"I still cannot believe I had to shuffle things around for you— again." Zelena leans against the kitchen counter, a glass of chardonnay in her hand that tips too close to spilling.
Lifting the glass up with her index finger alongside a significant glare sent her sister's way, Regina passes by Zelena to set the crockery on the table. She's brought out her best set, the one with hand painted roses and gold trimmings. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to," she retorts, sounding distracted even as she convinces herself not to overdo it. It's only Emma, and she probably won't focus on the delicacy of the silverware with Zelena interrogating her.
Huffing, Zelena strides past her to straighten the fork Regina has just put down, the glass of wine leaning with her as she angles herself to better judge her handiwork. "You're adamant about this, and so I have to cover my bases. If I don't ask the important questions, you might as well blush and let her give you an STD."
Regina gapes, offended at the statement. "Zelena!" she scolds, "I don't understand how you can go from pushing me toward her, to now protecting me from her." Grabbing the fork from Zelena's hand, Regina sets it down forcefully on the table and retreats to the kitchen. Had she managed to put herself to sleep the night before, the kitchen might be in a disaster, and the amount of food that she had been able to make would have never seen the light of day. As it is, she has too much to only feed three people, not with one roast chicken, her famous lasagne dish, apple turnovers, and a chocolate cake for some reason she can't justify.
The sound of Zelena following her makes her jaw clench, not because she's irritated at Zelena's flip-flopping position when it comes to Emma, but because she's highly intuitive, and there is something within herself that she's not ready to face yet. "Are you —"
"I don't want to know," Regina interrupts, her back turned to Zelena as she checks the temperature of the lasagne. "Whatever it is, I'm dealing with it, and I know this is petty and childish, but this…" she takes a breath, facing Zelena with her fingers curling behind her on the counter. Her grip is tight, bruising in ways that speak aloud what she's too afraid to say.
Zelena nods, finally sipping from her wine that's been more for show than anything else. "You have more than this," Zelena says delicately, her voice soft and directed down to her glass rather than at her sister, "you are more than just half of her."
It's supposed to be inspiring, something to have her walls crack, and some sort of positive emotion pour out from beneath the broken pieces of her heart—but all Regina wants to do is throw her sister's wine across the room and scream until she wears out her voice. There's an instant, a spark of something when she steps forward to do just that, and Zelena actually looks a little afraid before the sound of the doorbell stops anything from escalating.
Zelena says, "the door, Regina," sounding the most timid Regina has ever heard her.
Clearing her throat, fingers running through her hair, she rasps out a, "right," before moving toward the incessant sound. The excitement, the nervous flutter of anticipation that should be making its way through her stomach is missing. Instead, it's replaced by a burning rage that doesn't attack a specific thing, not when Zelena's well placed words have her grasping for any sense of control she can get her hands on.
When she opens the door however, Regina finds herself completely disarmed. "Hi," Emma says, the taxi behind her zooming past without any care for the state that Regina finds herself in.
She takes a moment to gather herself, for her gaze to slide up from black heeled pumps and smooth, pale legs that seem to go on forever, to a black pencil skirt that hugs Emma's figure and keeps the blue button-down shirt tucked into its place. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, Regina can ogle shamelessly at the slender curve of Emma's neck that disappears into sharp collarbones decorated with a thin gold necklace. "I came straight from work, I hope you don't mind?"
Regina doesn't mind, not when Emma looks flushed, and dishevelled, and so beautiful like this. She looks like— like she's meant to hand Regina her bags, press a kiss to her cheek, and ask what's for dinner— like she belongs here. "That's fine," Regina rasps, "you look…" her eyes rove over Emma's figure once more, her grip on the door tightening the longer she wracks her brain for something appropriate to say. "Good," she settles on lamely.
"You don't look too bad yourself," Emma says easily, and Regina self-consciously runs her palm down the green blouse that matches Emma's eyes. It's not like she fretted about what to wear in her own house without looking ridiculous—the dress and heels combo she knew would make Emma's eyes drift down to her legs had to be discarded, and instead, Regina stands before her in jeans and wedges that borders on just a touch too dressy.
Stepping aside to allow Emma entry, Regina takes Emma's light jacket and ushers her inside. The day had started off with a nip in the air, but by the afternoon had become warm enough to allow Regina to roam without a sweater. Spring presses down on them, and Marian couldn't have chosen a better week to be married if she says so herself. "Would you like something to drink?" Regina asks, depositing Emma's jacket on the arm of a nearby couch. She hasn't gotten around to buying a coatrack, not needing it when the house doesn't have any corners to spare between the front door and lounge.
Shifting from foot to foot, Emma pushes her hair behind her ears and looks sheepish before asking, "do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
Stinging just slightly at the subtle rejection and the lingering awkwardness between them, Regina nods her head and gestures to the narrow passage. "Of course," she says, "it's the first door on your left down the passage." The house is averagely sized, and she doubts Emma will get lost when the majority of the space is taken up by the open plan lounge and dining room area. Although, should Emma venture further down the passage, she'd probably find the master bedroom, and guestroom that they had converted into a study when the room had become redundant. Regina only hopes that she managed to safely throw her multiple outfit choices back into the wardrobe without any of them spilling out.
Releasing a shaky exhale, Regina makes a beeline toward the kitchen—the only room of the house that had become her sanctuary after the divorce. "So?" Zelena greets her with, already picking at the cheese she had set aside for the lasagne.
"So, what?" Regina grunts, busying herself to keep her hands distracted from fidgeting.
Zelena sighs, taking the grater from Regina's hands to finish up the last minute touches to the lasagne. "Where is she?" The question is simple enough, yet Regina grinds her molars together in agitation.
Watching Zelena carefully, her eyes burning with the strain to stay open, Regina leans against the kitchen counter and finally gives up trying to be stoic. "She's in the bathroom. I suppose she wants to wash up—she did just come straight from work."
"Ah," Zelena says, like she understands something that Regina doesn't—which is ridiculous really, because they haven't even met, and yet Regina's the one trying to put the pieces of Emma Swan together despite sleeping in the same bed with her for all of ten minutes. "She's probably nervous, poor thing."
Poor thing, like Regina's the unknown in this equation, like she's the one with secrets about where she lives and what she does for a living. It's not like Regina is taking Emma to her best friend's wedding where her entire life will be cracked open or anything. "I can't—" Regina bites out, holding her emotions too close to her chest. She knows this unhinged feeling is due to her lack of sleep, but no matter her attempts to remind herself that whatever she's feeling isn't necessarily true to her personality, it doesn't just go away when everything feels too real. "I'm going to check on her," is the excuse she uses to escape Zelena's curious gaze, her fingers curled into fists at her side as she steps out of the kitchen into the dining room.
Emma stands patiently in the lounge, gaze casting around the walls where meaningless paintings have been hung up in the place of photographs that used to live there. "These are nice," she hears Emma say, her voice soft and gentle against Regina's tumultuous moods.
The paintings don't match the colour of the walls, the frames odd shapes and sizes in a hurry to cover the stains left behind from wedding pictures and vacation snapshots she had torn down in her grief. Any compliment given to them then, isn't exactly founded. Sliding in next to Emma with every intention of continuing the conversation, Regina finds herself with a dry throat, and itchy fingers that she folds over her chest. "Would you like something to drink?" she finds herself asking again after too long, jaw tense and gaze trained on a hideous watercolour painting.
"Sure," Emma answers, Regina turning to face her for the first time since she emerged from the bathroom. Her face is scrubbed free of whatever makeup she had been wearing previously, hair slicked back tidily into the ponytail that was lopsided before, and the long sleeves of her button down are now rolled up above her elbows. "Non-alcoholic, please."
Nodding, Regina steps back with only the slightest hint of alarm. Emma has gathered herself, placed several walls in front of her like she's attending an interview, and Regina feels bare in front of all of this. Fetching two glasses from the kitchen where Zelena has finished tidying up, Regina takes steadying breaths as she pours a healthy amount of grape juice into each glass.
"Do you need more time?" Zelena asks, folding the dishtowel in half and sliding it down to hang along the oven door.
Licking her lips to stall for time, Regina shakes her head and breathes out a chuckle. "You're too perceptive for your own good," she mutters under her breath, placing the drinks on a tray to take outside. "Bring your wine, I'll introduce you." She doesn't wait for Zelena to follow her, not when everything seems to churn inside her stomach with no good reason.
"I hope grape juice is okay?" the uncertainty surrounding Emma intensifies when she doesn't have the chance to hear Emma's response, not when Emma is standing up to greet Zelena with a tinge of pink on her cheeks, all her attention now focused on the redhead with looks that are far more superior than Regina's.
Sticking out her hand, Zelena smiles widely at Emma. "You must be the infamous Swan," she says smoothly in her charming accent. Regina stiffens at the way Emma smiles back, how she looks almost relieved to be distracted from a conversation about whether grape juice is to her liking or not.
"And you must be the sister who wanted to meet me—Regina never mentioned your name, I'm sorry."
Zelena laughs at this, her hand casually resting on Regina's shoulder who stands there uselessly. "I'm sure Regina had other, more interesting things to discuss than her sister, but it's Zelena if you must know." Emma laughs at this, blushing only slightly as she sips from her drink to avert her gaze from Zelena's face. Regina isn't sure what the burning at the pit of her stomach means, but she doesn't like it one bit.
The food goes quickly, everything tasted and complimented to which Regina only nods in acknowledgement at. She isn't sure why her mood is so sour now, not when she's had the entire day to fret and moan about how much of cooking and cleaning she had to do. Looking up from her plate at the image of Emma and Zelena smiling at each other however, Regina knows exactly why she wants this dinner to end quickly.
"So," Zelena starts, picking at the serviette by her side, "Regina said you work in customer service?" She's had half an hour of interrogation time, but all Zelena has done is chat with Emma about mundane things that Regina hadn't the energy to concentrate on—the fact that Zelena dives into this part of the evening so late makes Regina grit her teeth, not when such delicacy means that her sister might like Emma.
Swallowing down a mouthful of grape juice, Emma nods as she sets the glass back down. "Yeah," she says easily, shrugging one shoulder. "It was the only job I could find that didn't need much experience at the time, and then over the past five years I managed to move from the sales department to the customer service end."
Zelena looks impressed, sending a significant eyebrow raise in Regina's direction before returning to their guest. "Have you considered going into something else?"
Emma scoffs, gaze darting between Regina and Zelena with only a hint of concern. "I've tried, but my credentials are not the best. I don't have managerial experience or a degree so…" she trails off, looking awkward about discussing herself for too long. "And what is it that you do?"
Leaning back in her chair, Zelena smiles thinly. From across the table, Regina begins to sweat, both parts afraid and intrigued at what's about to happen next. She knows her sister, knows how seriously she can delve into the little things that can make the most pompous of people nervous— Emma in the firing line won't stand a chance. "Dessert, anyone?" she tries, but Zelena speaks over her.
She says, "I have my own practice," although doesn't elaborate further on it, not when she's too busy scrutinizing Emma's every move. "I hope you don't mind, Emma," Zelena continues, moving her wineglass away from the edge of the table, "but I just have to know how you tolerate being friends with Regina." It's said with an air of jest, a too wide smile on Zelena's face as she makes light of a situation to gain insight into Emma's thoughts.
Chuckling, although the muscles in her neck seem tense, Emma shrugs off the question charmingly. "Regina is very entertaining," Emma answers with, casting an apologetic look in Regina's direction and frowning when she probably sees a hint of concern rather than anger on her friend's face.
The skin by the corner of Zelena's eyes crinkle when she smiles, forcing it too much to seem like she gets the joke. "Is that why you agreed to accompany her to Marian's wedding?"
Silence settles over the table after that, Regina lamenting the dessert that will go to waste in her kitchen. Truthfully, other than the vague notion of Emma helping her because of the way Regina looks, and the idea that she might need someone, there isn't any solid motivation as to why Emma still sticks by her. Is this a long con, where Emma will worm her way into Regina's heart and marry her for whatever measly wealth she has? Is this a game where she will brag to her roommates about making the communications professor fall in love with her? or perhaps there's something else more sinister at play, something that might turn her life upside down all because Regina couldn't will herself to sleep.
"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" Emma laughs at the tension in the room, her empty plate pushed forward in a subtle show of insult. Regina knows for sure now that Emma won't eat anything else from her house tonight. "If you must know," she says after some time, meeting Zelena's gaze, "I'm going for the free food. It's been a while since I attended a wedding."
Attitude. There's so much of it spilling from Emma, that Regina and Zelena both wince at it. Such mannerisms before Cora would have resulted in a stiff call to the bedroom, and then a harsh disciplining that would render them unable to sit for a day. Although as they both got older, the leather belt was put away, and Cora resorts now to emotional blackmail that leaves a greater sting than before.
The smile that sits on Zelena's face falls abruptly, all notions of liking Emma washing away as she reaches for her wineglass again. The glass is emptied, set delicately back down, and Zelena only takes a breath before Regina jumps up to save her guest. "Would you like some chocolate cake, Emma?" she asks, sounding too hurried.
A grimace adorns Emma's lips when she looks up at Regina, a slight shake of her head to make Regina aware of her refusal. Regina gets up from her place at the table anyways, shrugging off Emma's answer to pick up their empty plates instead. "I have apple turnovers too. Zelena," she calls, "come help me." Perhaps she puts too much of force into the request, but Zelena reluctantly takes their empty glasses and follows her to the kitchen.
"You're being rude," Regina hisses, too tired to try and soften the blow.
Zelena sets the empty cups down into the sink and scoffs. "Do you blame me for asking the relevant questions? Who drops everything to follow a recent divorcee with substantial wealth?"
Dropping the plates into the sink next to the glasses, the clatter of them loud enough to alert Emma, Regina stills for a moment to listen to whether their guest will make to check on them. When no such thing happens, Regina goes right back to scolding her sister. "She's a nice person," she whispers, reaching down to pull the apple turnovers from the oven. "There are people in this world who would do nice things for others—and if we were dating, you wouldn't be hounding her for her reasons, now would you?" Because the motivations would be clear, and sometimes Regina feels like the line between friend and something more blurs for her.
Running her hands down her face in frustration, Zelena pushes Regina aside to pull the apple turnovers out of the oven herself, dusting them with icing sugar to keep her hands busy. "I won't apologise for keeping your best interests at heart."
"But you can apologise for making her uncomfortable." Regina knows she's stepping on too many toes—it isn't like Zelena has invaded Emma's privacy, not with the sex questions she's surprised did not make an appearance.
Plating the turnovers, Zelena carries them out without a word into the dining room, and Regina strains to listen from the kitchen. For a few awkward moments, there's silence, and then the scraping back of a chair before Emma says, "I should go—"
"I apologise," Zelena cuts in with, and Regina exhales a heavy breath. "My sister seems to believe you're nothing more than a nice person doing a nice thing, but you must know that I will do anything to make sure she never experiences such heartbreak again. She's… delicate, someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, and sooner or later she's going to project those feelings onto you. I don't want you to take advantage of her." Silently, Regina seethes at Zelena's view of her, but she's eager to know Emma's response.
"I won't hurt her," Emma whispers, tame and timid in a way that makes Regina's throat itch. "She's my friend, nothing more than that. I just… sometimes you meet someone, and they leave an impression on you, and you don't know why but you'd do anything to help them—that's Regina to me. And maybe I'm going with her to this wedding because I want to be friends with her for a long time. I'm not—I'm not looking for anything else."
It shouldn't ache when Emma only sees her as a friend, but it does. Although the pain ebbs away, and Regina is left with a feeling of lightness that she hasn't felt in a long time. If Emma isn't looking for something else, then maybe she can get through this week without another heartbreak to nurse— all she has to do is swallow her feelings down into a pit and keep reminding herself that Emma isn't interested in her romantically.
Zelena's laugh carries from the dining room, making Regina jerk into action as she cuts into the chocolate cake. "Then we understand each other," she says, her charm back at full force and her tone bordering on slightly flirtatious. "Now tell me, have you been tested for STDs?"
"—Cake!" Regina shrills, intercepting her sister's embarrassing line of questioning as she sets the chocolate cake down in the middle of the table. Sending Zelena a glare, Regina turns back to Emma and lays a possessive hand on her shoulder. "Would you like some, Emma?"
Zelena, back to her playful self, starts with a teasing, "I'm sure she'd—ouch!" before Regina kicks her under the table, "love some," she finishes anyways.
Rolling her eyes, Regina takes a small piece for herself, and watches as Emma only nibbles at the cake set in front of her. She isn't sure if the damage Zelena did is reversable, but so far she hasn't seen Emma so uncomfortable before. If she's like this in the presence of her sister, how will she react in the presence of Mal?
"You know," Zelena drawls, picking at the pastry on her apple turnover, "my receptionist, Ashley, is on maternity leave for the next four months." Zelena is as subtle as a bull in a china shop, but Regina appreciates her efforts nonetheless. Emma however stiffens, pride hurt and the wound gaping. "I like your attitude, you'd fit in well—that is, if you wanted the opportunity?"
Emma chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head from side to side as if to clear the cobwebs. "I'm fine where I am," she says, although there's a hint of steel in her voice, "but if you want me to suggest someone reliable, I'm sure I could dig up a few names."
Zelena sits back with a smirk on her face, shrugging her shoulders as she takes a bite of her turnover. She's seen something that Regina has been too tired to notice, and a part of her wants Emma to graciously leave so she can find out what it is—only some part of her is scared that if Emma leaves, she won't be coming back, not when she can barely handle Zelena without getting angry, not when Mal will wipe the floor with her when the time comes.
Emma leaves first, stomach full and a forced smile on her lips as she awkwardly ambles by the door. Regina hands her three Tupperware containers and walks her to the waiting taxi. "I expect those to be returned," she says in jest, although she kind of means it—Tupperware is precious.
Laughing, looking more at ease than she has the entire evening, Emma nods. "I promise I'll return them," she says delicately, like she's afraid of Regina's deductions about this evening.
"I'm sorry about Zelena," Regina says softly, "she is just protective of me, and…" exhaling, she reaches out to squeeze Emma's arm. "I hope you're not offended by her. Although I do think she likes you."
Blinking too rapidly, Emma looks down at her shoes and shrugs Regina's hand off gently. "I get it," she says, although Regina's heart plummets into her chest at Emma's tone. "I'll see you later." Not waiting for Regina's response, Emma gets into the back of the taxi and leaves.
Regina stands there for too long, panic stricken and at a loss for what to do. She should have never let Zelena interfere before the wedding, not even if her big sister's opinion matters to her, not even if this might give her the answer to whether this entire pretend is a good idea or not. Stomping back into the house, bottom lip wobbling, Regina smacks Zelena on the arm and brushes past her.
Her eyes itch and prickle with tears, her skin feels fragile under her touch, and everything has gone to shit.
"She likes you," is what Zelena says, following Regina into the bedroom. "She's scared and confused, but she likes you."
Regina turns, a hiss in her voice, "you were flirting with her, and she was blushing. Emma is mine!"
Grabbing her by the shoulders, Zelena holds Regina close and sighs. "She was blushing because she was shy, because she was pleased at the attention, but her eyes kept straying toward you, you idiot. And you're so gone on her you don't even realise…" Zelena rolls her eyes skyward, swallowing thickly and blinking away the glassiness in her eyes. She tries again, voice soft, "you don't need to fix anyone, or slot yourself into a puzzle for two, alright? Let go. You don't need anyone, no matter how much of a sorry grump you are. If you fall in love this time, make sure you do it for the right reasons."
Everything feels ruined, but Regina falls into her sister's embrace and allows the tears to fall. There are choking, hiccupping sobs that soak through Zelena's shirt, but Zelena keeps stroking Regina's hair and holding her upright so that she doesn't collapse in a heap of limbs. Perhaps the lack of sleep has finally reached its threshold, but Regina could lose everything she's managed to gain in the past weeks, and yet she feels light instead of hollow. She doesn't need to love Emma to be happy, and maybe friendship is an appropriate enough relationship for her to handle right now.
Regina is going to call Emma tomorrow and cancel their plans. Revenge isn't all it's cut out to be, right?
Zelena only leaves on Tuesday night, Regina feeling empty and dull after crying her eyes out about everything for the entire day. Her doubts, her fears, her history with Mal all comes out, and whilst she had felt numb when telling Emma, indifferent almost, she feels every single emotion when telling Zelena. Perhaps it is the value of Zelena's opinion that makes her crash, or the fact that she is the closest person in Regina's life right now—other than her mother who will probably come to learn about everything sooner or later.
Closing the door behind Zelena's back that night however, has her feeling drained. Regina knows she has every intention of calling Emma and cancelling their plans, but Emma hasn't reached out to her since their dinner—and whether Emma has her contact information or not is something that Regina doesn't bother with, not when all she can do for that night is collapse on the couch in sheer exhaustion and shelve her plans for the next day.
Regina trembles when she holds the phone in her hand. There's the familiar number on her contacts list that she refuses to click, not when she has had almost four hours of sleep, and it hadn't been an appropriate time to call until now—or a few hours ago, but Regina had been too busy stalling to think of anything else.
She doesn't know how to break up with someone, but she knows not to do it over the phone, even if it does seem significantly easier to rip the band aid off and not get chewed out for the consequences. Taking a deep breath, pacing a little in her kitchen as she reheats the leftover chicken from Monday, Regina clicks the call button and waits.
"Hello?" A groggy voice answers, and Regina flinches when the sound of the microwave goes off behind her.
"Hello," she responds, "may I speak to Emma please?" She's quite adept at bypassing the roommates by now, but this one lingers on the line just a little longer, irritating Regina as she drops the chicken into a small bowl.
Clearing his throat, the roommate shifts the phone from one ear to the next, making Regina wait before he speaks, "she's not well," he says, "but I can leave her a message?"
Not well? Stiffening, Regina runs through Monday night in her head, trying to figure out if Emma looked sick when she came over for dinner. Unable to pinpoint anything that might indicate so, Regina focuses her attention back on the phone, and tries not to panic at the thought that Emma might be using this tactic to avoid her. "No, no," she says, trying to think of something quick, "but I did lend her a few of my Tupperware containers and she did say I could fetch them today, only she neglected to give me her address. Is there any chance that you might?"
"Oh!" the boy says, "Regina, right?" and Regina's body goes cold. Emma has been talking about her? She isn't sure whether to feel delighted or humiliated. He doesn't wait for her reply however, and rattles off the address she has to ask him to repeat so she can jot it down. Pulling a pot out from the cupboard, Regina tosses in the chicken pieces and gets to work on a soup. If she's going to ambush Emma, she might as well arrive with good reason.
Emma's apartment is worlds apart from Regina's quaint suburban home. Resting in the heart of the city, Regina has had to battle traffic through the glare of the late morning sun. Her agitation is now at an all-time high when she finally stands in front of the ugly green door after having climbed too many flights of stairs.
One would think that after coming all this way, Regina would be eager to move past the welcome mat she stands on; only Regina hesitates to knock, knowing full well that other than intruding on Emma's territory, she might have to meet the roommates who could be as harsh as Zelena had been the other night—and Regina isn't sure she can handle any more rejection if it comes down to it. Breathing in deeply, Regina finally drums up the courage, and raises her hand to knock, the sound echoing down the narrow hallway where she nervously waits for too long.
The door opens eventually, revealing someone vaguely familiar who blushes from the tips of his ears down to his neck. "Miss Mills," he squeaks, running his hands through his hair fretfully and tugging down on his plaid shirt. "Come in, please."
Taking a tentative step inside, Regina casts her gaze around the apartment that's larger than she expected it to be. Stepping into the open space, Regina smiles nervously at the boy and tries not to wince at the amount of wooden trinkets lining the ample shelves along the face-brick walls. She supposes it's charming in a rustic sort of way— what with the lounge consisting of mismatched beanbags and a cracked leather couch, and the open plan kitchen on the other side that hosts beaten down appliances and a breakfast bar that provides an illusion of separation between the two rooms. "Emma Swan?" she asks.
"Emma is in her room, but I can take that if you'd like, Miss Mills?"
"It's Regina," she says unthinkingly, handing the container of soup over. She's only grateful that she made more than enough to feed three men and Emma, thinking of the roommates at the very last minute to impress them for some reason. "You said she's unwell? Do you mind if I…" leaving the sentence to hang in the air, Regina waits for the boy to get the hint. She can't see the other two anywhere, and she isn't in the mood to meet them all today, not when this roommate can't stop blushing.
Blinking to hide the way he's been staring at her, the roommate gestures down the hall and says, "sure," in a tone that sounds suspicious. "I'm here if you need anything else." He doesn't offer her anything to eat or drink, and Regina doesn't bother to ask for it when she's already halfway down the hallway peeking her head into every room. After two doors, one being a bathroom and the other a very messy bedroom, Regina finds Emma sitting up on her bed reading a book.
She should have asked the roommate to announce her presence, not wanting to intrude upon Emma like this, but something in her heart pounds, and Regina foolishly knocks on her open door. "Hello," she says lamely, swallowing thickly to rid herself of the second-hand embarrassment Emma must feel.
Jumping at the sound, Emma hurriedly covers herself up with her duvet and tries to run her fingers through her messy bun to tidy it. None of it works, and Regina steps into the room to try and smooth the situation over. "I called," she explains, "but one of your roommates said you were sick, and I got worried. I'm sorry if I arrived unannounced—I can leave if you want?"
Sighing, Emma pushes the duvet down and sets her book to the side, gesturing for Regina to stay. "I didn't expect to be caught out in my pyjamas today, but here we are." Regina can't help but smile along with Emma, a teasing glint in the blonde's eye as she pats the space next to her on the bed.
"To be fair, I've yet to see you in your pyjamas, this is a privilege." Sitting down daintily at Emma's silent request, Regina allows her smile to fall away as she assesses Emma for signs of sickness. The back of her hand rests against Emma's forehead to feel for a temperature, but Emma gently removes her hand with a pained smile.
She says, "I'm not sick," her grip on Regina's wrist still light and gentle. "I'm just… not feeling myself today is all."
Swallowing thickly, Regina removes her hand from Emma's hold and turns toward the wall in front of her, fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. "This is because of the way Zelena treated you, isn't it?" she asks, nervous about the answer; because as much as she wants to call everything off for the sake of Emma and herself, she also doesn't want to lose her as a friend, not over her sister's brash comments and blunt blows.
"No," Emma reassures, although Regina can sense the lie in her words. "I was a little insulted, but she came from a good place. It's a blessing that you have someone like her to take care of you, to make sure that you're on a safe path." The fact that Emma is consoling Regina over her own hurt has everything ache just a little more. How much more of this torture must she put Emma through?
Turning to face Emma again, Regina opens her mouth to call everything off, because this is all one sided, and Regina has taken up so much of Emma already, but instead she asks, "why are you feeling off today?"
The surprise is evident on Emma's face, and Regina is almost humiliated at the fact that she's been the only one benefiting from this relationship so far. "You sure you want to know?" Emma asks, and Regina's heart breaks just a little more.
Shifting so that she's got one of her legs bent at the knee, waist turned toward Emma fully, Regina takes both of her hands into her hold and exhales. "Tell me," she says softly, watching as Emma's eyes become glassy.
Licking her lips, Regina shamefully watching the action, Emma shifts forward to speak to her in a whisper. "Today is my mother's death day," she says, voice catching, lips thinning as she attempts to smile. Regina feels the horror creeping up her spine over thinking that every one of Emma's moods must correlate to only her directly. This suffocation was what Mal had warned her about, and she feels pathetically self-involved.
She should say the usual I'm sorry, but none of that ever works, instead, Regina squeezes Emma's hands just a little tighter in hers and asks, "will you tell me about her?" in her gentlest of voices.
The awe on Emma's face feels undeserved, but Regina relishes in it anyways, absorbing the change of Emma's features from sombre into something resembling happy. "She loved birds," is what Emma says first, and Regina finds herself smiling along with Emma's contagious happiness. "We used to buy the birds that could survive without human care from the pet store and set them free. Mom used to say that if something has wings and can fend for itself, then it should be allowed to fly. She was… she believed in things that I never did—hope, love, fate. When she died I vowed that I would try to see things her way, that I would be a good person."
"Emma…" Regina breathes, reaching up to brush away the few fallen tears on pale skin. "You are a good person." It sounds shallow to her ears, laced with too much meaning but no depth, but Emma takes it regardless, offering her a small smile.
"I'm not a good person," she confesses, "not like her. I try too hard to be good, I do it for the wrong reasons— that's being two faced." Regina makes to console Emma again, but Emma continues speaking, eyes distant as she stares right through Regina. "My father was two-faced. My mother loved him more than her own life, more than anything, and he took whatever she could give to feed his love for cocaine. He's alive, you know? I don't know where he is, and I don't think he cares for me unless I somehow come into a lot of money, but I don't want to be like him— I don't want to take advantage of you, Regina."
Alarmed, Regina scrambles to try and follow Emma's train of thought. Zelena might've hit too many nails on its head the other day, and Regina tries desperately hard to pry the lid of the coffin off just for a breath of air. "You're not taking advantage of me," she hurriedly whispers, squeezing Emma's hands too tightly as she cries. "I'm the one taking advantage of you. I'm the one who needs someone to come with me to this wedding, and I'm the one who wants to teach my ex-wife a lesson. You've done nothing but help me, Emma."
"That's a lie," Emma sniffles, sick with grief for something Regina cannot name, "I only helped you because you said—you said I was the first person to approach you, and you believe in fate. Mom used to believe in fate, I wanted—I wanted to be more like her, but I'm not!"
Exhaling a shaky breath, a lump in her throat threatening to have her cry in a situation where she needs to be stable, Regina finds herself falling down a sticky pit of something familiar. Staring at Emma for longer than appropriate, Regina takes in her messy hair and tear streaked face, the whites of her knuckles that have lost blood flow from holding on too tightly to the little contact Regina has given her, and all she can think about is how ordinary Emma is. She isn't some prostitute on the street corner, nor is she some psychic that knows all Regina's secrets—she's an ordinary girl, with ordinary problems, and somehow that makes her absolutely stunning in Regina's eyes.
Emma is real. She isn't a second choice, or arm candy, or some convenient thing to love—she's real, and she feels things just as deeply as Regina does. The thought has Regina's stomach clench, a churning of emotions making her feel just as sick as Emma. "Maybe you're not like her," she husks around the lump in her throat, untangling her fingers from Emma's, "but you are good, and you are—you are…" Regina breathes in and out harshly, her palms cupping Emma's cheeks and fingers sliding through silky strands of golden hair. It would be so easy to take advantage of Emma's fragile state, to kiss her with the desperation of a yearning lover and pour all the words she wants to say into the intimate action. Their foreheads touch, Regina's nose bumping against Emma's own as she feels more than sees Emma's fingers sliding up to wrap around her wrists, holding her there for just a second longer. She wants to say so many things, to allow herself to fall into this abyss and never get back up, but Regina hesitates. "If you feel like you need to back out from our plans, then I won't hold you to them," Regina breathes instead, "I want you to feel comfortable and happy, and if this isn't what you want, I'll understand."
Wide eyes stare back at her, equal parts hurt and embarrassed. "I'm sorry," Emma rasps, "I didn't mean to explode like this—unless you don't need me anymore then, of course… of course."
Regina can't help but laugh, Emma's face still in her hands, and so many things weighing down on her shoulders. For once, she feels like an equal contributor to this relationship, purposeful again even if it's just in the role of friend. "I need you," she confesses in a quiet whisper, eyes closing as she speaks over the warning bells sounding in her head. The denial she wraps around herself cloaks her like an unfamiliar blanket, but Regina burrows into it when she pulls back from Emma, a pained smile on her face. A few weeks ago, and she had loathed Emma, wanting nothing more than to strangle her for being so bitchy—three attempts at a nap later, and Regina grits her teeth at how quickly she's come to care for her instead.
It isn't like her to pick anyone off the road and love them, not when Regina— despite being a hopeless romantic— is still picky as hell. People had come and gone, but only two within her lifetime had made her heart crack wide open and bleed for them. Emma will not be the third, no matter how her heart aches when she closes the distance between them, pressing a kiss to Emma's forehead for longer than appropriate. Pulling back slightly, Regina looks at Emma seriously, her gaze searching as they lean too close. "if you need anything," she starts, "anything at all, no matter how ridiculous, or if it's five minutes or five years from now, you tell me, okay?" The fierceness in her statement surprises even herself, but Regina hangs on Emma's every breath to hear her answer.
"Anything?" Emma asks, looking too young and too fearful.
Regina nods, holding Emma just a little tighter. "Anything," she confirms, before pulling back entirely, her hands settling in her lap. Clearing her throat to rid herself of the emotion that sits there, Regina nods her head toward the bedroom door. "Come on," she says, "let me feed you chicken soup so you can return my Tupperware, and then we can do something to cheer you up." She makes to discard the situation, to brush it off like the lint on her dress and pretend that everything is still the way it was a few days ago. It seems all they do around each other is pretend, and the irony is, unfortunately, not lost on Regina.
Grabbing her hand when she stands, Emma looks up at her with an expression she can't name. "Thank you," she says softly, "for being my friend."
Squeezing Emma's fingers, Regina lets go and allows Emma to compose herself, too weighed down with information to respond. If her gaze lingers too long on Emma's face, if the look of longing is reflected in both their eyes, then Regina only clears it away like the lump in her throat and tries to disarm it with a smile. Not yet, she thinks, hurrying out of the bedroom, not yet.
Reasonably, after such an emotional confrontation, there is bound to be some embarrassment, and when Emma slinks into the kitchen with freshly washed hair and what looks to be an ironed pair of cargo pants, Regina knows there's a wall that's being built again.
"Your friend said I could help myself," she says to cut through the silence, stirring the chicken soup in a borrowed pot to heat it up again.
Emma peers into the pot and inhales, her eyes closing at the unfamiliar aroma. "That's August," she says, nodding toward the curly haired roommate that had invited her inside, "he's the one with the crush on you."
Raising her eyebrows, Regina looks at Emma with an amused shake of her head. "That explains the constant blushing then." Shrugging, Emma moves to sit at the breakfast bar, fingers curled under her chin as she watches Regina plate two bowls of soup. "Have you come up with three outfits yet?" Regina asks, pulling open a few drawers until she finds the spoons.
Sighing, Emma drags the bowl of soup closer to herself and massages her temples. "I haven't," she admits sheepishly, her gaze dropping down to the spoon that she fiddles with. Regina can tell that their conversation from earlier still bothers Emma, and her attempts to pretend that everything is back to normal without this weight hanging over them doesn't seem to be having the soothing effect she thought it would.
Reaching out to place her hand atop Emma's, Regina lowers her voice into a whisper so that August who is busy on his laptop in the lounge doesn't overhear. "I'm glad you told me everything," she says, "I understand you better now, I… appreciate you more."
"You mean you know how damaged I actually am?" Emma smartly responds, holding Regina's gaze.
Tilting her head with an affectionate smile on her face, Regina cups Emma's cheek tenderly and says, "oh Emma, you have no idea how beautiful you are." Perhaps she shouldn't have said it, those aching words that have sat at the back of her throat since she first met Emma, but they're out in the open now, and Emma looks too close to tears again at the heartfelt compliment. Clearing her throat and pulling her hand back, Regina thoroughly embarrassed at showing her hand like this, she gestures toward August instead. "Call him and you both can—"
They enter with booming voices, laughter spilling from the both of them as they topple into the apartment only to pause at the sight of Regina. Regina herself stills, caught in a staring match with whom she assumes are the rest of the roommates. "Hello," she croaks, wholly unprepared for this meeting.
"Hey," one of them says uncertainly, gaze darting down to Emma who stands from her seat.
"Neal," she says breathlessly, cheeks tinging pink and her hand reaching out for Regina's once again, "Graham, hey." The boy Regina assumes is Graham, the one with supermodel looks and curly brown hair that falls into his eyes, nods at Emma and then Regina in greeting. Neal however, the smaller one with a limping gait and charming smile, doesn't look so much at ease. "Regina," Emma says, "these are my roommates Neal and Graham."
Regina nods at them each, pulling her spine up to seem taller in the face of the men who Emma spends most of her time with. August is a non-issue, not when he ambles over toward the kitchen with eyes only for his professor and his ears permanently red. Neal however, still stands with a frown on his face awaiting the next part of the introduction that has Emma look nervously at Regina with just a hint of a plea. "Neal, Graham— August," she starts, Regina's fingers probably turning blue with the strength of the grip Emma has on them, "This is Regina, my girlfriend."
All the blood from Regina's face drains down to her toes.
"So this is Regina?" Neal asks, sounding almost as surprised as Regina feels when he finally allows his gaze to scrutinize her. He looks over her once, twice, and then settles on the way her fingers are essentially trapped between Emma's own. "I thought for a moment she wasn't real—you are Regina, right?" He tries to joke it off, to lessen the value of their relationship—whatever the label on that might be, and Regina will not have it.
"I assure you," Regina purrs, drawing strength from Emma's hold to carry out what obviously seems like some kind of pretence, "I am very much real." Neal goes red in the face at her tone, and August sways on the spot before quickly sitting down at the breakfast bar to pull the neglected bowl of soup toward him. Only Graham seems mildly bothered by the energy in the room, choosing instead to bump Neal in the shoulder and nod toward the pot.
He asks, "something cooking?" and that's the only time that Emma releases her fingers, the digits turning pink with the blood rushing back to them.
"Regina made me chicken soup, but she was kind enough to make some for you idiots too." A chorus of mismatched insults and snarky retorts has Regina retreat to the other side of the small kitchen, fishing out a few more bowls and spoons before dishing out healthy servings for the boys. When she places a bowl in front of each of them, only Neal doesn't eat right away, and Emma takes tentative mouthfuls that Regina is sure she doesn't taste.
"Whatever you want to know," Regina drawls, resting her elbows on the opposite side of the breakfast counter, Neal's eyes dropping down to the cleavage displayed in her wrap dress before he hurriedly snaps it back up, "I'm an open book."
He considers this, ready to ask questions that Regina suspects might be along the lines of what are your intensions with my roommate? but instead, Neal surprises her by raising a smug eyebrow in her direction and ignoring her soup altogether. He asks, "how long have you known Emma?" and Regina blanches when she realises this might be a trick question. There's a kick to her shin when she takes too long to answer, but Emma had once told her that sticking as close to the truth as possible within a lie is the only way not to get caught.
"I know her for over two months now?" the statement comes out as a question when she turns to Emma for clarity, Emma nodding in the positive. "Although we only started dating recently." The last part is a jab at the sudden situation she finds herself in, and Emma manages to throw her an apologetic look before delving back into the soup that she seems to be enjoying.
Nodding to himself, Neal finally takes a spoonful of the soup and hums appreciatively, but doesn't offer any compliments to Regina, not when she's busy refilling August and Graham's bowls. "You know, I almost thought you didn't exist. I asked Emma out one day, and suddenly she has a girlfriend I never heard about—but I'm glad I met you, you seem like a nice person." Neal's tone is hard, iron and steel wrapped up in the same possessiveness that Regina is all too familiar with. His voice is a hiss, too quiet for the others to pick up on, but enough for Regina to know she has someone watching her.
"Well it's too bad then," she says evenly, voice equally as sharp, "that Emma obviously has better taste than you give her credit for."
The flirting, the unnecessary touches, heartfelt confessions, and now claiming her territory in a house that she's only just been acquainted with? Regina feels like a gladiator in a warzone, fighting for too much with the stakes too high.
"We'll see," Neal says, an ominous lilt to his voice, "how long you two last before Emma runs." And for the second time that afternoon, the blood from Regina's face drains.
Regina has been in Emma's apartment for just over an hour, and already it's been nothing but a tiring affair. Emma washes the Tupperware containers in the kitchen, her back to Regina who is monopolised by August who insists on picking her brain about his master's thesis that she's too crabby to answer. She's supposed to be Emma's girlfriend here, a woman with romance in her eyes and a familiarity that goes beyond scorching touches and exhausted tantrums—it's an act that she had only thought valid at Marian's wedding, her hands shaking as she tries to tamp down on the pain from tasting something she won't allow herself to have.
And what a taste this is—something sweet and forbidden, Regina's cursed heart beating wildly in her chest as she slots into the role of better half once again. She's breathed in fresh air and can't imagine inhaling such toxic fumes again. The fun of it however, only lasts so long, Graham excusing himself to go back to work, and Neal watching Regina too closely for comfort. The charade makes her irritated with herself, having lost all sense of propriety with the heady high of being a girlfriend again, of having Emma look upon her with a careful gaze every time Neal scrutinizes her for too long.
Running her hand through her hair, tugging on the ends harshly, Regina cuts August off with a sharp, "I actually have a previous appointment to attend," looking down at her watch that shows the time to be just after half past twelve. "I should leave," she insists, her mood souring when the reality of this catches up with her tired bones.
August looks disappointed that Regina has to leave, but reluctantly stands to walk her to the door with Neal's eyes following them. "I'll let Emma know," he says quietly, and bounds down the hallway to fetch her fake girlfriend from wherever she's disappeared to. Regina, in a moment of cheekiness, turns toward Neal and holds his gaze. She isn't afraid of him, not when she had been married to Mal who is twice the person that this boy will ever be—at least Mal knew the meaning of the word No, even if she had soiled their wedding bed with something ugly.
"August said you're leaving?" Emma says, coming up behind her to put a light hand on her shoulder. Regina turns toward Emma, forgetting Neal for the moment as she nods.
She says, "there are things I have to do before we leave tomorrow—but we're still not as prepared as I would have liked us to be." They both don't have their three outfits, nor has Regina packed for the trip they are to take, and the itch of irritation from earlier returns at full force. This is a cover for something deeper that Regina is all too willing to use, her lips pursing into a thin line as the anger at herself for getting carried away with this fake relationship begins to focus on something tangible.
Sensing her distress, Emma runs her hand up and down Regina's arm, her actions stiff and slightly concerned. Regina doesn't know whether this forced physicality between them is because of Emma's confession earlier, or Neal's pressing gaze from across the room. "Tell me what I can do to help," Emma says, playing the concerned girlfriend, or the doting friend— Regina doesn't care to find out.
"It would help me if you had your three outfits planned out like I asked you!" Because that would have been one less thing to worry about— but that obviously isn't why she snaps at Emma, not when there is a very real possibility of twisting their friendship into something unnameable, and Emma had taken advantage of that blurred line by presenting Regina to her roommates as her girlfriend no less. She knows she's being a hypocrite, what with this exact same dance expected of Emma at Marian's wedding, but Regina hadn't been prepared, and now she's caught in the middle of a pissing contest with Neal just to prove her worth to a woman who doesn't even want her in that way.
Backing away with her hands raised in surrender, Emma physically tenses at Regina's mood. Neal stands up from his seat on the couch, making his way over to them without invitation, and Regina closes the gap between Emma and herself to subtly cast him out. "It isn't fair," she whispers harshly, her voice bordering on a hiss, "you are not being fair."
Emma's throat constricts as she swallows, her gaze holding Regina's without any intention of backing down. "You said I could ask you for anything," she shoots back, finding the root of this problem too quickly for Regina's liking. "I'm asking now," she says, "I'm asking for this." When Regina doesn't budge despite Neal coming closer, Emma resorts to pleading. "Please," she whispers desperately, fingers brushing against Regina's own, "I won't ask for anything else."
Closing her eyes in defeat, Regina breathes in a steadying breath, her palm coming up to rest lightly on Emma's cheek. "You haven't asked me for anything," Regina says softly, the both of them wounded from the same thing, "but when you have the courage to ask, I won't hesitate to give it to you."
Maybe, for a fraction of a second, Regina thinks she sees Emma gather the strength to ask for what she wants, but the clearing of a throat from beside them has Emma jerk back from their intimate bubble to glare at Neal instead. "I'll get those outfits," Emma croaks, pulling Regina's hand away from her face.
Exhaling in irritation, Regina rolls her eyes and straightens her posture, using the interrupted time between Emma and herself to hike her handbag further up her shoulder, and reach out to take the returned Tupperware containers from Emma's arms. "Just get one outfit," she orders, "something casual but dressy for the night after celebrations. What is your shoe size?" she tries to ask casually, but Emma frowns in thought regardless.
"A seven," she answers with, crossing her hands over her chest.
"Right," Regina says decisively, "be packed and ready to leave at three at the latest." When she makes to move toward the door, a strong grip on her arm prevents her from leaving.
Emma asks, "three? I thought we were leaving in the evening?" Neal raises his eyebrows at this, looking smug and annoying as he saddles up to Emma without proper cause.
"Emma still has work, Regina," he says smartly, earning himself a glare.
Truthfully, Regina hadn't thought about Emma's working hours, or the fact that she might have put in for leave to accommodate Regina's inane request of attending this wedding with her. She feels overbearing for a minute, but then reminds herself that she isn't the only one benefiting from this relationship anymore, not with Neal's beady eyes and smug smirk concentrated on her in a way that makes her uncomfortable. "It's fine," she finds herself saying, unable to think of a solution when all she wants to do is rip Neal's face off. "Shall we say seven, then? I'm sure I can shift things around to accommodate our schedule."
"Regina you don't have to—"
"I insist," Regina says firmly, holding the Tupperware up to her chest. "I'll see you later, Emma." Her gaze slides toward Neal, upper lip curling into a snarl, "Neal," she says in dismissal, all too happy to step out of the threshold when he opens the door for her.
"Your girlfriend is stiff," she manages to hear before the door closes, Emma stuttering in protest at the abrupt goodbye she hadn't been able to properly partake in. Regina is still angry however and manages to drop the Tupperware on her way down the stairs more than once. When she finally makes it to her car, she has no qualms with flinging the containers into the backseat, her forehead resting on the steering wheel once she manages to get into the driver's seat after fighting uselessly with the door.
Holding back a wave of tears that she tries to press back with her palms, Regina releases a strangled sound and hopes to God that the brewing feelings she has for Emma goes away. She can't handle her heart swelling at the way Emma had said my girlfriend, her chest puffed out and pride in the way her chin tilted upwards at the reveal of their fake relationship to the roommates. Regina will not sob over the possibility of something when she's supposed to be getting over a divorce long since dead and buried, Mal a distant memory as Emma fills in all the blanks she yearns for in a partner.
Slapping her hands down on the steering wheel, Regina reaches for her phone and dials Emma's number. It rings twice before someone answers, Neal's grating, "Hello—" cut off as Regina ends the call. Trying again a few minutes later, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose, Regina waits until the line is picked up again.
"Hello?" Emma breathes into the receiver, and Regina swallows thickly as she bangs the back of her head against the seat.
She croaks out an, "Emma," and doesn't know what to say next, not when this entire thing is ridiculous. Regina is still parked downstairs for crying out loud, Emma only a few flights of stairs away, yet she clutches onto her phone as if it's Emma's hand.
"Tell me," Emma whispers, and Regina pictures her leaning against the face-brick wall with her eyes closed, phone cord wrapped around her fingers. It was easier when Emma was still a mystery, when her lack of sleep was the only thing that clouded her judgement, and their intimate bubble hadn't been burst with the introduction of Zelena and the roommates. This is becoming too real, no longer a fantasy that promises a happy ending.
Regina whispers out a broken, "I'm sorry," squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to will the image of almost kissing Emma away. She isn't sure if she's sorry for that, or for the abrupt way in which she had left, but Regina apologises all the same, hoping Emma will understand.
"I should be the one apologising," Emma says dully, her voice distant and pained. "I'll explain everything tomorrow, but if there's anything I can do to make it up to you—"
"Ask me," Regina interrupts with, desperate and aching when the cloak of denial slips from her shoulders. "You can make it up to me by asking me for what you really want—tomorrow," she clarifies, "ask me tomorrow for that one thing, and I promise I will forgive you." Emma could ask her to go skydiving for all she cares, but Regina only wants to see Emma happy, to watch as her lips stretch into a grin so wide that her faint dimple becomes visible.
Emma says, "Regina," her name sounding cracked and broken, a prayer that spills over the lines they had drawn in the sand. Regina knows she's playing with fire, but she holds on until Emma speaks again, the soft, "I will," more than worth the wait.
The line goes dead after that, Regina clutching her phone to her chest as she concentrates on her breathing to avoid the panic attack that rests on the edges of her sanity. "Fuck," she exhales into the car, a giggle tickling the back of her throat that grows into rumbustious laughter. "Fuck," she chortles, grabbing at her necklace as her laughter turns into a sob, tears marring her vision as she gives into every agonisingly wonderful feeling she has toward Emma Swan.