CHAPTER TWO
August fifteenth is a gloomy Monday, survivor of a stormy night but still not quite over it. A bit like Emma herself, only the storms that had haunted her the night before had been all in her mind.
Most thoughts of Regina Mills had faded over the past week, the guilt and self-doubt (Should I have listened to her? Was I too harsh? I was the only person who could help her…) were progressively overcome as this particular date approached.
She has spent the entire morning in bed. She can barely bear the thought of going out and pretending – pretending that she is okay, that she hasn't spent every single night during the past ten years wallowing in guilt, playing in her mind impossible scenarios of what could have been, of how unimaginably different her life would have been, if she had made a different choice.
She can't go outside today without staring at children for way too long, searching every toothy grin and curious gaze for a trace of herself or of Neal.
She can't allow herself to live her life, today; not when she doesn't even know for sure if he is happy, if he is healthy, if he is alive at all.
She can't do anything, today, but wonder, wonder, wonder about the baby that had been her only reason to live for nine months, a reason that went away with him as soon as she gave him up.
She had never given him a name. She had never had anyone, in her life, important enough to be honored and remembered in such way; besides, giving him a name would have made the whole process much more real, just like looking at him right after he was born. She had tried so desperately to remain as detached as she could have possibly been, if only to be able to send him away, to possibly doom him to the same childhood she had had because keeping him wouldn't have been possible for an eighteen-year-old with no degree, no money, no parents and a criminal record.
'Duckling' had been the only nickname she had allowed herself to give him; a cheesy joke one of her doctors had made during her first echography, seen the peculiarity of her surname. It had stuck, for some reason; maybe because, despite the total, numbing alienation that she had been in, the pains, the sicknesses, the kicks had still been the most wonderful thing that had happened to her, and she needed something more concrete than a fleeting memory to commemorate it.
She has always imagined him as a little angel with blonde locks, chubby cheeks and green eyes. Partly because she had been so heartbroken, at the time, that she used to avoid any thought of Neal almost obsessively; but mainly because she couldn't imagine that something that had grown inside of her could look any different from herself. He was hers even if he wasn't going to be.
And, today, it's been ten years since she refused to look at her child. She revels in the painful jolt that hits her straight in the heart, as she thinks that she could have seen him grow up but hasn't.
As these self-harming thoughts keep her pinned to the bed, unable and unwilling to get up, Emma hopes against hope, wishes with every fiber of her being, that her little Duckling grew up with someone who loved him.
It's with a heavy heart and a weary mind that she slips in and out of a tormented sleep for the following couple of hours, her heavy eyes darting to the clock on her bedside table each time she wakes up. Lunchtime rolls by and Emma still doesn't make a move, the sole thought of eating making her nauseous.
It's nearing four o'clock when she wakes yet again, this time disturbed by an impatient knocking at the door, followed by the doorknob loudly rattling. She tiredly ponders on the identity of whoever is trying to get inside of her apartment, and since a burglar is the only plausible solution that comes to mind, she merely pulls the thin bed sheet over her head, entirely willing to let them break in and steal whatever they want.
She hears a muffled female voice and then a click, followed by the light squeaking of the door sliding open and a chipper, "Thank you ever so much," that has Emma peak through the bundle of covers only to see if the burglar was more than one person.
It isn't; a rosy-cheeked, pixy-haired woman, probably around Emma's age, is standing in the middle of the studio apartment, looking at the blonde with a polite smile.
"Hi! You're Emma, right?" the stranger asks.
Okay, so she's probably not a burglar. The flower pattern of the dress she's wearing and… well, the fact that she just talked to Emma suggest as much. Seeing as she's the second person who knows Emma's name and has broken into her apartment, the blonde has a feeling she might be connected to Regina Mills, somehow.
She sits up in bed, aware of the halo of a bird's nest sitting on top of her head and the puffiness of her heavy-lidded eyes, and croaks out, "I am. Do you all just blatantly ignore the purpose of door-locks, up in Storyland, or do you actually not know it?"
A sincerely amused chuckle – which puzzles Emma, because how can anyone ever not pick up on the sarcasm? – accompanies the woman's next words. "In Storybrooke," she corrects, "everyone is perfectly aware of a door-lock's function, and I'm sorry for showing up uninvited and breaking in. I mean, of course I would never have been 'invited', since you don't know who I am and- oh, God, I haven't even introduced myself-"
"Okay!" Emma interrupts her. "Too many words, too little coffee."
She is about to get up and head for the coffee pot, careless of the fact that it's filled with two-days-old liquid, but the brunette suddenly holds up a steaming Starbucks cup. "I took the liberty to get you some. Yes," she adds, after Emma has taken the offered drink and read the name scribbled on top, "that's me. I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard, nice to meet you."
"Were you talking to someone?" Emma inquires after her first sip. At the brunette's furrowed brow, she précises, "Right before coming inside? And I thought I heard you say 'Thank you', but-"
"I did. Yeah, I'm not sure I should tell you who I was talking to…"
"Why? Ugh, is Regina here?" The annoyance in Emma's voice isn't quite as sincere as she would have liked – stained by a light guilt for having pried, during her last conversation with the Mayor, and by the same odd eagerness the other woman constantly seems to arouse in her.
Mary Margaret's face scrunches up in an apologetic look. "She couldn't make it. It's her son's birthday. He turns ten; it's quite a big deal."
Emma is sure her heart stops for a few moments, right there. Then it starts pounding at a worrying speed, and the hands of the clock on her wall start moving backwards, and though Mary Margaret seems unaffected and unaware of the time-turn, she most certainly notices Emma's distress.
"Did I say something…?" she inquires, concern coloring her features. "Listen, I get it that you might not like Regina – in fact, very few people do – but she really does need you. I don't know why, she hasn't exactly told me; we're not on good terms. Actually, she doesn't even know I'm here and will very likely kill me, but-"
"Fine."
"Pardon?"
"I said fine," Emma repeats patiently, and the clock resumes its usual ticking. "I'll go with you. Take me to Disney World."
An ear-splitting shriek erupts from Mary Margaret, who does a little jump and claps her hands, smiling from ear to ear. She's so excited that she doesn't even correct Emma. "Really? Yay! If we leave now- huh," she lets out, her eyes glued to her wristwatch, "I thought it was four PM, when I arrived." She casts a glance around the room and it stills when she sees the clock on Emma's wall. "Well, I must have been wrong."
Because Emma's little breakdown has turned back time, and it's now two. "I need to take a shower," she says, if only to distract Mary Margaret. "Is it a problem if I keep you waiting for a couple minutes?"
At Mary Margaret's negative response, Emma grabs clean underwear and clothes (from the bags Regina left in front of her doorstep, since she hasn't bothered doing much to them, other than moving them by her bed) and locks herself up in the bathroom.
Once she's underneath the soothing jet of water, she closes her eyes and tries to make sense of what is happening.
Regina had told her that everyone with special powers lives in Storybrooke (yes, she does remember the name. It's just so ridiculous that it sounds made up), which would make Emma assume that Mary Margaret does too. She isn't willing to take that risk, however, and decides to keep away from the topic unless the brunette herself is the one to bring it up first. Mary Margaret knows Regina, knows that she is likely busy spending the day with her son or throwing him a birthday party, but until she has proof that this quirky woman is, in fact, aware of the existence of magic, she won't mention it. Better safe than sorry.
Emma doesn't exactly know what has spurred her to finally cave in and decide to help Regina Mills. She just knows that today her own kid is turning ten, too, and if she wasn't able to do something right in 2001, maybe she can do it now, by helping another mother and, consequently, her kid.
Maybe there's a good reason why Regina needs to go back in time. And because she's currently so utterly numb at everything, Emma decides to give her the benefit of the doubt, at last. She only hopes she's not going to regret it.
It's with half-hearted effort that she packs up a bag with a change of clothing and some essentials, and not ten minutes later she's sitting in Mary Margaret's pick-up – she had expected something more like a Mini Cooper, something that suited the brunette's chirpy character, but she's somewhat glad to have been proven otherwise.
The car drive to Maine isn't a long one, but regardless, Mary Margaret somehow manages to fill any potentially-awkward silence. As Emma had suspected when she'd first seen her, the woman talks a lot. She is nothing short of the exact opposite of Regina Mills: exuberant, friendly, open. Never once does she let the conversation die down, finding topic after topic to discuss with Emma; and the blonde is admittedly glad, because Mary Margaret is easy to chat with, and it keeps her distracted from much heavier thoughts. There is a tinge of guilt pulling and twisting her guts, but it's easy to tune it out when there's such a positive, happy person asking her about her favorite food.
"My fiancé's in a coma," Mary Margaret ventures at some point, about an hour into the road trip, and it's probably the first time since she and Emma have met that she isn't smiling. "He has been for a long time."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Emma really is. She's also very curious, eager to know what happened to him – but she isn't that careless, and settles for, "Do you miss him?"
If Mary Margaret finds the question silly, she doesn't show it. "Every single day," she replies mournfully. "You'd think that, as the years go by, I'd move on, or that the pain would dwindle. It doesn't. I can't even bear the thought of being with someone who isn't David."
"Was it an accident?"
At that question, the veil of sadness that was glazing Mary Margaret's eyes just moments before drops and the woman seems to snap out of the melancholic spiraling that she was falling into.
"Yeah, something like that," is her cryptic response, and – well, maybe she does have something in common with Regina, after all. "How about you? Anyone special in your life?"
Though Mary Margaret's question is an attempt at diverting the conversation onto a lighter matter, the atmosphere remains dense with gloom. "Nobody," Emma responds, and Mary Margaret must see how strained her smile is, because she doesn't pry.
They continue talking about nothing, after that. When they touch the 'favorite movie' subject, they lose themselves in an amicable debate about rom-coms that accompanies them all the way to Storybrooke.
It's when they cross the town line, that Emma feels it. As soon as they pass the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign, Emma can perceive the change in the town's timeline.
She knows that Storybrooke had been stuck in time for exactly twenty-seven years, nine months and twenty-four days; she also knows that, as soon as she entered the town, time resumed its natural course.
But there is no time to dwell on this newfound information, because Mary Margaret is pulling over in front of an eighties-style diner (Granny's, reads the neon sign at the front) and urging Emma to get out of the truck.
"Since you were sleeping when I got to your place, I figured you hadn't had lunch," Mary Margaret explains as they hurry to the other side of the street and enter the air-conditioned diner. "This is the best place in town."
"Always nice to hear," says a lively voice, and as she turns, Emma sees a tall brunette, all legs and eyeliner, grin at Mary Margaret. Her red lipstick matches sporadic strands of her hair, as well as the waitress apron she's wearing. "Especially if you're telling… someone… new?" The girl's smile falters as she sends a confused stare to Mary Margaret, but it's back in full force as soon as she turns to Emma. "Hi, I'm Ruby. Welcome to Storybrooke!"
Emma politely shakes her hand. "Emma. Nice to meet-"
"Just what exactly are you doing here?"
Everybody in the room seems to freeze at the thundering voice. Well, except for Emma, who tries very hard to repress the relief that washes over her and predictably fails.
"Ow, you could have told me she was the Mayor's," she hears Ruby whisper at Mary Margaret, as the three of them turn toward the counter. A white-haired woman ('Granny', Emma presumes) is pouring coffee in a travel cup, right in front of Regina. "Maybe next time."
Emma, under everyone's astonished scrutiny, walks over and leans against the bar, right next to the other woman. "Giving you the benefit of the doubt," she allows. "You should thank Mary Margaret, actually-"
Regina turns her head around so quickly that Emma gets whiplash just by watching her. She fixates Mary Margaret with the most murderous glare that Emma's ever seen; it makes the blonde imagine that the two brunettes have history.
"Miss Blanchard? Care to elaborate?"
They move out of the diner, an attempt at keeping the conversation more private. Mary Margaret holds up her hands, a useless attempt at placating the other woman. "Regina, calm down. I just- I know that you and Henry are having problems, and I thought she might help."
"It wasn't your place to do so!" As Emma keeps on watching the exchange, she notices two things: that the occupants of the diner, including Ruby and Granny, have come out and started to gather around the three of them, albeit keeping their distance; and that Regina is exuding purple smoke, which probably means she is very angry. "Need I remind you what happened the last time you tried to help me?"
Ruby jogs over, standing right between Regina and Mary Margaret, her back at her friend in a defensive position. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Miss Lucas-"
Clang.
Everyone stills. Approximately twenty people, in unison, look somewhere above Emma's head. As she follows their line of sight, she sees that they are watching the clock tower, which is now striking five o'clock, its bells tolling in the distance. When Emma looks back at Regina, she sees that everyone is now staring at her.
"David," she hears Mary Margaret say, and not a second later, her figure is replaced by a cloud of white smoke, just like Emma's.
"What is happening?" she inquires, her voice low.
"Not here," is the only response Regina is willing to give and, a second later, they're disappearing.
The street right in front of the diner is replaced by luxurious home décor, and after politely clearing her voice, Regina – back to her normal, cranky-but-not-murderous self – straightens her spine and explains, "Storybrooke has been stuck in time for almost twenty-eight years, Miss Swan." She's walking, purposefully striding along the hallway.
As Emma hastily follows her through the kitchen and to what she assumes is Regina's study, she lets out, "I know. I felt it the moment I crossed the town line. I think it's my presence here that has triggered time back into motion." She has also deduced, from what she's seen so far, that time manipulation does not affect people with powers , only the world around them – though she doesn't know why that is.
"I agree." Regina extracts a decanter from a shelf and pours amber liquid into two tumblers, handing one to Emma. They sip in silence for a couple of seconds, during which Emma totally reconsiders apple cider, because man, this is the best one she has ever tasted. Then, "I can't believe that insipid brat managed to convince you to come."
Taken aback by the remark, Emma précised, "She didn't. She told me it was your son's birthday." But Regina doesn't respond to that, her gaze lost in the glass she's holding, so Emma prompts, "How did he grow up, if the town was stuck in time?"
"I have no idea." Her voice is lost, and Emma voices a question that might be too invasive.
"Where is your son, Regina?" because he wasn't at the diner and the house seems empty.
Emma doesn't really expect an answer, not after the results – or, rather, lack thereof – she obtained last time. But the olive branch Emma extended by coming to Storybrooke isn't rejected; and Regina musters up enough courage to confess, "In Storybrooke." She takes a deep breath and, finally raising her gaze to meet Emma's, she says, "I just don't know when."
The rest of the day goes by in a flash.
Regina tells Emma everything, from the problems she's been having with her son – who is adopted, apparently, and Emma can't help but respect the other woman just that little bit more – to the fact that he, as well as Mary Margaret's fiancé, can also warp time. Henry's been gone for three weeks exactly, according to Regina, and it doesn't take much math knowledge to date the day of his disappearance to the brunette's first visit in Boston.
"He's only a child, and his powers are mainly driven by emotions," Regina tells her shakily, unrestrained guilt and fear tainting her voice. "When we fought, he was so upset- He'd just found out he was adopted, and he was crying and he was so angry at me. There was a flash of light around him and a second later he was gone."
Regina also tells her about the invisible bubble that envelops Storybrooke. When, twenty-eight years earlier, a certain Zelena had wreaked all kinds of havoc, and then some, in their little town by throwing a tornado at it ("It's called atmokinesis," Regina had said, "the ability to control the weather"), Regina had managed to send her away and shield the town from her and other intruders, whilst David had rewound time to a couple minutes before the attack, when the tornado hadn't yet caused any damage. He'd been keeping it stuck in that particular moment for almost three decades, and it required so much of his vital energy that he'd fallen into a coma immediately, continuing his enchantment unconsciously.
"Your presence seems to not only have undone his deed," Regina reasons at some point, "but it's as if you had erased its future destruction by creating a parallel timeline."
"How do you mean?"
Regina was focused; the crease right between her eyebrows proved so. "If you had only nullified David's manipulation, the town would have technically resumed its existence from where it had stopped last – allegedly, in October 1983 – and, therefore, it would have experienced the tornado once again. Essentially, it would have been 2011 everywhere else, whilst it would have been 1983 here; and 1984 next year, and so on.
"However, there is clearly no tornado, here. It's as if you had, albeit unintentionally, burst the metaphorical bubble that kept Storybrooke stuck in time and snapped the town directly into 2011."
Well, so now Emma was developing quite the headache. "Wait, let me get this straight – I accidentally made a whole town skip almost three decades?"
"Precisely," Regina retorts, "which is why Miss Blanchard left so quickly."
At that, Emma voices a question that has been swirling through her mind for a while, now. "So Mary Margaret also has powers, right? You told me everyone has a different ability?"
"Well, not everyone, per se, but yes, most people do. For instance, Miss Lucas – the waitress," she clarifies, at Emma's confusion, "as well as her grandmother Eugenia, the owner of the diner, is a shape-shifter. She can turn into a wolf at will, and then back to her human form. Our librarian, Miss French, can read minds; Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker, can see the future. Some powers lean toward the more disturbing side, like Doctor Whale's gift of bringing corpses back to life or Miss Blanchard's ability to…" A shiver visibly runs down Regina's spine. Then, with a grimace, she finishes, "… talk to animals."
Emma chokes on her drink, inevitably falling in a coughing fit that has her eyes watering and her throat hurting. "She can talk to animals? That is… unconceivably lame!"
The low chuckle that Regina lets out hits Emma, twisting something right at the pit of her stomach. "How about you?" she asks then, because maybe Regina's power makes people feel all funny inside.
The hilarity disappears from Regina's face as quickly as it had come. "My powers aren't all that interesting," she says curtly and, in a flash, she's back to the withdrawn, closed-up person she was when Emma had first met her.
"I thought you were going to give me some answers," Emma can't help but say, and she flinches at the accusation in her tone almost as much as Regina.
"I am. But believe me when I tell you that some questions are better left unanswered."
And so Emma doesn't push, though she might resent Regina a bit. Her stomach growls right then, so Regina walks her back to the kitchen and fixes up some dinner for them both, surrounded by a heavy silence that borders oppressiveness. They eat at the island instead of the dining room table and, afterwards, Emma dries the dishes Regina washes.
"Where are you staying?" the latter asks, and it's the first time either of them has broken the silence.
Emma's response begins with a shrug. "I'll figure something out. Mary Margaret mentioned a B&B."
"You could stay here." It's rushed and imbued in vulnerability, and Regina seems just as surprised by the offer as Emma is.
"I wouldn't want to impose…" Emma begins, but a humorless chuckle from the other woman interrupts her.
"You're helping me to find my son. If anything, I'm the one who's imposing."
"You're not," Emma is quick to point out. "I- today was a hard day for me. I really needed this."
They're upstairs now, and Emma is following Regina as she gives her a tour of the floor. "This is the master bathroom – there are clean towels in the cupboard, in case you want to take a shower, and a spare toothbrush under the sink." She moves on to the next room, swings the door open and reveals a large bedroom, elegantly decorated like the rest of the house but still too modest to be Regina's. "This is the guest bedroom. I'd be glad if you didn't break anything. I sleep here," she adds, walking to the door opposite Emma's temporary accommodation. "Do not disturb me while I'm here or there will be consequences."
Emma solemnly nods, determined to be on her best behavior… though she doesn't exactly know why. She doesn't owe Regina anything, and yet- "Yes ma'am." With a small wave of her hand, the bag she'd left inside of Mary Margaret's pick-up and completely forgotten about materializes from thin air, and with an awkward, tight-lipped smile, she parts from Regina altogether and closes the guest bedroom door behind her.
It's only eight o'clock, but Emma is looking forward to trying out the queen-sized bed. After a quick stop to the bathroom – which is, probably, the single most uselessly opulent place she's ever been in – she takes off her jeans, switches her tank top over to a clean one and gratefully slides into the thin linen sheets, ready to resume the cycle of nightmares and self-loathing that Mary Margaret had interrupted earlier. It goes without saying that she doesn't get much sleep; her mind and her body wan, but unable to stop the anxiety in her stomach, and it's anything but unexpected.
She gives up at around five in the morning. Managing to find her bearings in the unfamiliar mansion, Emma steps into the kitchen and starts up the coffee maker, before filling up a mug – bright green and with a cow on it, which might be the last thing she'd ever imagined being in Regina Mills' house – and settling down on the back porch.
She watches the sun as it rises from behind the limitless expanse of trees that surround Storybrooke. It's a cathartic view, one she much prefers to the oppressive dimensions of buildings and skyscrapers that constantly loom over Boston. As the clear summer sky lights up with the promise of a new day, Emma hopes that she'll manage to reunite at least one kid and his mother.
She doesn't know how long she sits in the porch swing, lost in thought; but the sun is already up and her coffee mug empty, when the sliding doors open and Regina joins her.
"Have you ever traveled back in time?" she asks Emma once she's sat beside her, her legs curled up underneath her.
Emma shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the landscape. "Time-travel requires much more thought than time-manipulation. There are infinite factors that need to be considered, from the amount of vital energy required to the potential creation of paradoxes. Not to mention that, if you travel to a time where you're already alive, you must be careful not to be seen in the presence of your past self. Fast-forwarding, rewinding and stopping time is easier, because you remain in the same body, which ages or gets younger according to your manipulation; whereas, in time travels, you disappear from the present and physically move into another temporal dimension, maintaining the same form as the present."
"We will need to lay out a plan that includes all of that," Regina points out, rubbing her temples to soothe her headache, "though it might take a while. This needs to be thought through. I don't know if we can take the chance of failing."
"Probably not. Come on." Emma gets up and lays out a hand for Regina to take, though the brunette seems a bit distracted from the particular state of undress Emma is in. "Let's get ready and talk this over a couple of those bear claws I saw yesterday at Granny's."
"Just try it." Emma's arm is stretched out across the table, and she's waving a torn-off piece of pastry right in Regina's face.
"Over your dead body," she retorts, and punctuates her statement by sticking a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth.
"Keep that up and she might just tear your heart out." Ruby, who was passing by to serve a client at a nearby table, then turns to Regina. "Though, Madam Mayor, Granny really does make a mean bear claw."
"I don't doubt that, Miss Lucas, but I would rather eat something healthier for breakfast. Thank you for your consideration."
Emma sits back and huffs, but at least she gets to eat that last piece of bear claw. "It's your loss," she sing-songs, and Regina can't help but scoff out a laugh as she shakes her head in exasperation.
A sudden burst of cheers and applause has the two women look up to see the cause of the commotion. By the entrance, Mary Margaret is pushing a man in a wheelchair, his skin of an unhealthy shade of pale and his smile tired, but clearly happy nonetheless. Everyone in the diner is either clapping or heading over to him, including Ruby, who all but lunges at him, enveloping him in a hug.
When even Regina heads over to join the small crowd gathering around them, Emma figures it's best if she does, too, though she stands aside, not really part of the celebration.
As the man's eyes settle on Regina, his smile falters a little and he struggles to stand up, Mary Margaret's hand shooting out to support him.
"You look good, Madam Mayor," he says, though there's a heaviness to his voice that has most of the customers retreat to their breakfasts to give them some privacy.
"Thank you, Mr. Nolan. Wish I could say the same for you…" It's a jab, but it's meant to lighten the tension; and the man laughs and swings his free arm around Regina, patting her back as she reciprocates the hug. "I'm glad you're okay, David."
David, Emma thinks. Mary Margaret's fiancé.
"So… Is she…"
"Here? Yes. Emma?" Regina calls her from over her shoulder, prompting Emma to step forward. "David, this is Emma Swan. She involuntarily broke the time warp when she came to Storybrooke."
The awkward wave Emma manages does nothing to erase the intense look on his – and Mary Margaret's, she notices – face. "Emma…" he lets out almost in wonder, though he snaps out of it quickly, offering her a warm smile. "Thank you, I guess, for waking me up."
"Yeah, uh… my pleasure?" She lets out an awkward laugh. "I've heard a lot about you. What you did to save the town was really brave."
David shrugs off the compliment. "Couldn't have done it without Regina. By the way- your sister isn't coming back anytime soon, is she?"
"The barrier I put around the city is still standing strong. Even if she comes back, she can't get to town," Regina informs him.
Ruby chimes in right then, telling David that his hot chocolate is ready, and he slumps back into his wheelchair so that Mary Margaret can push him to a table.
"So, you've been staying with Regina, huh?" Mary Margaret asks her. She's smiling, but it looks somewhat strained, as if she were holding back a thought. "Did you meet Henry? He's in my English class, he's such a nice boy."
Emma flashes a glance at Regina, looking for backup; but the woman is still deep in conversation with David, so Emma will have to improvise, because apparently Mary Margaret doesn't know that Henry has gone missing. "Yeah, we hung out last night. He's very sweet. Actually- since it was his birthday, Regina let him stay up until late to watch a movie, so he's still asleep now."
"About that," Regina intervenes then, "maybe we should head back home, Emma. He's bound to wake up any minute now." She turns back to David and lightly squeezes his arm. "It's nice to have you back." Then, barely sparing a glance at Mary Margaret, she heads for the exit, and Emma only manages to rush a goodbye before she has to hurry after her.
They had walked to the diner, the nice summer day luring them away from the shade of Regina's car. Emma had enjoyed the companionable silence that had accompanied them, though now she feels the need to voice one specific question.
"So, what's the story?"
Regina arches a brow. "Care to elaborate?"
"You know, between you and David and Mary Margaret. My theory is that you were in love with him, but he chose her, which is why you hate her so much. Or maybe you were together for a while, because he seemed pretty into you, too."
Emma's words have Regina stop dead in her tracks, just so she can gape at Emma a bit more dramatically. They seem to have caused a wide range of emotions in the brunette, because her features express confusion, then hilarity, then a flash of anger, only to finally settle on faint surprise.
"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, I'm afraid you have misinterpreted… well, everything."
"Oh, no, we're back to Miss Swan now? I thought you'd finally started calling me Emma. Which, you know, is my name, and you're not a Hogwarts professor, so."
Regina rolls her eyes and resumes walking. "I called you Emma because I needed to keep up appearances," she explains. "God knows who they think you are; probably my long-distance girlfriend or something. Surely enough, I couldn't let them know you're barely a stranger."
"I mean, you've known Ruby for, like, thirty years, you'd think you'd call her by her first name by now, too, but you don't." Emma lifts up a shoulder. "I'm just saying, I don't think anyone would be surprised if you called your girlfriend Miss."
Regina pointedly ignores her. "David is a good man. Well- to an extent. He did cheat on his wife with Miss Blanchard, after all. But he was the only person brave enough to help me to send Zelena away, and he gave up thirty years of his life to protect this town. I respect him. Fighting together helped us bond, I suppose."
"Zelena," Emma then says. "The woman with the tornado. You didn't tell me she was your sister."
Regina curls up a lip in mild disgust. "Half-sister. I like to make that very clear. She's white, ginger and British."
"She must be a Weasley," Emma mutters under her breath, but Regina hears her anyway and sighs. "I was serious, though. Call me Emma."
