A/N – It's time for Regina and the rest of us to meet Emma... I forgot to mention, this fic is going to be split perspective, so I'll have some chapters solely from Regina's perspective, some solely from Emma's, and some will be a little of both. Also, another reminder that this is going to be a pretty slow burn fic, but good things come to those who wait. Thank you to everyone who is following and reviewing! You make my day.
2. The First Day
"Emma?"
There was a soft knock on her door. She didn't answer.
"Emma, honey, are you awake?"
More knocking. Her stomach seemed to sink and tighten at once, if that was possible.
"Emma, we're coming in."
Emma didn't say anything. It wasn't like it mattered. Her parents would just come in anyway.
She kept staring at the blue curtains in front of her, watching the slight breeze from the window make the hem ripple and sway through the stuffy air, studying the dust motes where they waltzed in the slice of light between the cloth and the wall. The low buzz of conversation from the radio was more like white noise than anything; she wasn't paying attention.
The sound of the doorknob twisting made something sink in her chest. It always did. Emma swallowed, breathing in slowly and mentally preparing herself as she heard the door open behind her, heard her parents barge in. Uninvited. Unneeded. Pointless, useless, really, always just –
"Emma?"
Her mother's voice was painfully soft. Practically quivering. She always sounded like that, Emma thought, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat. Like she was afraid of her. Or maybe as if too loud a decibel might break her.
"Morning." Her father's voice was easier, less afraid. Emma knew he was taking everything pretty damn badly: he was just a better liar. She didn't mind. At least someone was going along with her pretty genius plan to internalize absolutely all her feelings and pretend nothing was wrong. "You're not usually up this early."
Emma shrugged. (Well. She shrugged up. Gravity did the rest.) It was true – she wasn't. To be perfectly honest, she didn't really see the point in getting up most days. It wasn't like she could do anything, even if she wanted to. It wasn't like it was worth hassling anyone to drag her around somewhere she didn't want to go. But she'd barely slept last night and at around six in the morning she'd had enough of lying down staring at the ceiling. It was just luck she was on the early rounds with the hospital today. Sitting up staring at the curtain seemed like a nice alternative.
"Emma." Her mother's voice was more even now. "Can you turn around, please? Someone's going to be here to see you soon."
"I don't need to talk to Archie –" Emma huffed, clenching her jaw with the effort it took to move her finger against the button the arm of the wheelchair. She pushed through the resistance of her own body until the chair worked, turning around so she was facing the door. Her parents were standing like a pair of guilty teenagers in her doorway.
"We've got someone new starting today. Regina Mills." Mary Margaret announced tentatively, wary gaze darting over her. Emma felt a rush of self-consciousness. God only knew what she looked like – she'd been wearing the same sweats for days, and she couldn't remember the last time her hair had seen a brush. "The – helper – we talked about."
"The babysitter you talked about," Emma corrected, incredulous. Some small part of her knew she was acting like a whiny teenager, but she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. She'd actually gone and hired some stupid pointless care assistant to wheel her around and wipe her chin.
"We've talked about this. Your father and I agree, Archie agrees." Mary Margaret's voice was set. Emma sighed heavily. She knew from the tone that her mother wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Just try, Emma. For us."
For us. For us. Everything was for them. Every single thing she'd done for the past year and a half, every goddamn breath she'd drawn was for her parents. She was a grown up woman.
She glanced down at her hands absently, where they rested on the arms of her chair by the buttons. The light from the window, searing bright, fell across her wrists like a spotlight. Emma jerked her stare abruptly back to her mother. Then she made herself nod, even if she couldn't bring herself to say the words.
She lifted her gaze to the window. It was wide, and clean, set deeply into the white back wall so she could see the back of the garden like a TV set, blackbirds pecking at the feeders that dangled from the trees, harsh early morning sunlight spilling golden over the gardenia bushes and the swinging garden chair. Emma winced in the light. It was going to be a nice day.
"Okay." Emma conceded, turning back to her parents. "I'll give her a chance. But I swear to god, if she tries to patronise me one time I'm gonna run over your feet with my chair."
"And we won't blame you." Her dad smiled, sunlight striking the buttons of his plaid shirt. He paused, giving her a look. "Be nice."
Emma made a face.
Once they were gone, she breathed a sigh of relief.
She loved her parents, but they were so tiring. As if it wasn't enough effort for her to get up in the morning, without them fussing and coaxing and trying so damn hard that guilt coursed through her blood like mercury, weighing her down. Already a headache was building, pounding at her temples from the inside out, like little jackhammers. Emma closed her eyes for a moment, taking refuge in the still, silent darkness behind her eyes. For just a moment, she let herself find peace in that imaginary state of nothingness.
Then Emma gritted her teeth, brows drawing together, jaw clenching until she'd summoned enough willpower to move her finger, clumsily stabbing down on the button to turn her chair back toward the window. She blew an errant wisp of blonde hair from her face. There was enough movement in her fingers still, as long as she wasn't trying to grip anything. The chair was perfect, built for her condition – all she had to do was force her stupid useless uncooperative waste-of-blood fingers to press the right buttons and voila: she could get around by herself. She had achieved the same level of independence as a toddler.
Not that she ever went anywhere more interesting than the garden, but there you go. At least in the garden the birds didn't treat her like she was special or broken or a baby or pretended so hard not to notice that all they did was notice. God. People would never stop doing that. Stop. That was what she wanted. She wanted to stop.
Emma closed her eyes again and tried to lose herself in the darkness, but then her dad came back in with breakfast and helped her eat since the hospital people were still sorting out her usual tube, and even though it was humiliating it was also kind of nice to be able to talk to her dad without them both putting on happy fronts for her mom, and he put the radio on for her.
When he'd gone she sat and looked out the window and listened to the radio, and watched the breeze shake the dew off the gardenias, and thought that even if she didn't particularly want to be alive it didn't mean she should make everyone else feel the same way.
So okay, she decided to give this woman a chance. But that absolutely did not mean she needed her.
-0-
"The annex is out here," Mary Margaret explained, leading Regina down through the spacious garden. "It used to be a storage space but we had it converted last year. It's just easier for her to have everything she needs on one floor."
"That makes sense." Regina nodded, scanning the tidy building at the end of the garden.
It was already dazzlingly bright, the rising sun beating down soft gold light, although there was a crispness in the air that hinted at the start of winter. Already a scattering of leaves was dotted across the dewy lawn. Regina glanced down at her watch. Three minutes past nine. Already she'd been given a tour of the main house and been introduced to the mayor's husband David, on his way to work at the sheriff's station. Apparently he'd taken over the position full-time after his daughter's accident.
Regina breathed in sharply. She didn't feel either determined or strong – no more so than usual. She felt like this was the start of something. Their new life, she supposed. There had been a sense of anticipation, almost, crackling in the bracing cold air as she'd walked Henry to his new school this morning. Enrolled a week ago and he'd already made some new friends. Which was more than could be said for her.
"One of the nurses will be in at lunchtime for her catheter and her physio," The mayor explained, drawing to a stop outside the annex's front door and turning to face her. "All you need to do medically is make sure she takes her anti spam meds. The pantry is stocked, you can help yourself. Try and make her something healthy, please."
"That I can do," Regina assured her. Mary Margaret seemed a little tense. As if she was nervous.
"Now, I've put you on the car insurance in case anything happens, the keys are in the bowl by the front door, but you shouldn't need to use them." The woman paused, and then reached into the pocket of her pea coat, holding out a neatly folded scrap of notepaper. "It's all written down anyway. And there's my phone number, and David's, and the hospital in case you need anything."
Regina took it with mounting anticipation crawling in her stomach. She had no idea what to expect from this. She barely had any idea what she was expected to do. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and the uncertainty made her uncomfortable. And when she was uncomfortable, she got that antsy feeling like her skin was on the edge of a knife, and she knew that could make her... Snappy.
Which was great in the office, but probably frowned upon in this line of work.
She forced herself to smile for the sake of the woman in front of her. "Thank you."
Mary Margaret breathed in, mouth tight, breeze ruffling the ends of her short hair. "I'll let you go in by yourself. I really do have to be at work and after all, she's less likely to protest if I'm not there."
"Okay," Regina said cautiously. Protest. That sounded like another euphemism. Like how Kathryn had called her difficult.
"Thank you, again, Regina." Mary Margaret flashed a strained smile that vanished as soon as it had appeared. "Don't hesitate to call."
"Let's hope I don't need to," Regina stated grimly, too distracted to bother pretending to smile.
Steeling herself, Regina clenched her jaw determinedly and closed her hand around the cold brass doorknob, before twisting and pushing through into the annex.
Inside, the air was thick and still, lying like dust in the narrow hallway. Like it wasn't disturbed often. It was bewilderingly quiet. Regina closed the door carefully behind her and made her way down the hallway toward what she assumed was the woman's bedroom door, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She couldn't help glancing around her surroundings: they were almost surprisingly bare. From what she'd seen of the mayor and her family, they seemed the type to crowd every space available with a surplus of paintings and knick-knacks.
She remembered what Mary Margaret had told her: knock, but go in anyway if she doesn't answer. Which, be prepared, she probably won't.
Regina cleared her throat and raised her hand, rapping softly against the door with her knuckles. Silence. She paused, staring down the empty hallway. Nobody was going to help her with this. Sighing, she turned back to the door. "Emma?" Nothing. Regina paused before knocking again. "Miss Swan?"
Well, no point delaying the inevitable.
Regina twisted the doorknob and gently pushed the door open. Peering around the edge, she could see the wide bright outline of a widow set into the opposite wall. The woman in the chair was sitting facing it. A low buzz of voices came from the radio on the sill.
"Hello?" Regina tried to suppress the irritation that was creeping into her heartbeats. She wasn't exactly the friendliest woman in the world, but she could hardly be snide with a quadriplegic.
For a second, she was almost glad the woman was facing away from her. She knew it wasn't exactly politically correct of her, but she couldn't help looking at the chair. It demanded to be looked at, like a train wreck or a dead body on the news. Black and mechanical, with a high back, long arms, sturdy wheels. I wouldn't last a day if I was trapped in one of those things, Regina thought, jaw clenching uncomfortably.
"You're not from the hospital," The woman stated after a while, not quite accusingly, but not in a friendly way either. Her voice was rough, stucco, as if she didn't use it often. She was still sitting staring out the window, as if Regina wasn't there.
"No." Regina agreed bluntly. She lingered by the door, unsure what she was supposed to do.
Then, very slowly, the wheelchair turned around to face her, emitting a low mechanical whirr. The woman sitting in it was staring at her with hard green eyes, full of reflected sunlight and exhaustion. And despite the state of her wild blonde hair, and the dark circles under her eyes, when a slow almost-smile pricked over her thin lips, she could see she should have been pretty. She could see a glimmer of how she must have looked when she was happy.
"Good." Emma met her gaze unwaveringly, smile twitching wider. "I hate those nerds."
-0-
"So who are you with?" Emma asked, fingers twitching lightly against the arms of her chair. They did that sometimes. She squinted at the woman in the bright morning light. She couldn't quite work out what her deal was. Dark haired, sharply dressed, irritatingly beautiful. She was just staring at her, arms folded over her chest – it only added to the don't even try and see any of my thoughts or feelings energy she was currently rocking. Emma's stare flickered from her killer heels to her silk blouse. "Forgive me for assuming, but you don't look like the average care worker type."
"I'm not." Regina admitted. It took a moment for her meet her gaze. Her voice was low and rich, like the voice of a radio actress or a dead queen. A pleasant change from the patronising nurses' coos she was used to. "If I'm being honest, you're my first."
Her parents were too much almost a hundred percent of the time, but Emma couldn't help inwardly thanking them for hiring Pretty Lady Carer for her. She wasn't exactly interested in anything, but she could still appreciate the aesthetic, and it was nice to know they cared.
"Let me guess," Emma managed to summon a half-hearted smile. "Law firm? Or... office manager?"
Regina arched a perfect eyebrow as if she'd been rehearsing the motion all her life. In fact, Emma thought, everything she did looked that way. It should have been more annoying than it actually was. "Am I that readable?" She asked dryly.
"No more so than the paralysed ex-cop living in her parents backyard," Emma assured her as genuinely as she could. She forced a smile, even if saying the words still put a lump in her throat and an itch in her hands that she would never be able to scratch. The words hung in the air for a minute.
"So can I get you a cup of tea?" Regina asked, shiny brisk-professional veneer spreading over her.
"Not a big tea fan. Coffee would be nice, I guess." Emma conceded. Truthfully, she didn't give a damn what she ate or drank as long a it got everyone off her back, but she was glad the other woman had broken the silence. "The hospital people usually bring me coffee." The brunette's posture stiffened immediately, moving to go and do as she'd asked. Emma tried to catch her eye before she did. "But don't rush. I mean, it's not a big deal."
"No, I'll do it." Regina assured her. "I don't think you mother's paying me to stand around making small talk all day."
That's exactly what she's paying you for, Emma thought, as she left the room with her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floors. Mary Margaret would throw a fit if she saw those heels on the hardwood floors. The thought put a smile on her face, even it only lasted a moment. She liked that Regina had been kind of rude about the small talk as well, openly acknowledging it. Ever since the accident the whole world seemed to be pussyfooting around her – she didn't realise she'd missed bad manners until now.
She heard Regina moving around in her little kitchenette, crumpling packets, clacking shoes. Emma turned her gaze back out to the window, watching a pigeon scuff around in the undergrowth without really seeing it.
After a few minutes, she heard the door open and twisted around to see the other woman pushing into the room, balancing a tray in her serious, manicured hands. Emma studied her, forcing herself to be interested in something other than the back of her own eyelids. Her dark hair was shining in the sunlight from the window, bouncing over her shoulders as she carried the drinks, full lips tight, brow furrowed. The drinks – one ordinary black coffee, and one mug of something topped with an absurd amount of cream – were not what Emma had expected.
"That does not look like coffee," Emma stated, raising her eyebrows and watching Regina pull the little table around in front of them and set the tray on it.
"You didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the coffee." Regina explained.
Emma glanced up at her. She just exuded a sense of togetherness, of knowing exactly what she was doing – although whether that was the outfit or the lipstick she couldn't say. Even so, she thought she caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her wide brown eyes as she waited for her response. Of course, she had to put her at ease. "It's cool." She forced another smile. How many was that now? In one day? Must be some kind of record. "It's actually nice to have something different happen for once." Emma admitted, twitching her head slightly to jerk her matted blonde curls away from her neck.
"It's hot chocolate," Regina explained, still looking a little anxious. "Do you have anything to –"
"Yeah, there's a hands-free drinking system in the cupboard," Emma nodded. "In the kitchen. You just put it on the cup. It's the thing that looks like a clippy bendy straw. And there's a kinda tray attachment for the chair as well. I should have mentioned that before."
"It's perfectly fine, Miss Swan," Regina told her. "This my job."
When she zipped off to gather all the equipment needed for Emma to have a damn drink by herself, Emma tried not to glance down at her fingers. A familiar heaviness had already settled in her chest like dust at thought of the attachments, annoyance prickling down her stupid spine. The least she needed was to catch a glimpse of herself and feel that horrible feeling she always got when saw the useless mass of blood and bone and muscle she was currently stuck in.
She shook the thoughts off. She'd been doing okay. She hadn't yelled at this one yet, and she didn't intend to break her record just because she hated having to eat and drink like a fucking baby.
"These are the right ones, I assume?" Regina closed the door carefully behind her, crossing the room and holding out the attachments.
"Yep," Emma muttered. Her voice sounded tight and weird in her ears. She watched Regina go to her cup first, dark eyes narrowed as her fingers manipulated the plastic. "It just slots onto the top of the cup, yeah, like that. And the tray goes like –"
She swallowed hard as she was hit by a sudden wave of floral perfume. Shit. Fuck. Pretty lady carer might not be such a good idea. Emma's breath stuck in her throat, watching Regina frowning at the wheelchair tray, about an inch away. Her necklace was practically dangling in her face.
Emma swallowed hard. "Just goes in the bit by the armrest – if you –" She stared hopelessly as Regina leaned forward to set the tray in place. Don't look down her top, don't look down her top, do not look down her top you worthless crippled pervert. A wave of dark hair had fallen to brush against the side of her face. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw was tight with focus. There was a small scar on her upper lip Emma hadn't noticed before. Her perfume smelt expensive. Emma hadn't bothered with perfume in years.
After what seemed like ten years, the tray finally clicked in place and Regina stepped back abruptly, movements brisk as she set the hot chocolate on the tray and hastily, efficiently arranged the drinking aid with only a little instruction.
The brunette hung stiffly by the window, guarded and professional. Emma looked away from her, tentatively trying the hot chocolate for the first time. She loved hot chocolate before the accident. She just hadn't bothered to ask for it since. It was just another thing she didn't really care about. It was good. Hot and sweet, with a little bite she hadn't been expecting. The taste took her back a few years to a time when everything was normal.
"Oh my god, that's amazing!" Emma exclaimed despite herself, feeling her eyebrows draw together and her mouth fall open. She stared over at the caretaker. "And that extra kick – is that cinnamon?" Regina nodded. "I used put cinnamon on everything! How'd you know?"
"My son takes it like that." Regina informed her slowly, almost guiltily.
Emma shot her an equally guilty, grateful smile. "How old is your son?"
"He's nine."
Emma almost smiled without effort. Regina's voice had shifted slightly at the mention of her son; lighter and warmer. More comfortable, somehow. How a mom should sound. Her whole face had changed, in fact, for a split second; turned soft and human suddenly by the thought of her family.
"Well that makes me feel good." Emma joked, though where she found the effort to she had no idea. She just kept surprising herself today. She raised an eyebrow at the brunette, shooting her a look. "I expect a kickass bedtime story before you go."
"Then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed," Regina told her. Lips turning up at the edges. Yep – she'd definitely softened up at the mention of her kid. "Henry turns into a little prince whenever I try. I do the voices wrong, apparently."
Her son's name was Henry. Of course it was. Emma almost smiled, mind filled with images of a precocious little kid with a granddad name demanding bedtime stories. She took another drink of hot chocolate. "So if you don't mind me asking, Miss Successful Career Lady, how'd you end up making kid's drinks for cripples in the back end of nowhere?"
She glanced over at the other woman, watched something shift behind her brown eyes. Regina opened her mouth, but didn't say anything for a few seconds. "It's a long story." She shook her head slightly, folding her arms over her chest. "I won't bore you with the details."
I'm used to being bored, Emma wanted to tell her. I wouldn't mind you boring me. But somehow that seemed a bit weird, so she didn't say anything.
"I should go see if there's any laundry," Regina stated suddenly, smoothing down her hair and going to leave.
"Okay," Emma glanced after her. "I'll be here. Just... Here."
