"We should talk," Emma offers, after dry-swallowing the pills. She ignores the violent trembling in her hands, shoving them into the pockets of her hastily replaced leather jacket.
"No," Regina says, shaking her head. "But you should leave."
"I could," Emma concedes, watching like a hawk as Regina makes a production of picking up a water glass and sipping from it, trying to make out that there's something legitimate about the pills she's popping. "But aren't you tired of that? The big dramatic moment, and then one or both of us running off as if that's actually going to solve anything?"
"You're not my problem to solve," Regina snaps, and Emma just smiles at the way Regina moves gingerly across the room. "I was going to have a bath."
"I don't mind sharing," Emma mutters, but her heart isn't in the suggestion. That sort of thing feels way too serious, too far away from what she's willing to do with another person.
"Just go," Regina sighs. "We can... coffee, tomorrow. If we absolutely must."
"Sure," Emma agrees. "Right after you drop off payment at the store. You already picked out the twenty."
Emma slips out through the kitchen door, fairly sure that there's no one around to see her even in the early evening, but it's not worth the risk and fumbling for an explanation. She checks her watch, noting that her shift was officially over half an hour ago, meaning Mary Margaret will be watching the clock and preparing dinner for Henry and Emma, while David readies himself to take the nightshift.
Of course, dinner can always be reheated after Emma stops off at the Rabbit Hole for a drink or two. Or maybe Granny's for a beer, since Ruby always slips her the second one for free.
No, Emma thinks, unlocking the Bug and slipping into the driver's seat. It's not like she really needs a drink anyway. This isn't a problem, no matter what Regina in all her bitchy glory says.
Emma learned to drink because it's easier to sleep in an uncomfortable car after you neck a fifth of bourbon, and because sometimes chasing bad guys and having no insurance means treating pain in ways that don't come with nurses and injections.
No matter how nice everyone else turned out to be, and despite the fact that the gnawing feeling of wondering about her parents is finally quieted, Emma still feels entitled to a little more time and space to process what feels a lot like a house falling on her, practically overnight. And that was before the catastrophe of having sex with Regina on two separate occasions, something Emma's been trying to deny was inevitable for about a year now.
She leans back in the seat, smirking at how her haphazard parking has taken out some of Regina's overly-neat flower beds. Emma closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the warm buzz as the pills start to kick in, because of course Regina Mills has the good stuff. Not that Emma bothered to ask what was actually in the bottle, but the building high feels a lot like Vicodin, and that's something she can definitely work with.
Shifting the car into first gear, Emma pulls out onto Mifflin Street and considers her options. The obvious choice is collecting Henry from his grandparents, filling up on some hearty stew or maybe some roast chicken because Mary Margaret knows how much her daughter enjoys that.
Instead, Emma steadies the steering wheel with her knees, firing off a quick one-handed text to her mother about a migraine and asking if Henry can spend the night there.
She already knows it's going to be fine, so she switches off her phone and takes the turning to park up behind the bar. Ruby's a lovely girl, but Emma feels like maybe the Regina thing is written all over her face right now, and sharing is sure as hell not an option. A quiet drink amongst strangers, and Emma can get her head back in the game.
Before she gets out, Emma locks her gun in the glove compartment, and vows not to think about what she's just done with it, ever again.
Rolling out of bed with a hangover is a hell of a lot easier without an eleven year-old shrieking from downstairs about his cereal choices, Emma has to admit. She's showered and dressed for work in record time, trying not to gag as she sips her own hastily-made coffee and chews on a stale kruller from two days ago.
She expects Regina to cancel, or flat out ignore that they ever agreed to have coffee in the cold light of day, but there's a pointed little text mid-morning that says Granny's, 2pm.
Emma is waiting in a window seat half an hour early, and smiles at the sight of the black Mercedes rolling to a stop outside the minimart.
Regina takes her sweet time about going inside and slapping the twenty on the counter, but the moment it's done, Emma waves Ruby down and orders a black coffee for her incoming companion.
It takes three sips for the first insult, and less than half a mug for a full-blown fight to develop. Emma closes her eyes and tries to count to ten, but Regina is stuck on this pissy little rant about how Henry needs a responsible adult in his life and that's apparently Emma's tipping point for the day.
"We were right to do this," Emma sighs, when there's a gap in the conversation for half a second. "Because it reminded me why nothing should ever, ever happen between us."
"On that much we can agree," Regina sniffs, sipping her coffee and frowning at the mug.
Emma should resist the impulse, but she pulls her service weapon from its holster then, laying it on the table and watching Regina's eyes widen in panic, before her features contort in anger.
"Don't worry," Emma whispers, leaning across the narrow table. "I cleaned it up real good."
"You can't... I won't allow you to..." Regina is sputtering, and Emma wonders if that's a spell she's casting in the fumbling spaces between words. She isn't going to let that happen, for Henry's sake more than anything else.
"You can take Henry after school today," Emma decides, leaving the corner that has hopefully afforded them some kind of privacy. "I'll let David and Mary Margaret know." She fires off a text as she leaves, gun back in its holster, and heads down the street to the dark privacy of The Rabbit Hole.
It's just one beer. Just one, because it's been a long and crappy day.
"What's this?" Emma asks, throwing her keys on the coffee table and shrugging her blue leather jacket from her shoulders. Her back is aching from a night spent in the Bug, and she only has thirty minutes to turn herself into someone clean and fit enough to patrol the town. "An intervention?"
Ruby looks up at her with those big, sad eyes and Emma's breath catches in her throat at the realization that her lame joke turned out to be right on the money.
"Are you kidding me?" She demands, meeting Mary Margaret's defiant gaze before turning on her father, who at least has the decency to look away. "No, seriously. Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Mom," Henry pipes up from the kitchen stool. Emma hadn't even noticed him when she came in. "Please, you have to listen to us."
"Kid, I know you think you're helping, but none of you have any idea what you're talking about," Emma says, and if she forgets to make it sound kind, well, the kid could do with a little bit of reality every now and then.
"We haven't seen you in two days, and you look like you slept in the gutter," David chimes in, but Emma rounds on him like she's about to throw a punch. Truth be told, her fingers kind of flex in the way that suggests she might, Daddy dearest or not.
"I made arrangements for Henry," Emma snarls, not caring about the way that Archie looks sideways at Granny, both of them perched uncomfortably on one of the battered sofas. "I am entitled to some time off. Can't I have a day to my damn self?"
"Of course you can," Mary Margaret says, getting up and pulling Emma into a truly awkward hug. "We just want you to be happy. And to raise your son as best as you can."
"Me raising Henry was never permanent," Emma says, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to see Henry's face in that moment. "He has a mother. We're just making sure she's still fit to look after him."
"But Emma-" Henry says, his voice pleading.
"She's your mom, kid," Emma reminds him. "She's your best chance."
"This is your hangover talking," Granny says firmly. She nods at Ruby, who gets up then and takes Emma by the arm, steering her to the one armchair in the apartment. It feels like she's been placed in front of the firing squad, and Emma tries to get up right away, stopped only by her mother's freakishly strong grip on her shoulder.
"It's for your benefit that you listen, Emma," Archie says, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, looking about as nervous as she's ever seen him. "We really are all here to help you."
Emma thinks of the shower and the toothpaste that had been her only plans on walking back through the door, and considering she's outnumbered and outgunned, the quickest way to get those things is probably to nod along and let them think she gives a damn.
"Okay," she sighs. "So, what do I need to do?"
They're so relieved two hours later, when Emma departs for the bathroom with a smile and lots of muttered promises about getting better. She can hear them chattering as she starts the shower running, before ducking into her bedroom and having a quick drag from the bottle of Johnnie Walker stashed under her pillow.
What they don't know, after all, isn't really any of their goddamned business.
Emma pretends not to notice that the usual six pack of beer is no longer resting in the bottom of the fridge, or that the nice bottle of Scotch that Leroy gave her as an apology is conspicuously absent from the cupboard by the sink; they couldn't even let her have her own Lifetime movie melodrama of pouring it all down the sink. Instead she pours herself a big glass of orange juice and sits down to breakfast with Henry, who's pretending to read a comic, all the while sneaking glances at her. Seems everyone else has gone about their day now they're done patronizing Emma half to death.
"Shouldn't you be in school?" Emma asks, laying it on thick with the big smiles.
"Grandma says it's okay to skip art this morning," Henry replies. "But she says you should drop me off on your way to work."
"Any other instructions?" Emma continues, and she almost succeeds in not gritting her teeth.
"Just that we're having dinner there as usual, when you're done with your shift," Henry says. "I'm really glad you're trying to get better, Mom."
"Henry," Emma warns. "There's nothing wrong with me. And we've talked about you calling me Mom."
"You're ready for it," Henry says with his usual blithe confidence. "And you are my mom."
"Regina is your mom," Emma reminds him. "And I want you to start spending more time with her, okay?"
"Do I have to?" Henry whines. "I mean, I know she's trying to be better and all, but Grandpa teaches me swordfighting and-"
"Kid," Emma interrupts. "She's your mom. And you can't make her jump through all these hoops for you and not even go to see her."
"It's not my fault she's evil," Henry says, sulking now. "If she wasn't evil, I wouldn't have to tell her how to be good."
"We all know how to be good," Emma points out. "She just hasn't had a reason to be for a really long time."
"Why are you defending her?" Henry demands, throwing things into his backpack now, face screwed up in disgust.
Emma would answer him, if only she herself had any idea why.
The first two days are easy enough.
All those years of stealing booze and stashing it around her foster homes has come in handy, Emma is forced to admit, and if her family would treat her like an adult she wouldn't be reduced to hiding a bottle of Jack Daniels in one of her knee-high boots. Knowing she has the option takes the edge off, and besides, it's not that big a deal to go without for a day or two.
Also, apparently fairytale characters don't know that vodka is better stored in the freezer, so that's another little treasure trove for Emma to dip into, providing she keeps it out of sight behind the frozen peas that Henry will never touch. In fact, the only green thing he's eaten since moving in with Emma is some jello, and that's probably not in any manual about child nutrition.
The weather is still cool enough to excuse carrying a flask of coffee around, and just like Regina accused the other day, Emma spikes it heavily, although she only takes the occasional sip when the paperwork gets really dull. Thankfully the former mayor has gone back to keeping a low profile, not least because even she might blush at the sight of Emma after the things they've done to each other.
It's at the weekend that Emma caves, without the routine of work to fill her hours. Henry is in yapping mode, too, unable to shut up about some X-Men thing that's somehow connected to the Blue Fairy's magic and honest to God, Emma is praying for a mute button by Saturday afternoon.
"Hey kid," Emma snaps eventually, somewhere around the fiftieth mention of Wolverine. "I think it's time you paid your mom a visit."
"Only if you come too," Henry sighs, as though he's being sent a prison camp instead of a mansion.
"Whatever," Emma sighs, grabbing her keys and jacket before he can change his mind or kick up a fuss. Anything is worth buying a little peace and quiet right now, even facing Regina.
"Sheriff Swan," Regina says, opening the door like she's hosting a party and Emma's the only guest rude enough to turn up late.
"Are you busy?" Emma asks.
"You're not suggesting-" Regina looks genuinely amazed that Emma might have shown up to spend time with her, but that's replaced by a distinctly watery smile when Regina lays eyes on Henry, skulking behind Emma on the red brick path.
"Hi, Mom," Henry says, sounding like he's a hundred years old and he had to walk there on broken glass.
"Sweetheart," Regina hesitates with her arms open, before Henry takes the hint and shuffles into a half-hearted hug. Emma looks away, because the relief on Regina's face is too intimate to witness. "Are you staying for dinner? I can make anything you want."
"He is," Emma says, jumping in before Henry can disagree. "I mean, if that's okay with you."
"This is his home," Regina snaps. "Of course it's okay."
"Great," Emma replies, already backing up towards the path and her afternoon of freedom. "Just call me when he wants to be picked up."
"I can drop him off," Regina offers, and there's something almost kind in how she's resigned to giving him up again. "And if you want to sleep over, Henry... well, we'll see how the day goes."
"Thanks," Emma says, before jogging the rest of the way to her car.
Any last hope of a quiet few hours, trying not to think about how much she wants a drink, evaporates when Emma, hands trembling slightly as she unlocks her front door, finds Neal sitting on the sofa with a six-pack in hand.
"How did you-"
"I'm a thief, remember?"
"This isn't the deal we had," Emma groans, kicking off her shoes and performing a routine scan of her apartment to make sure her light-fingered ex hasn't pocketed anything. "Henry isn't even here."
"So he's with his mom?" Neal asks, offering a beer to Emma and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "Probably about time."
"If you're here to give me another lecture about how we can't take a kid away like that, you can shut up right now," Emma warns him, flopping down on the sofa next to her uninvited guest. "It's only about making sure he's okay."
"And that's only because you people think she's the problem," Neal reminds her. "Do you have cable?"
"No," Emma says, shoving his shoulder a little harder than she intended. "Doesn't daddy dearest provide all that?"
"It's a work in progress," Neal replies, and although nobody sees much of Gold or Belle these days, he's still spending time trying to repair things with his father.
"How did we end up so screwed up?" Emma asks, before taking a much-needed mouthful of beer.
"Our parents," Neal fires back, sipping at his own drink. "Which is probably why we're not qualified to raise anyone."
Emma tries to pick herself up off the floor when the knock at the door comes, but Neal is the first to react, stumbling towards it in just his jeans. Somewhere near the end of the vodka he'd declared the apartment too warm and started stripping off layers, and Emma reminded him just to be glad of the heat after too many nights spent sleeping rough and making do.
When she hears Regina's voice, though, Emma's blood freezes in her veins.
"Well," she hears Regina say. "Clearly this is a bad time."
"Hey, Dad," Henry chimes in, although he sounds a lot less chipper than usual. "Mom, are you-"
Emma's warned him about that, and she doesn't need to lay eyes on Regina right now to picture the flinching that must have just happened.
"Kid," Emma groans, picking herself up off the floor and turning the PJ Harvey down to a more acceptable level. "Didn't you want to stay with your mom?"
The door opens fully then, as Henry bundles his way past Neal with a quick hug. The kid stops short seeing the coffee table, littered with empty bottles and the Doritos that have formed Emma's food intake for the day.
"You promised," Henry whines, looking at her with such accusation that Emma wants to throw up. "You sat here and promised me. You promised everyone."
"Henry, you're just a kid," Emma says, and the hiccup in the middle of her words is unfortunate. "I'm a grown woman and I know what I'm doing."
"Mom?" Henry asks, just as Regina strides in, about to unleash hell on Emma for the scene they're all living through. "I think I want to sleep over after all."
"Come along then, dear," Regina says, her temper under control in a second. She rakes her eyes disapprovingly over Neal and Emma one more time, before departing with the kind of tight little smirk that makes Emma want to choke the breath right from her lungs.
"Well, shit," Neal says as the door slams shut. "That could have gone better."
"Get your clothes and get out," Emma orders, in no kind of mood for any more friends with the ex crap.
"Henry will forgive you, you know," Neal says. "Although at some point we're going to talk about you apparently having a drinking problem."
"My problem is that the jackass who dumped me has been drinking half my booze all day," Emma complains. "I'll fix it with the kid. But I'm really done with company right now."
"Fine!" Neal grumbles, pulling his shirt and sweater back on. "Regina seems as pleasant as ever. That woman needs to get laid."
"Trust me, even that doesn't help," Emma can't resist answering, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes what she's given away.
"Well, well, well," Neal says, chuckling as he moves towards the door. "I knew there had to be a reason you kept knocking me back."
"Don't flatter yourself," Emma calls after him, but he's already gone.
When there's a knock just before midnight, Emma strongly considers ignoring it. Either Neal has come back to mess with her, or Henry has ratted her out to her parents; neither seem particularly worth opening the door to.
The persistence of the person knocking forces Emma to answer, though, and she's more than a little surprised to see Regina standing there, face all pinched in anger.
"I'm taking Henry back," Regina announces, marching into Emma's living room like she owns the place. Maybe she did, at some point in Storybrooke's hazy past. "He's a little reluctant to agree right now, but a few days at home with me should do the trick. I'll let him see his grandparents, if he insists."
"You wouldn't," Emma says, but there's no confidence in the words as she swallows audibly. "One slip from you and Henry will remember exactly what you are."
"Wouldn't I?" Regina mocks, advancing on Emma like a hunter closing in on its prey. "You got drunk off your ass today with your criminal ex, knowing full well that I would be bringing Henry home to you. Not to mention that you don't have any right to him in the first place. Your 'custody' is nothing more than my indulgence of Henry's feelings."
"I'm the law in this town, remember," Emma threatens. "You're just a disgraced ex-mayor, who's only alive because I told the mob to stand down."
Regina lashes out then, and she doesn't even seem aware of her fingers flexing. The vodka bottle on the table explodes in a shower of glass, making both women jump. Emma watches, transfixed, as Regina picks up one large, curved shard of glass and examines it under the light. When she turns towards Emma once more, the threat is clear enough to have Emma backed up against her own living room wall, seemingly powerless to stop Regina's advance.
"You won't hurt me," Emma says, suddenly cocksure. "You won't even draw blood." Regina's response is to press the glass against Emma's throat, a mirror of Emma's own violent intent the other day.
Desperate then, Emma lunges. The glass is knocked flying from Regina's hand and it rattles on the hardwood floor.
"Told ya," Emma taunts.
Regina picks the glass up as Emma smirks in victory. It's short-lived as Regina draws the sharpest point over the palm of her own hand, disguising the cry of pain in a shuddering gasp.
"Don't test me," Regina says. "I'm not afraid of a little blood, Miss Swan."
"You're crazy," Emma accuses, reaching for Regina but only getting a handful of her blouse, which rips at the sudden pressure. "I'm the one everyone wants to put in therapy and hide the booze from, but you're just straight-up nuts, lady."
"You just don't like being caught," Regina says, pushing away from Emma and leaning against the kitchen counter. Seeing that her shirt is already ruined, Regina tears a strip from the hem, wrapping it tightly around her injured hand. She watches an escaped drop of blood roll down her finger, sucking it from the tip before it can fall.
Emma watches, horrified and turned on in roughly equal measure. There's a splash of blood on Emma's white tank top. 'As red as blood, as white as snow' she mutters to herself, wanting to laugh at the insanity of it all.
"I don't want around Henry when you're drinking," Regina admits. "I've been careful to shield him from anything like that. If you want to stay in his life, you'll abide by my rules now."
She beckons Emma forward, and despite herself, Emma feels her feet moving before she can tell them not to. It would be easy to point out that she can have Regina thrown in her own asylum with behavior like this, but the ripped blouse has exposed plenty of skin, and Emma is way beyond distracted already.
"But I do want you to fuck me," Regina confesses, nodding at her cleavage, inviting Emma to take a long, hard look.
Emma knows she still has some power here, that she can march Regina right over to the door and throw her out into the night. She can refuse for a hundred reasons, but none of those feel compelling in a fight against the ache between her thighs.
"Jealous because Neal was here?" Emma asks, feigning innocence. "Or have you been looking for an excuse all week?"
"Go to hell," Regina spits, but her fingers are already tugging at the bottom of Emma's tank top, as they fall into a brief, furious kiss that narrowly avoids the clashing of teeth.
"Stop," Emma moans, pulling Regina closer. "I...fuck," she gasps, as Regina grazes her teeth over Emma's collarbone. "I don't want to hurt you, not tonight."
"So don't," Regina murmurs against her skin. "But don't stop."
"Then we're taking this upstairs," Emma demands, her hands relentless in touching as much of Regina as she can.
"Fine," Regina says between heated kisses. "But I need to get back-"
"I wasn't asking you to stay," Emma points out as she leads Regina up the stairs to her bedroom.