being quite such a busybody. Emma's close approaching thirty, after all.

She shakes her head. They are going to have to have it out, but now is neither the time nor the place. Now is the time and place for drinking, preferably with Regina Mills.

Emma looks up to where Regina's sitting, or was sitting a minute ago – the woman's disappeared. Fuck's sake, I cannot get a break, Emma curses internally, spinning and craning her head to try and find the brunette.

She spots her father and ducks down quickly to avoid his gaze – and then the lights go out, plunging the room into darkness.

The room breaks out into chaos, people screaming and shouting. Emma curses and turns back around trying to pick her way through the mass of panicking townsfolk to the wall and, hopefully, a light switch. Her mission becomes somewhat futile though as, just as she reaches her closest wall, the lights flicker back on again. There's a moment of total silence as everyone blinks against the assault to their eyes and then, from across the room, there's a deafening scream.

Emma runs. She pushes her way through the confused mass of people to where the scream has quieted into gasping sobs. People have formed a small circle, and as Emma pushes through to the middle of it she feels her breath hitch in her throat. There's a body on the floor, lying in a growing pool of their own blood as it seeps from their slit throat. It's not just a body though, it's the body of a boy. A boy with unruly ginger curls, his face no longer looking panicked but lifeless and pale. Emma's stomach twists. It's the same boy, the one who was so desperate to talk to her earlier. Had he known? He'd seemed so scared, what if he'd been trying to tell her that someone wanted to kill him? She'd been so distracted by Regina she'd let him go off without talking to her. What kind of a Sheriff did that?

Emma looks down again and finally sees the source of the sobbing. There's another kid there, though she looks a little older, maybe late rather than mid-teens. She's clinging to the boy's arm, shaking him slightly, though there's no way he's alive. There's too much blood.

The blonde shakes her head, there's too much blood, too many people. She's the Sheriff for God's sake. She needs to deal with this situation.

She turns, surprised, though immeasurably grateful to find Ruby at her elbow.

"There's too many people, Rubes. We gotta clear out."

Ruby's staring at the boy and girl with pain clear on her face, eyes a little teary, and Emma makes a mental note to ask later if she knows them. Not now though, now she needs her deputies to be deputies.

"Ruby?"

The brunette shakes her head, bringing herself back. "What? Oh, yeah, okay. You got it," she disappears back off into the crowd, hooking an arm around a slightly confused looking Jefferson and taking him with her.

"Emma?" she turns to see David pushing through the stunned crowd, a somber looking Thomas and Lilly in tow. "What's happeni –" he stops short as he sees the body on the ground. "Oh God," his face falls. "Oh God it's a kid."

Emma takes a breath. She can't let it get to her, not right now, she can feel guilty later.

"We need to get people out of here, we need space to work."

Her father nods, eyes still fixed on the boy's body. "I saw Ruby and Jefferson starting to usher people out the front."

She nods thoughtfully. "Okay, you and Thomas go take people out the fire exit, tell them not to worry – that we're dealing with the situation."

He nods and disappears back off into the crowd, Thomas hot on his heels.

"What can I do, Em?" Lilly looks white as a sheet, and Emma pats her reassuringly on the arm.

"We're gonna need to get the body out of here," she thinks aloud, "but someone should probably take a look at it first… although I think cause of death is pretty clear." Lilly's eyes dip quickly to the boy's slit throat and up again. She looks like she might vomit.

"Go find Doctor Whale," Emma settles on her course of action. "Send him over, tell him we'll need an ambulance to transport the body."

Lilly nods. "Then what d'you need?" she asks, and Emma squints, the woman looks like she's turning a little green.

"Head to the station, I'll need help when I get back there. Don't worry I won't make you ride with the body."

Lilly sighs in relief. "Thanks, Em."

The blonde gives her a smile. "It's cool – though I gotta say I didn't know you were such a wimp when it came to blood." She elbows her gently but Lilly doesn't smile in response.

"It's not that," she says quietly and Emma frowns

"Then what –"

"He's so young," the redhead replies. "Look at him he's just…he's just a kid."

Emma feels the smile drop off her face, giving Lilly another reassuring pat on the arm. "Yeah," she nods, "yeah, he is." Was, she adds mentally.

Lilly's head snaps up again, collecting herself. "Sorry – Whale. I'm on it."

"Great, thank you." Emma smiles.

"See you back at the station?" Lilly asks over her shoulder and Emma just nods in response.

She turns her attention back to the body, only to see her mother bent over it, talking fast and soft to the sobbing girl, one arm around her shoulders. Good, that's not a task Emma really feels up to right now – she'll thank her mother later.

It's going to be a long night, she can already tell, so there's one more thing she needs to do before she can give her attention fully to the case. The blonde pulls out her phone and sends a quick text.

There's been a murder, I've gotta go to the hospital with the body then back to the station. Don't know when I'll be done. Can you take Henry home with you?

"Consider it done," a voice says from behind her and she whips around.

"Regina."

The brunette's gaze flicks to the body and back again, brown eyes taking on the unreadable quality that makes Emma a little uncomfortable.

"Will you be needing Jefferson?"

Emma looks at her quizzically. "What does that…why?"

Regina sighs. "Jefferson. Grace. Daughter."

"Oh," Emma averts her gaze guiltily for a second. "Right, Grace. Erm, yeah I don't know how long I'll need him so if you can take Grace as well that'd be good."

Regina rolls her eyes but nods. "I'd leave it to you to tell him, but somehow I'm pretty sure you'll forget and end up with a deputy who thinks his daughter's been kidnapped."

The blonde opens her mouth to protest but Regina's already walking away, heading for the corner of the now near-empty room, where Henry and Grace appear in rapt conversation with each other.

"Sheriff?" she turns back to see Doctor Whale, flanked by Thomas and her father.

"Hey, Whale," she greets, already feeling weary. "Ambulance on its way?"

The man nods gravely. "I don't see much use in examining the body here, I'll wait until we're at the hospital and I have all the relevant instruments – if that's alright with you?"

Emma nods, it's not like they have a CSI team in Storybrooke anyway. The Crime Scene is just the scene where the crime happened, less an opportunity for evidence.

"I'll come with you to the hospital, Thomas you come with me and Whale. David you and Ruby grab Leroy and clear up in here, tell Jefferson to go back to the station and meet up with Lilly. I need them to go through the invites, see if we missed anything."

Her father nods. "Consider it done – one thing though?"

"Yeah?"

"Why Leroy?"

Emma smirks. "Let's call it a community service sentence."

Her father doesn't question her further, merely nods and turns to go in search of the others. Emma moves to where her mother has managed to extricate the girl from the body, kneeling down to face her.

"His name was Obie," her mother says, voice soft, before she has a chance to ask. "Short for Obadiah. He's one of the kids from the orphanage."

Emma feels her stomach twist again, harder. Poor kid didn't even have parents to confide in…and she didn't pay attention to him.

"And this is?" she asks, matching her mother's quiet tone, looking sadly at the girl curled in her arms, looking somehow simultaneously like a small, petrified child, but also far too big for the action.

"Milla," the girl sniffs, looking up from Snow's shoulder, "my name's Milla."

Emma nods soberly. "And how do you – did you," she amends, wincing at the unsubtlety of it, "how did you know Obie?"

Milla shifts in Snow's embrace, wet, dark eyes lifting to meet Emma's. "I was at the orphanage with him, he was like my little brother."

Emma takes a deep breath. "How old are you?" she asks gently – the girl looks too old to be at the orphanage.

"Nineteen – now. I was seventeen though, for the twenty eight years before the curse broke. I had nowhere else to go, so now I just work there."

"At the orphanage?"

Milla nods. "Blue let me stay on, the kids all know me and I work hard. I earn my way," she says earnestly and Emma feels another wave of guilt pull at her. Milla seems like a good girl, a good honest girl who made something of the nothing she had. And now Emma's incompetence as a Sheriff means the girl's lost yet more family.

"I'm sure you do," Snow says gently, when Emma fails to respond, one hand rubbing gentle circles into the girl's shoulder.

The blonde can't help but feel the tiniest pang of jealousy – her mother was never there to provide her this kind of comfort – and now the only mothering she gets from the woman is the fussy, interfering kind. This isn't really the time for that though, so she shakes it off.

"Milla, I'm really sorry, but I'm gonna need you to go down the station and give a statement," she puts a hand on the girl's arm, who nods, gathering herself a little.

"It's okay, I know. I'll do anything I can to help find out who did this."

"Good," Emma nods reassuringly. "I'm sure Mary Margaret will take you, won't you?" she looks imploringly at her mother who smiles and nods in response. "Great, and I've got two deputies there who you can talk to. I promise I'll find out who did this to Obie, okay?"

Snow helps the girl to her feet and she gives a watery smile, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Sheriff," she mumbles, leaning into Snow's side as they head for the door.

Emma lets out a breath, wiping a hand across her face. This sucks. A lot.

"Sheriff?" Doctor Whale's at her elbow, hovering.

"Yes?" she asks, carefully, so she doesn't snap at him.

"The ambulance is here – are you ready for us to move the body?"

The blonde turns, looking at the paramedics as they stare soberly down at the Obie's body, one holding a body bag, the other the end of a stretcher.

"Yeah," she nods, "yeah let's go."

.

.

.

When she finally gets back to the station everyone's just sitting around looking like they're about to pass out. Emma doesn't blame them, she feels much the same herself.

"Anything?" she asks as she collapses into a spare chair, Thomas collapsing into one next to her.

"Nothing," her father replies gravely. "Those invites are clean, Emma, as clean as they were when we first checked them over."

She lets out a frustrated growl and buries her head in her hands.

"Did Whale find anything?" Ruby asks

"Cause of death was the throat slitting, as I'm pretty sure we all figured," Thomas supplies for her, "but he found something else too."

Everyone just looks at him expectantly. "There were traces of a strange powder on the body – they're running tests on it, should have results in a few days. There was also a strange design branded into his skin, and a bundle of herbs shoved down his throat."

"Wait, what?" David asks, confused.

Emma sighs. "When he started the examination, Whale found a little bag stuffed down Obie's throat, the bag was full of herbs or plant or something. There was also a design singed into the skin of his back."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jefferson asks. "The lights were only off for a minute, there's no way someone managed to slash his throat, shove a bag of herbs down it and brand him all in that time."

Everyone nods in somewhat distracted agreement.

"Besides," Ruby pipes up, "in the dark someone would have seen a branding iron – it would have been glowing."

Emma throws her hands up in the air. "Guys, I'm as confused as you are, I don't understand it, but those are the facts – and they're all we've got to work with."

Jefferson sighs. "Yeah, well, d'you think we could work with them tomorrow – some of us have other jobs we've got to get to in the morning, not to mention children."

Emma sighs, nodding. "I'm sorry, I was gonna say – there's nothing more we can do tonight so you might as well all go home and get some rest. David, Thomas and I can pick this up in the morning and if you three have time to come down and help us after work – be my guest." She nods her head towards Ruby, Jefferson, and Lilly, all of whom hop up from where they were perched on their desks.

"My last class finishes at four tomorrow, I'll be over as soon after that as I can," Lilly says, leaning down and giving Emma a quick hug.

"Thanks, Lil," she smiles tiredly.

Ruby chew at her lip in thought. "Granny might let me off, all things considered, if not I'll be around over lunch – 'kay?"

Emma nods. "That's great, thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – thank me later," Ruby offers her a small, tired smile and then wraps an arm around Lilly's shoulders, pulling her off towards the door.

"I'm picking Grace up from Regina's tomorrow morning and taking her and Henry to school – if Regina can take Grace for dinner tomorrow then I'll come down after work," Jefferson says as he heads for the door, but Emma shakes her head.

"That's okay – we don't really have anything to work on yet – you might as well spend some time with Grace. I'll text you if I need you."

He smirks. "Last time you texted that you needed me it was to drink vodka."

"Oh shut up," Emma grumbles. "I meant police work."

"You're such a responsible parent," Jefferson adds, pretending not to hear her.

"Do you want to get to spend time with your daughter?" she snaps at him, and his smirk broadens.

"But of course – I thank you deeply for this generous break you've offered me," he bows in mocking and she picks up a pencil and tosses it at his head. Tired as he is, he still manages to dodge out of the way – which only infuriates her further.

"Just piss off," she growls at him and he happily obliges, sweeping out the door with one last grin over his shoulder.

When she turns back her father is looking at her sternly. "What?" she asks, frustrated.

"Drinking, Emma? Really? You have a child."

"Oh shut up," she grumbles. "So does he."

"And he evidently is not drinking."

"Well that's debatable," she mumbles under her breath. "Anyway whatever drinking I do or do not do in my spare time isn't really relevant right now. Right now we just need to get some sleep."

"Can't argue with that," Thomas agrees, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. "Ashley'll be wondering where the hell I've got to. See y'all in the morning," he adds.

"See you, Thomas," they call after him.

Once the door's slammed shut again her father looks at her, eyes intent. "What's wrong, Emma?" he asks carefully, and she startles.

"What?"

"I said what's wrong?"

"I…nothing, nothing's wrong. I'm just tired," she lies, yawning for good measure. David's eyes narrow at her but she meets his gaze, challenging.

Eventually, he gives up his scrutiny and shakes his head.

"Fine – I need to sleep. Make sure you get some as well, yeah?" He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

"Will do," she gives him a small smile.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Alright then, see you tomorrow." He gives her shoulder one last squeeze and then heads out the door, leaving Emma to bury her head back in her hands.

.

.

.

She takes a deep breath before pulling herself up, grabbing the station keys and locking up behind her. She heads straight for her car, determined to get home before the ever-growing feeling of guilt overwhelms her. As she walks though, she hears a crunching noise beneath her and she moves her foot to see smashed pieces of colored china beneath it. She crouches down, frowning, and turning a piece over in her hand. She picks up another piece, and another, examining them carefully – frown deepening. It's a gnome, or was before she smashed it, a miniature garden gnome. Briefly, her tired mind flickers back to earlier in the evening, to Kathryn, and to jabbering nonsensical talk of gnomes.

She shakes her head, throwing the broken pieces of painted china back to the floor in frustration. She's going mad. Emma straightens up, pulling her car keys out of her jacket and scrambling to get inside the Bug quickly.

She drives quicker than she probably should, considering her state of exhaustion. She does the drive in ten minutes and feels her forehead creasing back into a frown as she pulls up outside to see another car there – another car she certainly was not expecting to see there.

She gets out of the Bug quietly, shutting the door but not bothering to lock it – she never does. She sticks out a finger to prod at the black Mercedes in her driveway – wondering if perhaps it's an illusion created by her sleep deprived mind. There's a letter sticking out of her mailbox and she pulls it out as she passes, not bothering to really look at it – more interested in what Regina's car is doing in her driveway.

Emma opens the door a little apprehensively, peering around it in confusion as she steps inside. She wonders through into the lounge, stopping short at what she sees.

Regina Mills is curled up, fast asleep, in one of Emma's armchairs.

Though confused, the blonde can't help the way her lips curl into a tiny smile at the sight. The other woman looks so small, so serene, like this. It's not like Emma's never seen Regina asleep before – they all took enough watches in Neverland to be familiar with everyone's sleeping habits – but there's something about the way the woman's curled in on herself, head tucked into one arm, that makes her look young and almost vulnerable. It's not a look she's often seen on the woman.

Emma doesn't know why Regina – and presumably Henry – are here, but she's far too tired to question it. Besides which, she truly doesn't have the heart to wake Regina when the woman looks so peaceful. Instead, Emma pulls off her boots and jacket and creeps quietly past the sleeping brunette into her bedroom.

Once in there she shuts the door carefully behind her, shuffling over to her bed and sitting heavily on the edge, turning her attention back to the letter she picked up. It's dated as being sent three days ago – and she wonders that she missed it considering it was sticking out of the mailbox. Three days ago, she frowns. That's the date the invitations were sent out. It's addressed in a careful calligraphic hand, and Emma feels her chest begin to tighten.

She slips a finger under the paper and tears the envelope open, pulling the contents out carefully. There's a single piece of card in there – much the same as there was with the invitations – and as she reads what's written there the blonde feels her stomach twist painfully, her throat closing up.

Location: – Storybrooke Town Hall

Emma feels her breath catch in her throat. Had this been in her mailbox the whole time? Did she just miss it? Perhaps an even worse question – could she then, have prevented the murder? She felt guilty enough as it is, now she feels the guilt overwhelming her, swallowing her up. Obie was just a kid, and he'd been so panicked, so desperate for her help. He'd looked so small in the hospital, so pale and vulnerable as Doctor Whale cut him up like a piece of meat. Emma bats at her eyes as she feels hot tears beginning to well in them. She doesn't want to cry. It's no good though – she's sleep-deprived, and the tears are coming faster than she can swipe them away. Before she knows it she's sobbing silently into her hands, guilt and exhaustion overwhelming her.

She's crying hard enough that she doesn't hear the tell-tale sound of her bedroom door opening

"Emma?" her head snaps up, hands moving immediately to wipe her face.

"Regina?" she asks, voice scratchy, and she curses herself for the shakiness in it.

"Emma, what's wrong?" The brunette's moving across the room before she can process it, one arm slipping gently around her shoulders.

She turns to meet Regina's dark gaze, trying but failing to reign in the flood of tears that seems determined to make its way out of her eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, tell Regina she'll be fine – that she can go back to sleep – but all that comes out is another choked sob.

"Oh God, Emma." Regina's voice is full of sympathy, and Emma feels the woman pulling her closer, guiding her head to her shoulder. Everything in her is screaming that she shouldn't, but she leans into the other woman's embrace, fingers curling into her soft shirt as she sobs onto her shoulder.

She sobs for a good five minutes before the tears finally begin to subside and she pulls back, feeling a little awkward. She swipes at her eyes again, avoiding Regina's steady gaze.

"Will you tell me what's wrong, now?" the brunette asks steadily, one arm still firmly around Emma's shoulders.

"I…I don't…it's just," she swallows heavily looking up again through her wet lashes, embarrassed by her outburst. "He tried to talk to me," she whispers, and Regina frowns.

"What? Who –"

"Obie," Emma interrupts and Regina just stares at her, clearly waiting for elaboration. "The kid that got murdered."

"Oh," Regina's eyes widen slightly in comprehension. "He tried to talk to you? When?"

"Right before he died." She tilts her head back, trying to stop more tears from spilling out. "He was all panicked and shaky and I think he knew…I think he knew he was gonna die and he tried to tell me but I was distracted and he was scared and I…oh God, it's my fault, I should have let him talk to me I should have –"

"Whoa, hey, Emma breathe." The brunette moves her hand to Emma's back, rubbing soft circles into it. "It's not your fault."

"He tried to tell me," she says, "and…" she trails off, ashamed of how badly she seems to have let the kid down.

"And what?" Regina asks softly, hand continuing to smoothe patterns into her back.

The blonde takes a deep breath and lets it out again. "And so did Murderer."

Regina startles, one eyebrow rising. "What?"

Emma looks guiltily down at her hands, picking the small card off her lap where it had fallen.

"Here," she says, passing it to Regina. "This was in my mailbox…dated three days ago," she adds around the lump in her throat.

The brunette's brow furrows as she looks at the card. "This…this is the location announcement," she realizes aloud, and Emma merely nods. "You…" she frowns deeper, "you had the location announcement in your mailbox the whole time?"

The blonde just nods her head again, ashamed.

Regina's shaking hers "You could have known, you could have –"

"Stopped it?" Emma asks, voice pained and Regina doesn't reply, but Emma feels the hand on her back fall away.

"You could have known that Murderer was going to be there."

Emma buries her head in her hands.

She feels the weight on the bed shift as Regina moves a few inches away from her.

"Our son was there."

The blonde can't breathe she feels so guilty.

"With a murderer. A murderer you could have known would be there."

She groans, peering up from her finger's to see Regina's face. The softness and sympathy has dropped out of it, and now her expression is carefully schooled.

"Regina," she breathes, pleads more like – she already feels guilty as sin, she doesn't think she can deal with Regina being mad at her for putting Henry in danger as well.

"No," she says, voice so much sharper than it was mere minutes ago. "You're wrong. The boy dying wasn't your fault," Emma's heart lifts slightly – maybe Regina isn't as mad as she looks. "But if you continue to be quite so incompetent, then next time it probably will be." With that she stands and sweeps out of the room, shutting the door behind her and not looking back.

The blonde's heart drops back into her stomach. She didn't just let Obie down, she let everyone down. She let Regina down, she let Henry down.

Emma feels her eyes welling up again and laughs dejectedly at herself, wondering when she turned into such a wet blanket.

She knows the answer of course. Since the curse broke – since she found her family – she's started to change a little, she's becoming less guarded – though perhaps too much so if her current state is anything to go by. It doesn't matter right now though, now all she wants to do is sleep. Tomorrow she has a murderer to find.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Emma's awoken earlier than usual, the sound of birdsong filtering in even through her firmly closed windows. The sun is pooling in soft golden beams, illuminating dust as it dances around her room. If she were less cynical, Emma might think this is the kind of morning her fairy tale parents probably used to wake up to. Instead, all she can think is that she forgot to shut her damn curtains.

She climbs out of bed feeling stiff, eyes sore from the disgusting amount of crying she did. Her mind flickers back to the way Regina had held her as she cried, then to the way the brunette had pulled back in anger once she'd been reminded of how incompetent Emma was. She lets out a huff of frustration, pulling a hand through her tangled hair, she already feels awful – she doesn't need Regina making her feel awful too.

She pulls her phone out of her jeans pocket – writing herself a mental reminder that she's far too old to fall asleep fully clothed, not to mention to remind herself how uncomfortable it is sleeping in super skinnies. She's squished in places she doesn't want to be squished. Instead of checking her phone as she was going to, she chucks it on the bed, grabbing her tank and yanking it off in annoyance. She scrambles out of her tight pants about as lady-like as she can manage – meaning she doesn't quite fall on the floor – only knocks into her bedside table and tips over her lamp.

She walks across to her dresser and pulls out a clean towel before heading out for the bathroom. She's barely out of her door though, when she hears a tiny intake of breath followed shortly by a very pointed coughing.

"Regina!" she yelps, jumping practically out of her skin to see the woman standing in her living room, eyes raised heavenwards. Emma pulls the towel hastily across herself, covering her body, cheeks burning as she does. "What the hell are you doing?" she spits out, voice a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing," the other woman grits out. "Do you make a habit of walking around naked?"

"I'm not naked I…this is my house!" Emma exclaims. "I'm allowed to walk around naked in my own house."

"I thought you said you weren't naked," Regina smirks, lowering her gaze again to meet Emma's.

"I'm not I'm just pointing out that –" she stops, frustrated. "What are you doing here anyway?"

The smile disappears from Regina's face.

"I took Henry to school early – he's got a project," she says, as if that explains her presence in Emma's home.

"Well thanks – but why are you here?"

Regina's gaze drops even lower, fixing itself on the floor beneath her.

"Well?" Emma asks, voice hard.

"I came…" the brunette lets out a little huff, as if whatever she's trying to say is paining her. "I came to apologize."

Ah, that would be why it was paining her. Regina didn't like apologizing.

Emma allows herself to smirk a little. "Oh?"

"I stopped by the Post Office."

"Oh."

"Yes," Regina sounds formal, and a little unsure of herself. It's something that Emma's been hearing more and more in the woman's voice lately. Not that she thinks Regina is becoming anymore unsure than she might have been in the past – more she thinks that Regina's just starting to open up around her, to show her when she is unsure. It makes it incredibly difficult to be mad at the woman.

"So…what happened?" Emma asks

"I checked," Regina continues, "and the letter…the location it," she takes a deep breath "it wasn't delivered until yesterday – you couldn't have known."

Emma inhales sharply. "It wasn't…in my mailbox…beforehand?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking aloud might make Regina take back her statement.

"It wasn't in your mailbox beforehand," she replies simply. "You couldn't have known."

"I couldn't have known," Emma repeats, tasting the words, breathing them in.

"It wasn't your fault, Emma," Regina confirms, giving her the tiniest apologetic smile.

"Oh thank God," she feels herself sliding down the wall, knees coming up in front of her as her head falls onto them, the towel bunching up across her lap. "I couldn't have known," she repeats once again, desperate to make herself understand it.

Regina moves slowly, coming to sit carefully – and with unfair grace, Emma thinks – on the floor next to her, back against the wall like the blonde.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, not looking at her – and that's how Emma knows she means it. She can feel the guilt rolling off the other woman.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you last night, I just –"

"You were worried, I get it," Emma reassures her quickly. "I don't blame you for hating me in that moment, I hated myself too," she admits, lifting her head and leaning it back against the wall.

"I shouldn't have blamed you though, it was unfair – and I apologize."

The corners of Emma's mouth lift into a smirk. "It's okay Regina, you don't have to get all formal with me – I'm not mad at you."

"Good," the woman replies, a purpose coming into her tone that Emma's sure is going to result in something bad for her, "because we have work to do."

Knew it, she rolls her eyes.

"Work?" she asks

Regina lets out a huff. "Yes, work."

Emma just looks at her, not bothering to ask for an elaboration. Regina's quite fond of the sound of her own voice – especially when that voice is lecturing Emma on what an idiot she is.

"Oh for goodness' sake, Emma, are you not concerned about the letter?"

Emma frowns. "I thought I was off the hook?"

"You are," Regina sighs – it's her 'Why do I spend my time with such an idiot' sigh. Emma's come to know it somewhat intimately. She tries not to take it as an insult. "But that doesn't mean we don't need to talk about it. For starters about the fact that the postman said it was instructed to not be delivered until yesterday."

The blonde frowns "But… that doesn't make any sense. It was dated three days ago why…why would they not deliver it until yesterday?"

Regina rolls her eyes in her 'Emma's being a spectacular idiot and I am a saint for being so patient with her' way. Again, she tries not to take it as an insult. "I really would have thought it was obvious, dear."

Emma just stares at her, green eyes hard.

The brunette sighs but continues, "Honestly, it sounds like they did it deliberately to taunt you – to make you feel guilty."

"Oh," Emma lets out on an exhale – that does make a surprising amount of sense. "So they're, what? Making it personal?"

Regina licks her lips thoughtfully and Emma averts her eyes. There's something almost indecent about the gesture…or maybe about the way it makes her cheeks burn. "What with the victim trying to talk to you minutes before he was killed and now this… Yes, I'd say they're making it personal. Although – in my opinion at least – it's personal to you as a Sheriff, not to you as you."

"You mean because I'm the law in this town, yeah? Like they're taunting authority to prove they're smarter than us?"

The brunette looks a little shocked at that.

"Yes, that would be my thinking certainly. I don't think they care who the Sheriff is – they just want to make a point that they're breaking your rules in your town. We might be dealing with a mischief maker here."

Emma raises an eyebrow. "A mischief maker?"

Regina nods, a tiny smile pulling at her mouth. "That's what Gold used to call them – criminals who enjoy making mayhem. The kind of people who embellish their crimes, play games just for the fun of it and laugh at the resulting chaos. They're the worst kind of criminal," she says, smile falling away again, concern clear in her tone.

"More difficult to predict," Emma agrees and Regina raises an eyebrow of her own in questioning. Emma shrugs, ever so slightly uncomfortable. "I…was a bit of a mischief maker myself, I guess," she admits.

"Oh do please elaborate," the brunette replies, eyes sparkling and Emma turns her gaze pointedly to her hands.

"I just… I used to like causing chaos. It was only when I was at school, after that I found the less attention I drew to myself the better, the easier to get away with the crimes but…when I was a kid…I dunno." She shrugs. "I guess I found that disrupting things gave me a sense of power – like it was the only way I could be in control. You don't exactly have much when you're in the system, you've gotta grab it where you can."

She looks up shyly, slightly bewildered that all that just came out of her mouth – of all the vulnerable admissions about her childhood – and she just spilt it out as word vomit to Regina.

The gaze she's met with isn't one of amusement though, nor of mocking or disapproval as she'd feared she might find. Instead, Regina's gaze is soft, understanding, and a little bit guilty. Emma doesn't really think about why, it's hardly relevant right now.

There's a long moment of silence and neither of them says anything. Eventually, though, Regina clears her throat.

"Yes, well. You might find that helpful – whoever's behind all this is going to be difficult to catch, and somehow I doubt they're even nearly finished yet. You might find yourself having to get back into that mind frame if you want to catch them."

Emma nods slowly, letting her head fall back against the wall again. "Yeah…let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Regina makes a little hum of agreement. "There's something else," she says and Emma groans,

"What?"

"It was dated three days ago." Regina says

Emma looks at her pointedly and Regina sighs again. "The party was announced two days ago."

"Oh," oh "what the hell?" she exclaims. "How is that possible, how did they know?"

"That's exactly the problem," Regina rubs a hand across her face. "They knew. Emma, somehow they knew everyone would be there."

"How?" Emma asks, voice dropping back to a whisper. The guilt she's been feeling is now being quickly replaced with fear. Whoever's behind this has already proved themselves formidably clever – and they might have only just started.

Regina lets out an exasperated sigh, letting her own head fall back against the wall next to Emma's. It's such a vulnerable, familiar gesture – the like of which she knows Regina would never have been comfortable making around her perhaps even just a few months ago. She never realizes how much she values those moments until they happen, but when they do, she finds herself basking in the familiarity of them, the warmth they bring to her chest. It's in those moments that she fully comprehends – she and Regina are almost, kind of, friends now. Somehow, someway, they've ended up in a place where they not only tolerate each other but actually support each other. Objectively, it's weird as fuck – considering all their history. Subjectively though, she wouldn't change it for the world – they do share a son after all – being able to rely on each other is kind of the ideal situation.

"I don't know," the brunette replies, voice matching Emma's in volume, a hint of annoyance and exasperation mixed into it. "I just don't know."

She tilts her head to the side, finding Regina's eyes on her, expression concerned. Her brown eyes are so intense, so full of emotion. "I am sorry for the way I acted last night, Emma," she says, voice even lower than before.

Emma blinks, slightly startled. "You don't need to apologize."

"No, I do. You were feeling awful and I just made it worse. I'm sorry."

Emma feels a lump form in her throat – this might just be the most open Regina's ever been with her "Regina," she says, trying to make her voice reassuring, "you're the one that was there for me last night, you tried to comfort me – but I get why you were mad at me. I was mad at me."

The brunette looks a little unsure but takes it, nodding slightly.

A thought occurs to the blonde and she frowns. "Regina?"

"Yes?"

"Why were you here?"

The other woman's eyes widen fractionally, but she composes herself quickly. "Henry was worried," she says. "He wanted to come back here so you weren't alone when you came home. He said," she pauses, looking almost…shy. "He said he wanted us all to be together – in case something happened."

Emma feels the corners of her mouth pull up in a tiny smile. "He said that?"

Regina nods, eyes fixed on Emma's face, watching her reaction intently.

"Sneaky little shit."

The brunette rolls her eyes, barely suppressing the smirk that tugs at her lips.

"What did you do with Grace?"

Regina shrugs, and again Emma can't help thinking that the casualness of the gesture suits her. "She slept in Henry's room and I took them both to school together."

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "Wait you let them sleep, like, together?" she asks.

"Emma they're twelve," Regina replies pointedly.

"Yeah but…I mean –"

"Emma?" Regina cuts her off. "I really don't think Henry having a girl in his room is something you need to be worrying about right now…or ever," she adds, much quieter.

"Wait, what?"

"Emma," Regina says sternly.

"Right," the blonde says, "priorities. Okay," she nods to herself.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes until Regina finally breaks it. "Emma?"

She hums in acknowledgement. "Whoever's doing this – they're smart, and I expect they'll be pretty ruthless."

"So?"

"So…just try not to get yourself killed or anything stupid like that."

The blonde's about to laugh, but as she meets Regina's gaze, she realizes the woman is deadly serious. That's genuine concern on her face. She's scared – and that probably has Emma more worried than anything else, because it takes a lot to scare Regina.

"Don't worry," she grins, trying to lighten the mood. "I'd never give you the satisfaction."

The brunette just looks at her, not bothering to deign that with a response. Emma holds her gaze, challenging her.

"Emma Swan, you better be fucking dead in here, I swear to Go – oh." Ruby stops short, staring slack-jawed at them. Emma can only stare back like a deer caught in headlights, remembering all too suddenly that she's only dressed in underwear.

"Seriously?" Ruby lifts her arms heavenwards in apparent frustration. "The town's in chaos and you two decide now is the time for a quickie?"

Regina and Emma exchange a quick glance, one that's a strange mixture of confusion, guilt, and embarrassment.

"What?" Emma asks, voice shaky, pulling the towel awkwardly across her body.

Ruby looks positively offended.

"I literally cannot believe you," she says, shaking her head. "Put some goddamn clothes on, we need you."

With that she turns on her heel, long hair flipping dramatically behind her as she storms out again.

Emma and Regina share another bewildered gaze, and then the blonde scrambles off the floor and stumbles back into her room, picking up the clothes she's left discarded around the place. She pulls them on angrily – not sure exactly why she's so angry, but angry nevertheless.

"Emma, get your butt out here!" Ruby calls and Emma grumbles something under her breath about wolfish friends and their lack of patience.

She walks out of her room and Regina's waiting for her, following her round the corner to where Ruby is standing, back ramrod straight in the hallway. Everything about her posture says that she's on high alert, and it makes worry begin to pool in Emma's stomach.

"You clothed now?" the girl asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What's going on, Ruby?" Emma asks, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance.

"The town's going crazy," she says, as if it should be obvious. Emma looks at her a little blankly, hyper-aware of Regina at her elbow looking the girl up and down with barely-disguised disdain.

"There was a murder last night, Emma. A murder which was announced beforehand – did you think people were just going to forget that?"

"Of course I didn't."

Ruby just stares at her.

"Well not completely."

She keeps staring at her and Emma winces. "Okay, how badly are they reacting?"

"Badly. It's worse than when the invites came out, everyone's panicking, demanding to know what you're going to do about it."

"Shit," Emma wipes a hand across her face.

"We need a plan, Emma, we need something to tell them."

"Okay, well, erm…" she trails off, unsure of what to actually do.

"Emma?" Regina takes a tiny step closer. "Just think. What do you want us to do?"

Suddenly it's like Neverland again. She's standing staring at a map, her son's life hanging in the balance, lost and unsure. But Regina's at her elbow, a steadying presence that's grounding her, telling her to lead. So she does.

Emma snaps to attention. "Call my parents," she instructs the girl, "tell them to get down to the station. Jefferson as well. I want Jefferson and Thomas on crowd control. I want to get everyone gathered together this evening so we can address them – tell Mary Margaret I'm gonna need her with me to do that, people will listen to her."

Ruby nods taking everything in.

"Then I need you to call Lilly, I want you and her working the case. Look for anything, everything. Talk to Whale, see if they've found anything. Whatever you find, report back to me immediately, okay?"

The girl looks a little shocked but hums in understanding. "Okay – anything else?"

"No that's it," Emma nods, both to the others and herself, confirming her plan of action.

"Right," Ruby nods again, "on it," she says, pulling out her phone and jogging out the front door. Emma watches through the open front door as Ruby jumps into her car and drives away before turning back to Regina. The woman's looking at her with a strange expression – if she didn't know better she might even think it were pride.

Emma feels a tiny crease appearing between her eyebrows. "What?"

Regina shakes her head gently. "Nothing. What can I do to help?"

"Keep an eye on Henry?" Emma says with a little wry smile, which, to her internal delight – Regina reciprocates.

"I'll take him back to mine tonight – keep him out of the way," she agrees. "If you need anything else just call me – just, not for replacement clothing," she adds raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Though I do understand that that might be difficult – considering you are, in fact, a five year old."

She smirks wickedly, before turning on her heel and sweeping past Emma out the open door.

Emma runs back into the lounge and picks up her jacket, shrugging it on as she heads back out the door, pulling it shut behind her. That, she is definitely taking as an insult.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Can't you just do it for me?" Emma whines, looking up at her mother with the best puppy eyes she can muster.

"Emma, you're the Sheriff – you're the closest thing to a ruler we have anymore. It needs to be you," Snow tells her calmly but the blonde shakes her head.

"You were their Queen – they still see you as a Queen. It needs to be you!"

The other woman sighs, shaking her own head. "You've got to learn to grow up and assume responsibility, Emma."

Her mouth falls open in shock because ouch, that really hurts. Just a couple of months ago her mother was complaining that she was too grown up to be her child anymore, that she wasn't good enough because she was a grown up. Now the woman's complaining that she's what – immature? Didn't she want someone to mother? Because that's what Emma needs right now – she needs her mother to be her mother and help her out. Besides – who is she to lecture her on assuming responsibility? Emma's not the only one in the room who gave up a child.

Snow seems to realize that what she's said is problematic though – perhaps because Emma's gone so deathly quiet. She sighs again, heavier, more resigned.

"I'll help you out with it – but you should really talk to them yourself."

Emma groans, but takes it. She needs all the help she can get really – she's not a public speaker. The only public speaking she's ever done was when she was campaigning to be Sheriff – and Gold sort of helped her out with what to say there. It also helped that she actually had something to say.

Now, she has no idea. She has about as many answers as the panicking masses.

The phone starts to ring and she groans even louder, grabbing it and pulling it to her ear

"Sheriff's station?"

"Sheriff! Thank God! The gnomes, they're everywhere! I don't know what they're doing but they're planning something, I know it!"

"Oh for God's sake," Emma mutters. "Kathryn now is really not the time," she addresses the woman, trying to sound professional and not let her annoyance clear in her tone.

"No but, Emma, I can hear them laughing – don't you get it? They're laughing at me!"

Emma bangs her head on the desk. "Who's laughing at you, Kathryn?" she asks through her teeth.

"They are! I need you to send someone out here, I'm not sure I can take them on my own!"

The blonde takes a deep breath – with everything that's happening, she really doesn't have the time for Kathryn's apparent mental breakdown.

"Okay, Kathryn, okay. I tell you what, I'll send someone over and we'll get you sorted, okay?"

"Yes! Yes, thank you! But please hurry," the woman begs.

"Someone will be with you very soon," Emma confirms, before hanging up the phone as quickly as she can.

"That was Kathryn?" Snow asks, looking confused.

"Yep," Emma replies, not looking up from her phone where she's scrolling through contacts.

"Is she okay?"

"If by okay you been batshit crazy then, yeah, she's okay."

"What?" the other woman's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean," the blonde says, pressing dial and lifting the phone to her ear, "is that I am sending someone over – but it's not going to be one of my deputies."

"Then who –"

Emma interrupts Snow's question when someone answers on the other end of the line "Hey Whale? It's Emma."

"Sheriff," the man responds. "What can I do for you? Need help with something?"

"Yeah, yeah. I need you to do me a favor."

.

.

.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Snow responds quickly and Emma rolls her eyes.

"Don't fool yourself – you're judging, judging hard," she sighs, staring at her mother across her desk.

The woman sighs wearily, tilting her head to the side in a way that Emma tries and fails to not find patronizing in its overly-motherly nature. You can't pick and choose when to mother, that's not fair.

"I just…I just think that getting the woman committed was a little harsh."

"I didn't get her committed – they're just holding her for observation."

"For the indefinite future," Snow adds, voice almost scolding in tone and Emma lets out an angry huff.

"There is a murderer running round town," she snaps back. "Sorry if I don't have the time to deal with a mentally unstable woman running around as well."

"Emma."

"What! It's for her benefit as well – if she's not mentally stable then she's an easier mark for the murderer, isn't she?" she defends. Snow narrows her eyes but says nothing else. "Look can we just get on with working out what we're going to tell everyone please?"

The other woman nods, turning her attention back to the piece of paper she's been scribbling on.

They sit in silence for a little longer before the phone starts ringing again and Emma suppresses the urge to scream. What now? What could possibly be happening now?

"Sheriff's station?" she answers through firmly gritted teeth.

"Sheriff? It's Hannah, Hannah Montague from the baker's," a female voice answers and Emma nods to herself. She knows Hannah, the baker's daughter – Fred introduced them. Girl makes a great Danish.

"Hey, Hannah, what can I do for you?" she asks, trying to inject a little more gentleness into her tone.

"Erm, I don't know it's just…well…there's a kid here," she says, sounding a little dazed.

"A kid?" Emma asks. "Do you know who it is?"

"No…no I don't…I don't think he's from town I don't think he's…I don't know."

Emma frowns, the beginnings of worry tugging at her. "Hannah, talk to me, tell me about this kid – how old is he?"

"I don't know," the girl's voice is getting more dazed, more confused with every word. "He's only little though but he's…there's blood but he's…he's so…"

"Blood?" Emma asks, suddenly becoming much more alert. "Is he hurt, d'you need an ambulance?"

"No…no he's…oh…"

"Oh? Oh what? Hannah talk to me?" Emma's clutching the phone to her ear now, confused and anxious

"He's knocking…I think he wants to come in. He looks so frightened, I should let him in."

"Okay, Hannah, I'm gonna get an ambulance round to you – you let him in, check he's okay. We need to find his parents – I'm sure someone's looking for him."

"Okay," she can hear the sound of nodding on the other end. From what she's heard, Hannah's a good kid – but right now, she sounds high as a goddamn kite. "Okay. I'm going to let him in," she adds, before hanging up.

Emma shakes her head. That conversation might have been even weirder than the one she just had with Kathryn. She also doesn't know why it's made her feel quite so uneasy. She gets up, ready to head around to the baker's – she'll call the hospital on the way – and notices her mother's left the room. The other woman is perched on a desk in the bullpen, speaking quietly into the phone out there – Emma didn't even hear it ring. There's a little crease between Snow's eyebrows that Emma both hates and loves that she recognizes from the mirror, and when she hangs up the phone she looks up at her with intense confusion on her face.

"That was Joe, from the Rabbit Hole," she says. "He says there's a kid in his garden."

The blonde's eyes widen fractionally. "What?"

Snow crosses her arms, frown deepening. "He says there's a kid in his garden knocking at the window asking to come in – said he doesn't recognize her from round town either. I said we'd send someone round, but that he should let her in, check she's okay."

Emma feels the worry start climbing up her chest. "Okay that's really weird," she breathes out.

"Why?"

"Because I just had an almost identical phone call from Hannah Montague."

"The baker's daughter?" Snow asks, looking as confused as Emma feels.

"Yeah, you know – the one who –"

"The one who makes the really great Danishes?"

"Yeah, her, and she said there was a little boy at her door asking to –" she's cut off by the sound of the phone starting to ring again, and lets out a little nervous chuckle. "Oh come on."

Emma walks back into her office and picks up the phone. "Sheriff's station?"

"Sheriff, have there been any reports of missing children lately?"

"No. There wouldn't happen to be a child at your door would there?" she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes! Yes, how did you know?"

"Call it a lucky hunch," she bites out, probably a little meaner than called for, but the caller doesn't seem to mind. "Can I take your name and address, please?"

"Yes it's Andrea, Andrea Weiss – I live at 92 Mifflin Street."

"Mifflin Street?" Emma asks quickly, snapping to attention.

"Yes – will you send someone? The poor lamb looks ever so unhappy. Oh, oh, she's knocking on the door – I think she'd like to come in. I'll look after her, but do send someone soon won't you?"

The line goes dead and Emma begins to feels distinctly uneasy. She walks back out of the office to see her mother staring at her.

"Emma, what on earth is going on?"

She lets out a tiny, humorless laugh. "I have no idea – but I gotta get around to Mifflin Street. I'll call Rubes on the way but can you call David and get him to –"

She's cut off yet again by the phone ringing.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she breathes as she heads back to her office to answer it, but just as she reaches for the phone she hears another one start to ring. She exchanges a quick glance with her mother, who's now staring at the phone on the desk next to her in concern. The phone on the desk next to it begins to shake as it too, starts ringing. Soon the phones on all the desks are singing with activity.

Emma stares from them to her mother and back again, panic beginning to bubble through her chest. She feels the cell in her pocket start to vibrate and it finally brings her to reality.

"What the fuck is going on?" she breathes. Her mother just stares at her, shock and confusion etched into her features.

"Call David. Call Ruby. Call everyone," she tells her mother firmly. "Tell them to get here and start answering these calls, do not let them go out and respond to them. Keep everyone here. I have to go."

With that she hooks her jacket off her chair and shrugs it on, grabbing her gun and holstering it before heading for the door at a jog – not waiting for her mother's questions.

SQ*SQ*SQ

She pulls up on Mifflin Street and jumps out of her car. Honestly she's never paid much attention to any of the other houses here, she doesn't even know where ninety-two is – not that ninety-two is where she's going. Apparently there's freaky children invading town, and there's one on Regina's street – of course she has to check on her, it's only polite. And Henry, obviously. Henry might be home, she doesn't even know what time it is. She runs up the path to 108, pounding on it with her fist.

"Regina? Regina! You in there?" she calls, and she hears movement on the other side of the door. It swings open a second later and Regina's standing there, looking up at Emma in confusion.

"Emma?" she asks, "What's wrong?"

"We need to get inside," the blonde says without answering the question.

"What?"

Emma looks around nervously, as if something might attack them at any minute "Inside," she says again. "Now."

Regina raises her eyebrows but steps aside, letting Emma move past her and shut the door.

"Miss Swan, what exactly is this about?" Regina asks, impatience clear in her tone – as if it weren't made clear enough by the arms folded across her chest and the foot she has tapping agitatedly on her polished wooden floor.

"Okay what…" Emma bristles, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to try and keep her temper in check. "Why," she starts again, "have you developed this habit of reverting to 'Miss Swan-ning' me whenever I do something you find even remotely irritating?"

"Oh good, so you have noticed," Regina deadpans. "So pleased to see you're learning to recognize basic behavioral patterns."

Emma lets out another little indignant huff. "Have you seen any children around?" she asks, impatiently.

A tiny crease appears between Regina's eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asks, and Emma narrows her eyes.

"Okay, that was a non-answer," she says carefully, trying to control the knot of fear growing in her stomach. "I need an actual answer. Have. You seen. Any children?"

"Who's that mean lady?"

Emma's head snaps up, heart dropping to her stomach in fear as she does. There's a little boy standing in the doorway to the dining room, blonde head barely as high as the door handle. She doesn't care how small he is though – he's ragged looking, covered with the odd patch of blood – exactly matching all the other descriptions.

"Regina, get behind me," she says, voice low and not panicked. Not at all.

"Emma, for the love of –"

"Get. Behind me!" she orders, not taking her eyes off the unoffending child.

"For goodness' sake, Emma, I know you have a deep-seated fear of motherhood – which, incidentally, you might want to talk to Dr. Hopper about. Cricket or not he's actually a half-decent – Emma what the –!"

The blonde cuts her off – rolling her eyes in frustration – one hand snaking aggressively around her waist and pulling them both towards the front door.

"Regina," she hisses, "now's really not the time."

The child's started walking towards them, small face serene. "Please don't run away from me," he says, voice disarmingly sweet. "Please. I just want to play."

Regina turns in Emma's grip to look at her, gaze conveying clearly that she thinks the woman's insane. Emma disagrees – Regina is clearly the one who's insane.

"Emma he's just a child," the brunette replies, trying to pull herself free. "He needs help – look at him."

"The only help he needs is psychological," Emma grunts as she tries to open the door with one hand – why does it have so many goddamned elaborate fastenings?

"Please come play with me?" the child asks, reaching a hand out and – to Emma's horror – Regina, eyes looking a little glazed, starts to mimic the gesture.

"Shit," she swears under her breath. She can't get the door off the chain whilst holding Regina, and the bloody kid is almost touching Regina's fingertips. "Fucking shit," she swears again. "Fucking crappity – cupboard!" she cries in delight as she spies the coat closet to her left. She reaches out quickly and tugs the door to the closet open, spinning them both so she can push Regina inside. For a moment she thinks she might see Regina's hand brush against the child's, but she doesn't bother with it – instead just shoving the woman away.

"Play with me?" a voice asks her and she looks down in horror to see the kid almost upon her, before letting out a squeal of surprise she would later deny, and throwing herself into the closet after the other woman, pulling the door shut aggressively behind her.

"Emma," a voice says behind her and she's 99.9% that the glazed look will no longer be in Regina's eyes when she turns around.

She's right.

"What the hell are you playing at?" the brunette asks, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Goddamn the woman is scary when she's angry. Emma tries not to shrink under her gaze.

"Saving your life. Possibly," she says, sounding more sheepish than she'd like.

"In the coat closet?" Regina raises an eyebrow, folding her arms back across her chest.

"Look I couldn't get the door open and the kid was going for you – this was the only option!" she says defensively.

"That 'kid' has clearly been separated from his parents and needs help, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" Emma asks incredulously. "Did that really seem like a normal innocent toddler to you?"

"Of course he's not normal!" Regina hisses back. "He's clearly been in some kind of accident. He's probably in shock, he needs human contact – and a hospital probably, then we should call the nuns and –"

"No!" Emma puts a hand out to stop the other woman as she makes for the door, keeping her other clasped firmly around the handle. "If you think I'm letting you go out there you're off your fucking rocker."

Regina looks unimpressed.

"He's a child," she says very simply, though anger is certainly not absent from her tone. "Pray tell me exactly what threat you think he poses."

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it again. Okay so she's not really sure the nature of the threat the child – the children – might pose. Only that, by the time each of the five phones in the station was buzzing with activity, there was this sickening feeling in her gut that told her whatever was going on was not good.

Regina narrows her eyes again. "Therapy, seriously, I think you should consider it."

Emma lets out a frustrated groan. "Oh for God's sake, Regina, this is not some overreaction to any fear of parenting I may or may not have – whether it be deep-seated or otherwise."

Regina raises an eyebrow but Emma continues before the other woman can come up with a smart response. "I got a call at the station from Hannah Montague," she continues, speaking fast so the brunette most definitely won't have the chance to interrupt her. "Yes, Hannah Montague the baker's daughter – short, skinny, freckles, makes a great Danish don't tell Rubes I said that anyway – not the point.

"Got a call from Hannah – she says 'Hey Sheriff, there's a little kid in my garden' so I'm all 'Oh weird okay I guess you better let him in we'll go see if anyone's lost one' but then Mary Margaret says 'Hey, Joe from the Rabbit Hole called – says there's a kid in his garden' and I'm all 'Hey that's strange because I just got a call saying the exact same thing from Hannah Montague – yes Hannah the baker's daughter the one who makes the great Danishes, don't tell Ruby I said that'"

She takes in a deep lungful of air, but continues, because the brunette looks like she dearly wants to interject.

"So here's the thing – just as I'm about to head out to respond the phone rings again and this time it's from someone called Andrea – take it she's your neighbor – not that you'd know that, know you're not exactly friendly with them in fact – now that I think about it – wasn't Andrea one of the ones who were in on the whole gassing extravaganza?"

Regina opens her mouth to answer but Emma barrels on.

"Wow what a bitch, I hope creepy kid did get her – anyway – not the point. Point is, I got another call and another one and another and the phones just started ringing and okay I haven't answered them all but I'd bet you the Bug that they're all the same call and if they are then there is something decidedly not good going on and it has to do with those kids so please excuse me for being a little careful until we know what the ever-loving fuck is actually going on – besides, you can never trust little kids, they're fucking creepy. I mean, have you ever seen any horror movie ever, it's always the kids that did it. You can never trust them, sneaky little psychopaths, the only people who survive horror movies are the ones with the good sense to butcher any children under the age of fifteen right at the fucking beginning," she finishes, taking a long, gasping breath and finally taking a proper look at the other woman.

Regina's staring at her unblinking, face a strange balance of confusion and downright concern. There's a long pause and Emma flinches, registering exactly how that last part must have sounded.

"I'll consider the therapy," she concedes.

Regina lets out a little breath of air and then gives her the kind of smile you might give to someone highly mentally unstable, the meant-to-be-reassuring non-grin that says 'I don't think there's anything wrong with you' with thinly veiled 'please don't murder me messily in a coat closet' right behind it.

"Do that."

Emma rubs a frustrated hand over her face. "God, look, I know how all that must have sounded okay but I really –"

She's cut off abruptly by the door being handle being rattled, firmly, in her grasp.

"Let me in," a small voice says, sending shivers up her spine. "Let me in, please." However young that voice might sound, there's something insistent in the 'please' that has her distinctly on edge. There's an entitled tone in it, the kind that makes her think this child is not used to being told no.

Apparently Regina seems to hear it too, as she's walking forwards again but makes no move for the handle. Instead she stands opposite Emma, facing her, one ear to the door.

"What if we say no?" she asks carefully.

The door handle rattles violently in Emma's grip as a response.

"Let me in."

Regina's gaze snaps up to meet Emma's. "I'll accept you might be onto something with the children," she says formally, just as the handle – and consequently the door – give a violent shake in response.

"You think?" Emma asks, wide eyed as she grips with all her strength to the door handle, panting at the effort it's taking to keep the door from being pulled open from the other side. "I mean, I'm not the hulk or anything but you'd think I could take down a toddler in a tug of war," she grits out as the shaking of the door increases in violence.

"Technically, you're winning," Regina says in an irritatingly calm tone, but then the door gives a shudder as something is thrown against it from the outside and the little squeak of surprise that leaves her mouth has Emma grinning despite herself.

"Let. Me. In," the little voice screams, accompanied by another crash against the door and Emma loses her grin, looking to Regina in panic.

"You know a little magic would be really handy right about now if you don't wanna face what I'm guessing is gonna be the crown jewel of all tantrums."

"I'm not your magic slave."

"And I'm not your fucking bodyguard but I don't see anyone else standing between you and a possibly homicidal toddler," Emma huffs out angrily.

"Possibly being the operative word," Regina replies smoothly.

There's another crash against the door and a disconcerting sound of cracking.

Emma just stares pointedly at the other woman.

She sighs. "Oh for Goodness sake." She moves closer and puts a hand on top of Emma's, closing her eyes in concentration. The blonde feels the wave of magic as it passes through her, and wonders idly if it was really necessary for Regina to move quite so close to her as she did it – or to be touching her – but she files the question away and instead just looks expectantly at her.

"Done?"

"I've reinforced the door and put a bubble spell on the cupboard," she says shrugging, "we should be fine."

"Well, thank fuck for that." Emma lets out a sigh of relief and lets go of the handle, flexing her hand before sliding down to sit against the wall. "My hand was cramping up."

Regina doesn't move, looking at her expectantly. "Well?" she asks

"Well what?"

"What's your plan now? We can't stay in here forever."

"Oh," Emma nods to herself. "Yeah good point."

"Of course it is, I made it," Regina replies before sliding down to sit next to her. "But that doesn't answer my question."

The blonde nods again, somewhat absently. "Well I hadn't actually, you know, thought past…well, now," she admits.

The brunette rolls her eyes. "Brilliant."

"Hey, don't blame me you're the one who let fucking Chucky in the house," Emma grumbles.

Regina raises an eyebrow in question and Emma gapes at her. "Seriously? Chu…? Have you ever even watched a horror movie?"

"Never really saw the appeal," the brunette replies, distaste clear on her face.

"You don't see the appeal of fun," Emma mumbles under her breath.

The other woman doesn't appear to see that comment as worthy of a response, instead turning to a different matter.

"So," she starts as there's a muffled thump against the door – it makes Emma wince, but Regina seems completely un-phased. "Did you find out what the books were?"

The blonde frowns. "What books?"

"The books Henry's been reading?" she asks, unimpressed. "You know – the top secret ones he only reads at your house."

"Oh, that," Emma flinches. "Okay, about that…"

"Why do I get the impression I am not going to like what you have to say?" Regina asks through her teeth and Emma flinches again.

"Okay look, I've been kinda busy with the whole shitload of crazy which appears to have descended on the town – you might have noticed it," she adds sarcastically.

"Get to the point, Emma," the woman responds impatiently.

"I haven't had a chance to look yet," she finishes sheepishly, and Regina sighs. "Come on! You can't blame me for being busy – these last few days have been fucking insane," she says defensively.

"Must you swear so much?" Regina asks, shaking her head at her. "If you're not careful, Henry will pick up on it."

"I don't swear around Henry."

"I find that very hard to believe considering the amount you swear around me."

Emma's still vaguely aware of the sound of banging and thumping against the door, but somehow she's no longer so worried about what's going on on the other side – this side of the door holds far more interest for her.

"I swear around you so much because you're fucking infuriating," Emma replies angrily.

Regina smirks. "I think we already established that you're the infuriating one."

"Seriously?" Emma asks, gawking at her. "That's rich coming from a woman who wouldn't even let me see my own son when I first met her."

Regina bristles. "It was a closed adoption – you had no right to him. Sticking your ineffective parenting skills in where they're not legally allowed is the very definition of infuriating."

Emma laughs a cold, unamused laugh. "Oh you want to talk about the definition of infuriating? Let's go with sacrificing herself to save a town and leaving said owner of the 'ineffective parenting skills' to explain to their child that his mother had got herself blown up – but that it was all okay, because at least she'd done it for them." The last part is practically dripping with a mix of anger and sarcasm that leaves the brunette gaping at her.

There's a long, slightly awkward silence – in which neither woman seems to notice the fact that the banging against the door appears to have stopped. Then, finally, Regina's voice breaks through the silence – quieter and much less aggressive than before.

"I, erm," she coughs uncomfortably, "I had no idea you were mad about that."

"You're damn right I was mad about it," Emma replies, voice still full of anger but quieter too.

Regina swallows, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows "Why?" she asks – and she sounds almost incredulous.

Emma gapes at her "Because…Regina you sacrificed yourself. For us. And I," she pauses, taking a breath, "I let you," she finishes, dropping her eyes guiltily to her knees.

The brunette is quiet again for a minute or so before she finally speaks up. "No, you didn't," she says, and Emma finds her eyes drifting to meet the other woman's gaze. Regina's brown eyes are soft, there's no anger or accusation in them as Emma feels there should be. "You saved me," she says simply.

"I mean – you saved all of us – but most people would have been alright anyway. You saved me, you – you came back." The last part is almost a question, so Emma answers.

"Yeah," she nods. "Yeah, I did."

Regina frowns. "Emma, I didn't call you," she says matter-of-factly, and Emma frowns herself, head spinning.

"What?"

"Today. You said you were getting lots of calls, but I didn't call you."

"Is there a point to this?" Emma asks, eyebrows raised.

"Why are you here?"

The blonde swallows nervously. That was a question she was neither expecting nor prepared for.

"I…well I got that call from Andrea," she says a little lamely.

"If I'm not mistaken – Andrea lives at 92. This is 108 – so why are you here?" Regina asks, looking at Emma with an intensity that – if she weren't a grown woman – would make her squirm.

She opens her mouth but no words come. Why is she here? She doesn't even know herself. She heard that there was a strange child on Mifflin Street and she'd panicked – rightfully so, it seemed – but it still begged the question why. That, she just doesn't know, all she knows is that it's the same kind of reason why Regina's stupid sacrifice had made her so angry. It appears she has some inane desire to protect the woman – no matter how infuriating she may be.

Maybe it's because she's broken, Emma thinks to herself. Not that she's let on to that too much, but Emma Swan's not a fool – she knows a broken woman when she spots one. Besides, it takes one to know one. Perhaps it's some strange, misplaced sense of camaraderie because of their emotional incompetence. In fact, that would actually make a whole lot of sense.

So she doesn't always like Regina a whole lot – the infuriating-ness helps to guarantee that – but she still feels a sense of protectiveness towards her. Maybe it is because she feels a certain kinship with her due to their problems – a family of fucked up, emotional rejects.

For fuck's sake she doesn't know. She's damned if she understands the draw of this pretentious, classist, bossy, pedantic, control-freakish, bitchy goddamn drama queen – and yet drawn, somehow, she jolly well appears to be.

Not that she can really tell her any of that.

Emma shrugs, awkwardly. "Why d'you think?"

Regina gives a tiny smile that almost looks wistful. "Henry?" she asks.

Emma blinks, stunned. Wow that would be a really good reason. A great reason. In fact it probably did use to be the reason – probably is still a part of it – but she's sure as all hell that's not all it is anymore.

Not that she's going to admit that though, obviously.

"Course," Emma replies, ignoring the way her voice sounds a little hoarse with the lie. "Henry."

Regina nods, and for a moment Emma thinks she might say something else – but then there's a shout from outside and both women jump almost out of their skins.

"Mom?" Henry's voice comes through the muffled bubble spell. "Mom, you home?"

Both women jump up to their feet, registering for the first time that the attack on the door appeared to have stopped a while ago.

"Mom?" Henry's voice calls again, a little unsure and both women reach for the handle instinctively, trying to open the door – only to be met with stinging magical resistance.

"Ow fuck!" Emma curses, shaking her injured hand aggressively to remove the stinging sensation. Regina deals with the injury with much more grace, reaching for the handle again just as Emma tries pulling on it once more and both women are given another stinging jolt up the arm.

"Oh for God's sake, stop touching it it's only going to keep shocking you!" Regina snaps.

"Well then remove the thingy!" Emma exclaims waving her hands up and down and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I'm going to remove the thingy," Regina says through gritted teeth, and Emma tries not to take child-like delight in the fact that she got the ever-uptight Regina Mills to say the word 'thingy'.

"Mom?" Henry's voice calls through the house again, and he sounds concerned.

"Well, then remove the thingy!"

"Do you want a slap?"

"Is now really the time?" Emma replies, grinning and Regina rolls her eyes, giving a little exasperated sigh. That right there is another thing the blonde needs to get under control – that's like twice in two days she's made flirty jokes at Regina. At Regina. She really needs to sort herself out.

Finally she feels Regina lifting the spells around the door and she pushes forwards, opening the door from her position behind the other woman and causing them to spill out somewhat unceremoniously into the foyer.

Henry, standing looking confused by the front door, turns to look at them both – brow furrowing. His brown gaze looks from Emma, still trying to shake the stinging sensation out of her hand, to Regina as she straightens her clothes and tries to look as dignified as possible for just having stumbled out of a cupboard, and back again.

"Emma?" he asks carefully, small brow furrowing as his gaze continues to shift between the two women

"Yeah, kid?" she replies awkwardly.

Henry frowns. "What were you doing in the closet with my mom?"