Thanks for all your lovely reviews, follows, favorites, PMs, etc. I'm glad people are excited about this story, and I will work extra hard to make sure it lives up to your expectations.
Warnings: This chapter starts to explore a relationship between Regina and Robin, which takes place entirely in the pastbut affects the present, that will also be developed further in the next couple of chapters. Please see point #3 in Chapter 1. Also, there's some rather coarse language in the first section.
"Regina, can we talk?"
"I'm pretty sure you're already talking."
Robin sighs. "I mean alone, in my office."
"I'm pretty sure there's nothing you have to say to me that can't be said in front of the entire squad, sir," Regina challenges, eyes blazing. There's only one other person in the squad room, anyway: Detective Booth, and he's carefully ignoring their conversation.
"Don't fucking do this, Regina." He normally bears her insults with infuriatingly good humor, but for whatever reason, he has no patience for her today, and the thought makes her grin wickedly. When he's in a mood like this, she can get under his skin as well as he gets under hers.
"Do what?" she asks innocently. He just stares at her in exasperation until she relents and follows him into his office. "What's going on, Lieutenant?" she asks once the door is closed. "I'm fairly certain all my paperwork is filed properly, and I haven't gotten a complaint in over eighteen months, so it can't be about that-"
"Do you have to turn every simple interaction into a showdown?" he demands. "Because after three years it's getting pretty damn tiring."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Are you going to tell me why you pulled me into your office first thing in the morning for the second day in a row?"
"Well, before you decided to start fucking World War III, I was going to ask a simple question about how you liked your new partner, and out of respect for her, I didn't want to do it in the middle of the damned squad room."
"Well, aren't you quite crass this morning?" she remarks. "Are you sleeping well?"
"I could ask you the same question."
She meets his eyes with a glare and holds it until he turns away first, as he always does. "So, your partner, Detective Swan," he continues, pretending nothing happened, "is she satisfactory or do I need to start filing your transfer papers?"
"Trying to get rid of me, Lieutenant?"
"Yesterday, you said if she turned out to be an 'incompetent moron' - your words, not mine - that you wanted to transfer so you didn't have to 'put up with my bullshit' - again, your words. So I'll ask again: is she satisfactory?"
"You seemed satisfied enough with her work yesterday."
"I'm satisfied as long as our cases get solved; I'm asking you."
"You're the lieutenant, sir," Regina says sarcastically. "Who am I to question your opinions?"
"What the hell, Regina!" he growls. "Will you just put aside your ridiculous personal vendetta against me for one fucking second and answer the damned question so we can both get on with our days? My God, I never would have taken this fucking promotion if I'd known it was going to destroy our relationship like this."
"We never had a relationship," Regina mutters, just to be spiteful. If he's going to take liberties with the truth, she can, too; of course he would have taken the fucking promotion, regardless of her feelings. It's better pay and better hours and he's a single dad who should probably not be running around the streets all day at the considerable risk of making his son an orphan. She would have done the exact same thing in his position, minus telling him about it in bed. But, anyway, she's gotten a rise out of him, which is all she wanted, so she smiles sweetly and says, "My partner lacks experience but seems to be adjusting well enough. No transfer will be necessary at the present time. Will that be all, Lieutenant Locksley?"
He runs a hand through his hair and looks so exhausted she almost feels badly for him, until she remembers being naked with him practically inside her and hearing him say that he was getting promoted to lieutenant - her lieutenant.
"Yes, Detective Mills, that will be all," he sighs.
"Have a nice day, sir."
Emma's second morning on the job can be described with just one word: slow. She supposes, in many ways, that's a good thing. It means people aren't getting murdered. However, it means she's stuck at her desk filling out paperwork and, since her new partner is to paperwork what her high school history teacher was to bibliographies, it's not exactly a walk in the park. Not to mention, the blazer she dug out of the back of her closet this morning is making her extremely uncomfortable. She misses her leather jacket.
"No, this is incorrect," Detective Mills says for the third time.
Emma is starting to get frustrated. "I double-checked everything on the form; it's all there," she insists, afraid that her voice is about to start turning into a whine.
"Yes, but the form itself is wrong. You filled it out correctly, but you were supposed to use-"
Emma doesn't hear the end of the sentence over the sound of her hand crumpling the sheet of paper she just worked so hard to fill out into a tight ball. She places it with the others on her desk in a pile that reminds her of ammunition for heavy artillery. Maybe with her next failure, she can make an origami cannon.
"Actually you can use same-" Nolan starts to say, but Mills silences him with a deadly glare. "Homicide paperwork can be confusing," he amends lamely. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough."
Mills rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath about how anything is confusing when you're dimwitted, and Emma ducks her head in shame. Her plan to impress her new partner is not going very well. In fact, it's going very poorly. She's never been one for organization; reading people and thinking on her feet, yes, but nothing that involves minutiae.
"Mills!" Locksley calls, striding purposefully out of his office, "I need your files on the - Swan, what's going on? Are we having a paper snowball fight?"
"No, sir, it's just-"
"You need my files on what?" Regina interrupts, and Emma is torn between gratitude to her partner for saving her from the lieutenant's possible wrath (although he really doesn't seem like the kind of guy capable of feeling wrath) and embarrassment that such an act would even be necessary.
"The White case, what else?" Locksley sighs. "Commissioner wants to use it for one of those ridiculous experiential education panels at the academy, again."
"And they need my personal files?"
"Apparently so."
"You see," Regina says smugly, turning to Emma, "this is why it's important to keep meticulous records. You never know when someone will need the files ten years later to do...well, whatever it is they're trying to do now."
"They asked me if you'd join the panel as a featured speaker," Locksley mutters apologetically.
"About White? I assume you told them no."
"I didn't tell them anything; I figured you could do it much more colorfully yourself. Here's the number," the lieutenant says tiredly. "Do me a favor and don't say anything that will cost both of our jobs."
Mills rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it. Here's the file."
Locksley gingerly accepts the thick manila folder like it might explode in his hand. "Thanks. Maybe someday we'll be able to burn this and forget it ever happened."
"Wishful thinking," Regina snorts, her eyes cold and humorless. "Besides, why would I ever want to burn all the notes I worked so hard on? Speaking of which, Detective Swan, now that you've had an absurdly long break eavesdropping on my conversation with our superior officer, shall we discuss the importance of legible handwriting?"
Locksley, Jones, and Nolan all hide smirks as they retreat to their respective workstations, safely hidden from Mills's line of fire.
"Sorry," Emma mutters, fidgeting with a stray lock of hair. She hates feeling so incompetent; she obviously wasn't prepared for this promotion, and her new mentor seems to have very little patience for teaching rookies.
"Don't be sorry, be better," Mills scowls.
Emma bites her lower lip and grabs a new form, filling out the exact same information for possibly now the fifth time - she's losing track. She writes slowly, in painstakingly neat cursive, because for some reason her partner writes like a penmanship instructor from the Victorian Era. Her eyes dart frantically over the form one more time before she hands it to Mills, fingers crossed under her desk that this version will finally meet the older detective's satisfaction.
"This is acceptable," Mills says with a barely perceptible nod of approval, and Emma lets out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing in her chair, because she finally did something right. "Now you just have fill it out in triplicate and do the same for the other witnesses."
Emma glances at her notes from yesterday and groans - she interviewed at least twenty witnesses. Her last department wasn't like this - she never had to actually talk to people or, for that matter, write things by hand. Still, she tells herself, this is better. She's making a difference and getting the most dangerous of criminals off the streets, keeping her hometown safe and secure. She's getting to work with Regina Mills and Robin Locksley, both of whom have been her idols since her early days in the academy.
They're absolutely nothing like she had imagined, but she chooses to let that go for now.
"So, Nolan," Jones is saying across the room, "did you ever make a decision regarding our talk last night?"
"Not an appropriate conversation topic for the workplace," Nolan mutters. "Ask me on lunch break."
"Come on, mate! She's stopping by in half an hour to meet about that Dorchester shooting suspect. Just ask her out. Whether she says yes or no, it'll put you out of your misery."
"I'm not asking her out at work," hisses the sandy-haired detective. "Are you insane?"
"Just do it. Swan, back me up here!" Jones calls out. "Tell him to just do it."
"As I said last night, I have no interest in Nolan's love life," Emma says with a nervous look at her glaring partner. "Leave me out of this."
"Are we in a police station or a middle school?" Mills demands angrily. "I can't seem to tell the difference right now."
Smirking, Nolan whispers, "Now you've done it," to Jones.
Emma inhales sharply as a completely enraged Regina Mills pushes herself up from her desk and storms over to the two male detectives, whose smiles have now been wiped from their faces. "You are creating a distraction that is preventing my partner and I from performing the duty we have sworn to fulfill, and I would greatly appreciate it if you discussed your idiotic schoolboy crush off the clock and out of my presence. Have I made myself clear?"
ADA Blanchard finally shows up for her meeting with Jones and Nolan, and Booth and Humbert have been called out on a case, leaving Regina alone with her new partner. She's actually quite impressed with Detective Swan's quick progress; it's only been one morning and her paperwork is already about ninety-five percent of the way to the senior detective's standards. It took a nearly a month to get Humbert up to this level, and Jones still wasn't there after six months when she finally refused to work with him anymore.
She magnanimously suggests they both break for lunch, and they're about to order paninis from the new place around the corner when Locksley comes out of his office again. He's changed into a suit and has a frazzled expression that makes Regina immediately drop the phone.
"Mills, I need you," he barks. "Preferably without flames coming out of your mouth because this situation is serious. I just got off the phone with Senator Billings's office."
"What's going on?" she asks, giving him her full attention. She may despise the man who doesn't deserve to be her boss, but not more than she respects the job. She lives for serious situations.
"He's dead," Robin says shortly.
Regina's eyes widen, and thoughts of lunch disappear completely from her mind. "Dead? How? A state Senator's been murdered?"
"Cause of death is unclear, but his home is already getting swarmed by press. The Commissioner wants me to go personally deal with it. And, of course, they want my best detectives, so..." his voice trails off and he gestures feebly at her.
"Of course." Regina stands and immediately grabs her coat. "Detective Swan, shall we?"
"I meant..." Locksley pulls her into his office and sighs. "I meant just you. Swan's a rookie; I need someone experienced in dealing with the press and high profile cases."
"Detective Swan is my partner, and she will assist with the investigation," she says firmly. "Or were you expecting me to take on this high profile case on my own?"
"I was going to get Nolan-"
"Swan is more competent and less irritating," Regina argues. She avoids mentioning that neither of those traits is particularly difficult to achieve - Nolan is marginally better than Jones, but not by much, and his self-righteousness loses him any advantage he may have had. She will not work with him.
The lieutenant raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You said yourself that she lacks experience."
"And how do you suggest she gain it? You and I didn't get where we are by being left at home while senior detectives did all the work. You wanted me to teach her; that's what I'm trying to do."
Locksley rubs his face tiredly. "I guess you're right," he concedes.
"There is no 'guess.' I'm right." She forcefully opens the door to his office and calls, "Swan! Are you ready?"
Dozens of reporters have already clustered in the deceased Senator's front yard when the detectives arrive. Locksley informs them that the Police Department has no comment on the death at the present time, and the patrol officers working crowd control quickly let them into the pristine white mansion.
"Nice house," Swan mutters appreciatively.
"Detective Swan," Regina cuts in, "you will follow behind me and observe the proceedings. Try to refrain from making any comments - anything could be misinterpreted or leaked to reporters."
Emma dutifully stands off to the side and watches as Locksley discusses the body with Dr. Whale.
"Time of death was approximately three hours ago, judging by the state of the body," the Medical Examiner explains.
"And the cause?"
"That's the problem: there isn't one."
"What do you mean?" the lieutenant asks, brow furrowed in confusion.
"I mean, there's nothing to suggest that the death was unnatural," Whale says. "No injuries, nothing to suggest he was poisoned or suffered an overdose of some kind, no signs of suffocation or anything like that."
"Okay, so why are we here?"
"Well, there's also nothing to suggest a natural death: no obvious signs of heart attack or stroke, and he's only about forty-five with no health problems. He was training to run the Boston Marathon in a few weeks. The wife wants me to do a full autopsy, and I might need to do one just to determine the cause of death."
"Then that's what you'll do," Locksley replies. "The press is all over this case already. We'll go over everything with a fine-toothed comb, even if it just confirms for the media and his wife that he died of natural causes."
Meanwhile, Regina is across the room, talking to the Senator's grieving widow.
"I was out shopping this morning," she weeps, "and when I came back - about an hour ago - he was just passed out on the couch. I thought he had just fallen asleep reading the newspaper, which he usually does if he doesn't have anywhere to be that day, but then I tried to wake him for lunch, and he was cold, and I called an ambulance but-" the woman's voice cracks and she breaks down sobbing in the detective's arms.
"Mrs. Billings, did your husband suffer from any health problems that you know of?" Regina asks gently.
"No!" the Senator's wife insists angrily, immediately straightening and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Your M.E. tried to insist it was a heart attack or something preposterous like that, but I told him: my husband was in perfectly good health. He's never been sick a day in his life! I want a full investigation - someone murdered my husband!"
"Yes, Mrs. Billings, Dr. Whale is going to do a full autopsy to help us determine the cause of your husband's death, but have you seen or heard anything unusual in the last few days to suggest that anyone may have wanted him dead?"
"His office receives death threats all the time! Fringe groups, crazy people - I kept telling him to hire a body guard, but he always refused." At that, she breaks down again.
"I see." Regina purses her lips and tries to suppress a sigh. "Maybe you can come down to the station to give a full statement, and we'll contact his office to look into these death threats. I assume they kept records of them?"
While her partner tries to coax the grief-stricken - and, Emma is starting to suspect, not completely sane - woman to return to the police station with her, Emma starts to take a look around the room. The Senator is laid out on the floor, his clothes and glasses a mess from paramedic's efforts to try to revive him. His newspaper is strewn across the carpet. Besides that, everything looks like she might expect it to in the living room of an insanely rich person who probably has a cleaning service come in several times a week.
One of the uniformed officers leads Mrs. Billings to a cruiser to return to the station, and Regina turns back to the crime scene and her partner. "See anything interesting, Swan?" she asks drily. "Or do you agree with Locksley that the death was natural and we're all making much ado about nothing?"
"Shakespeare?" the blonde comments, though it's obvious she's not really listening. She's approaching the newspaper that's lying in scattered sections in front of the couch. She's reaching out to -
"Gloves, Detective Swan!" Regina hisses urgently.
"Right," her partner looks sheepish for a moment before hurriedly asking a crime scene tech for a pair of gloves. As soon as her hands are safely covered, she picks up the front page.
"I knew I'd seen this story before," she muses. "Look!" she shoves the paper into Regina's face, and the older detective quickly skims the cover story about a power outage caused by the snowstorm...yesterday? "This is the Globe from, like, two months ago. I remember reading this on the train to New York."
Regina raises one eyebrow, impressed. "Good catch, Detective. So, now we have to ask ourselves, why would Senator Billings be reading a two-month-old issue of the Boston Globe?"
"He wouldn't," Emma says immediately. "He's a senator, so he should be pretty up-to-date on current events. Unless there was something important he wanted to remember - but why wouldn't he just use Google?"
"His wife says he was holding this newspaper when she found him," Regina says slowly. "Which tells us..."
"It was a set-up?" Emma guesses. "Or the wife's lying. She seemed a little off to me. Something about her body language..."
"Yes," Regina agrees. "Something was off about her. However, she was the one insisting on the full autopsy, which would make no sense if she had something to do with his death."
"Unless, she's crazy, or she set it up to frame someone else," Emma argues.
"We'll try not to use the word crazy," Regina gently scolds. "Until the cause of death has been determined, there are no suspects, and she is merely the victim's widow, whom we must treat with respect and compassion. But I like your instincts," she adds.
Emma's cheeks turn slightly pink, and Regina internally chides herself for giving away a compliment too soon.
"So what do we do now?" the rookie detective asks, clearing her throat. "I mean, while we're waiting to find out if there's an investigation or not."
"We return to the station and talk to the wife. Depending on what she says, we'll assess from there. I assume Dr. Whale is going to do the autopsy tomorrow morning. We should most likely try to be present for that."
"Watch the autopsy? Why?"
Because I don't trust Whale, Regina thinks. Aloud, she only says, "It helps to be more knowledgeable about what kinds of things we're looking for, especially in cases like this where the press is involved. It helps keep everyone on the same page."
"Cool," Emma says quietly. "I've never seen one before."
"The first one can be slightly...jarring," the older detective admits, "but you'll quickly get used to it. Unless you're Nolan."
Emma smirks. "You're really not his biggest fan, are you?" she observes.
"I don't know if you've noticed, dear, but I'm not really anyone's biggest fan. Now let's return to the station before we're forced to endure a press conference. Lieutenant, I'm sure you can handle these friendly reporters on your own," she says to Locksley, an evil grin forming on her face.
He groans. "Are you and Swan going to get an official statement from the widow?"
"Yes, and we're going to ask her why her husband would have been reading a newspaper from two months ago," Regina says. "You can thank Detective Swan for catching that detail."
Emma is unsure how she manages to end up at the bar with the guys for the second night in a row. She's not a big drinker, and The Lion Flower has very little appeal if you're not looking to overload on either alcohol or grease. Still, she has to say she enjoys hanging out with her fellow detectives outside of work. She's always been a loner, pretty much keeping to herself with a few notable exceptions, but she's beginning to see that in this job, some kind of social support system is going to be necessary.
The wife hadn't given them any information; she'd just insisted repeatedly that someone had murdered her husband. Emma had tried not to roll her eyes, and Regina had given her the business card of a grief counselor and assured her that the autopsy would be done first thing in the morning.
"We're giving this case top priority," she'd said.
The detectives are pretty much evenly split about whether the Senator's death is suspicious, and Emma once again finds herself intimidated by the whole process. Investigating homicides is what she's always wanted to do, but she hadn't completely prepared herself for how deep and heavy these cases might turn out to be. She knows nothing about grief or loss, and she's especially unfamiliar with what might cause one person to kill another. Still, she supposes there's no point in dwelling on all of this now, and she forces her mind back to the here and now.
"It's inappropriate!" Nolan - or rather, David - exclaims. His partner is still harping on his cowardice for not asking their ADA out on a date.
"Come on, mate, she could turn out to be the love of your life."
"Or it could turn out horribly and you'll still have to work with her every day," Locksley warns. He has also invited Emma to call him by his first name, but she can't bring herself to do it just yet. "Getting together with coworkers is bad news."
"Ignore the cynic," says Killian, taking a generous gulp of his rum. "Besides, weren't you married to another cop?"
"Well, that turned out horribly in a different way," Locksley says sadly. "But Marian and I never actually worked together in the same unit."
"And Mary Margaret isn't even in the BPD!" Killian grins triumphantly. "You have no excuse."
"So what? I still see her at work at least once a week," David argues. "I have a closer working relationship with her than with any cop outside of our squad. I'm not asking her out."
"Suit yourself, mate, I'm just trying to help you find your eternal happiness," Killian says with a shrug. "Next round's on me!"
"So, Swan," Locksley says, "I see my detectives haven't scared you away yet. How are you liking our squad so far?"
"If her partner hasn't got her running for the hills, I'm not sure what can," David jokes, taking a small sip of his beer. "You're handling Mills like a champ."
"Regina is a lot to handle," Locksley concedes, "but you won't find a better mentor in any police department in the country."
"I know, sir," Emma says seriously, allowing her hero-worship to creep into her voice. "Working with her has been my dream since I was in the academy. Actually, I think it's every female cop's dream."
"She's quite a good role model," Locksley agrees. "She's simultaneously the most cynical and the most idealistic person I've ever known," he explains with a kind of irritated fondness. "This job is her life, and even after everything she's been through, she still thinks she can change the world. She's got a passion that makes her an outstanding cop, and that's why I always have her train the rookies. That said, she hates most people, but you've obviously done something to impress her."
"Really?" Shocked, Emma thinks back to her past two days on the job and can't recall any instance where her new partner seemed especially impressed with her work; the newspaper thing wasn't a huge deal - Mills or Locksley probably would have figured it out in a few minutes even if she hadn't been there. She will admit that she hasn't received as much vitriol from Detective Mills as some of their other coworkers over the last two days, but she had assumed it was because she was new.
"Really," the lieutenant confirms with a vigorous nod. "For whatever reason, she seems to respect you, and her respect isn't the easiest to earn."
Emma shrugs. Killian has returned with the next round, and the conversation shifts toward the male detectives' weekend pursuits and away from Emma's partner, whom she finds harder to read than Elvish.
The group decides to call it a night when Emma has had enough to be nicely buzzed but not enough to feel the effects the next morning. She manages to catch the last subway home and drifts off to sleep much more easily than she did the night before. She's actually contributing to a high-profile homicide investigation, her lifelong hero might not think she's an idiot, and she gets to see Henry again in eight days that seem like they'll go by a lot quicker than she imagined.
Regina's alarm goes off at 4:45 after an almost completely sleepless night. Slightly dazed, she squints around her living room for a few moments before realizing where she is and fumbling for her phone to silence the blaring alarm before it wakes her neighbors. She glares at the device regretfully; she'd actually been having a good dream for once, but sometimes those are even worse than the nightmares when she awakens to the unpleasant fact that they're not real.
Quickly shaking the emotions from her head, she throws on a reflective jacket and quickly laces her sneakers for her morning run along the Charles River. This is her favorite time of day, just before the sun comes up, before there's anyone to put on a mask for, when she can lose herself to the pounding of her feet against the pavement and just forget. It's the one time she truly feels free. She never listens to music or requires any kind of distraction - running is the distraction.
She's been going for almost an hour, not paying much attention to her surroundings, when she crashes head-on into someone running in the opposite direction. She sputters in anger and confusion for a moment - Were they running on the wrong side? Was she? - before realizing who it is.
"Detective Swan!" Regina exclaims with a gasp.
"Detective Mills, hello," her new partner pants. "Sorry about that. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Don't worry about it, dear," she quickly reassures the younger woman, surprised at the words coming out of her own mouth."It was probably partially my fault. I tend to get a bit lost in thought while running."
"Yeah, me too," says Swan breathlessly, obviously relieved not to incur the older detective's wrath. "Do you run here often?"
"Every morning. And you?"
"Same. Well, as long as it's not icy. Then I go to the gym."
"I've never seen you out here before," the brunette observes.
"Likewise, but, you know, the path is pretty crowded."
Regina nods. "And, to be fair, I suppose I didn't know who you were before, so I wouldn't have known if I did see you."
"True. How far do you usually run?"
"Seven to ten miles, depending on how much time I have."
Emma whistles, impressed. "Damn, woman! And I was impressed with myself for doing three!"
"I have to stay in shape to keep up with all these twenty-something rookies like yourself that Locksley insists on bringing in," she explains with a slight roll of her eyes. The last thing she wants is to become a desk jockey - she'll leave the force before that happens.
"Yeah, well, you seem pretty in shape to me," the younger detective says, eyeing her body appreciatively. Regina tries to hide a smug smile.
"I do okay for an old lady," she says lightly.
"You're not an old lady," Emma protests. "You're...what? Like, thirty-seven?"
"Forty-three, but thank you."
"Wow, yeah, okay. I guess you are kind of an old lady," the blonde jokes. Grinning, she checks her watch. "Well, we should probably continue our workouts if we want to make it to work on time. You want to run together?"
"I run alone," Regina says quickly. "You wouldn't be able to keep up, anyway." With that, she takes off again.
"See you at the station!" Emma calls after her. Regina gives a small wave without turning her head, mentally calculating her timing. She'll have to turn around soon, and, thanks to Detective Swan's interruption, she won't make the full ten miles she had planned.
She normally hates leaving things unfinished, but nevertheless, she feels strangely satisfied at the end of her workout.