A/N: I'm back~

Hello, friends. It's been almost a year since I updated this, but life, as it often does, got in the way. I was swamped with trying to fit an entire major into two years while finishing the last two years of another major because I'm an idiot and I didn't decide to double major until the end of sophomore year. (Side note: If you're going to double major, please learn from my mistakes and make that decision way earlier than I did. 0/10, would not recommend waiting until the end of sophomore year.) Fortunately, I managed to crawl across the graduation finish line, then post-graduation, I was busy moving back home from university, then moving AGAIN for my job. But I'm finally settled, and I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't forgotten about this story. I don't know how many more chapters this will be, but I have a general idea of where the rest of this is going, and I hope you're all still onboard for the ride!

A special shout out to the people who take the time to comment/leave kudos. Those notification emails got me through my darkest hours, lol.

They aren't friends after that.

Not exactly.

Emma doesn't know if there's a word for what they are. She can only describe it in terms of what they aren't. They aren't friends. But they aren't enemies, either. Sometimes, she catches Regina hiding a smile behind her hand at something that Emma says in class. And other times, when they see each other in the hallway, the mask Regina wears like armor seems to soften. Not drop, never drop, but loosen a little bit, become hazy at the edges, letting the real Regina, the one who told Emma about her favorite book and looked at her like she was worth something, bleed through.

No, Emma doesn't know if there's a word for what they are, but she does know that she wants to be the type of person Regina keeps looking at like that.

-o-o-o-o-

"Shit, shit, shit."

Emma is late. Again. Normally that wouldn't be newsworthy, but she's been doing a remarkably good job being on time to these tutoring sessions (and if that means she has to skip her last class every day to get a head start on walking to the library, that's neither here nor there). But today, the unseasonably fair weather had finally taken a turn after several weeks of clear skies, and Emma finds herself wading through the torrential downpour, the storm clouds mirroring the look Regina is sure to give her by the time she manages to slog her way into the library like a drowned rat.

Emma uses her hand to shield her watch from the rain as she checks the time. 6:37. The numbers blink up at her mockingly, and Emma pulls open the doors to the library lobby with a scowl.

From behind the reception desk, a librarian who looks almost as old as some of the library's most antique volumes glares pointedly at where Emma is dripping all over the carpet. Emma spares her an apologetic grimace before sloshing her way into the back of the library where the study rooms are located.

From down the hall, Emma can already see Regina, drumming her fingers impatiently on the table. She looks positively incensed, vein bulging out on her forehead in that way it has when she is particularly furious about something. (Not that Emma has noticed. Of course not.)

Regina's thunderous glare turns into a confused look at the sight of her. "What happened to you?" she asks, brow furrowing in question, and then, as if remembering, "And where have you been last period the past week? Showing up to these sessions doesn't mean anything if you're not showing up to class at all."

Emma doesn't know how to say that she has no car to the girl who has everything, so instead, she covers up her vulnerability with gratuitous bravado. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says, unleashing a waterfall from where she has begun wringing out her hair.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Emma, I'm in your art class last period. I know you weren't there."

Emma hums noncommittally as she continues to dry herself off as best she can. When she looks up again, Regina is giving her an unimpressed stare. "What?"

"Well?"

Emma sighs. "Look, can you just drop it?" She is wet, cold, and miserable, and quite frankly, she really, really doesn't want to get into this.

Regina scoffs. She stands abruptly from her seat and begins packing her things. "No, I can't drop it, but if you keep it up, I can drop you from my list of priorities. You're skipping class, and on top of that, you're late again. I see no point in investing my time and energy in helping someone who has no interest in—"

"I don't have a car, okay?"

For a moment, Regina simply stares at her. "What did you say?"

Giving up on her hair, which steadfastly remains looking like a bird's nest, Emma lets her hands drop to her sides in exasperation. "I said I don't have a car."

Regina looks at her aghast. "Well, how have you been getting here every day, then?"

Emma raises an eyebrow in her direction. She can see the moment that realization dawns on Regina's face.

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been skipping last period to walk here from school? Emma, that's… that's at least ten miles!" A beat, and then: "Wait, is that why you're soaked?" She doesn't even give Emma time to answer before she is already steamrolling over any possible response. "Well, this is simply unacceptable. From now on, I'll be driving you back and forth from the sessions."

Emma opens her mouth to make a token protest.

"And I don't want to hear any protests!"

Emma closes her mouth.

"There's no point in trying to get through today's session, it's far too late. Besides, you'll catch cold with the state you're in." Regina reaches out as if to fuss over Emma before seemingly remembering herself and abruptly snatching her hand away. The mounting tension is cut by clearing her throat. "Come, I'll drive you home."

"Thanks," Emma says. It seems like not enough all of a sudden, not nearly a big enough word to encompass the enormity of her gratitude for everything Regina has done for her, but it's all that she has.

Regina, ever uncomfortable in the face of gratefulness, squirms uncharacteristically under the weight of Emma's gaze. "Yes, well. It's fine. I mean, it has nothing to do with you. I would just rather not waste my time waiting for you every day." She nods her head as if affirming this to herself, and, seemingly satisfied with this deflection, motions for Emma to follow her.

They walk out past the librarian, whose eyes burn holes into their backs all the way to Regina's car, which, mercifully, is parked as close to the library as possible.

Emma tries her very best not to gawk. She had seen the Mercedes Benz in the school parking lot before, but she had always assumed that it belonged to Mr. Gold. When she finally manages to find her voice, she squeaks out, "Is that a 500SL?" She's sure she'll be embarrassed about this later, but right now, she can't find it in herself to care.

Regina looks startled. "What?"

Emma clears her throat, and when she speaks again, her voice has returned to normal. "A 500SL. Your car."

"Oh. No, it's a 560SL. The 500 was never released on the American market." Regina's brow furrows, and she seems to be internally debating as she ducks into the driver's seat before she finally asks, "Do you like cars, then?"

After years of never owning anything, Emma has come to the conclusion that when you have nothing, you are fascinated with the unattainable, but she decides it's probably best if she keeps that to herself. As she slides into the passenger seat, she settles on, "They're alright."

Regina eyes her thoughtfully as she buckles her seatbelt and starts the ignition, letting out a noncommittal hum. "So, where to?" she asks.

"Castle Estates."

If Regina feels any surprise at the mention of the neighborhood, her face does an excellent job of hiding it, but Emma could swear she sees Regina's knuckles turn white on the steering wheel for an instant before she is back to her usual exemplary poise. "Alright, then," she says, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, and they lapse into silence.

After a moment, Regina breaks it. "You know, my father restores old cars. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to let you join him in the garage, if you'd like."

Emma tries to keep her eyes from lighting up too obviously, but from the slight curve of Regina's lips, she's pretty sure she fails. She hastily tries to regain some of her trademark aloof disposition. "Doesn't that mean we would be interacting in public? I have a reputation to keep up, you know."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Yes, Miss Swan, I'm sure your public image is entirely untarnished," she drawls, and before, Emma would have thought it cruel, but now that she has learned to notice the way that Regina's eyes glitter with mirth directly after one of her acerbic remarks, it just comes across like a dog depending on its bark to convince people of its bite.

At Emma's huff of laughter, the barely contained smile on Regina's face breaks out into a full-blown grin, and Emma is once again struck speechless at the sight of her when she forgets not to be herself.

You aren't friends, a voice inside her head interrupts with a quiet whisper, and Emma frowns because it's true. They aren't friends, but they aren't enemies, either, and even Emma knows that it doesn't make any sense. (She's ignorant, not dumb, thank you very much.)

Regina politely ignores Emma's sudden change in mood, choosing instead to focus on the road, but finally, Emma can take the burning question in the back of her mind no longer. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Regina lets out a scoff. "I beg your pardon?"

Emma clenches her fists in frustration. "Look, I know I'm not the type of person you'd normally interact with, and I know you never would have noticed me if not for this tutoring thing—"

"I noticed you."

Emma doesn't know where that came from. Judging by the look on Regina's face, neither does she.

The sudden quiet between them is broken only by Emma's, "Oh." It isn't enough, but it's the only thing she can think of to say in response to a revelation of that magnitude.

For her part, Regina stares straight ahead, grip tight on the steering wheel, face blank in that way that she is particularly good at.

Emma knows she should say something besides, "Oh," and even as the words fail her, she can feel herself opening her mouth to bumble her way through whatever happens to come out. Fortunately for them both, Regina mercifully interrupts what was sure to be an embarrassingly inadequate and painfully overly sincere attempt at floundering for the right words.

"We're here," Regina says, and Emma glances in surprise at the Castle Estates sign as they roll by. Briefly, a voice in her mind whispers something about the effect on time from having fun, but she pushes it back and away, and it quiets.

As they turn into the community, the entirety of Castle Estates sprawls out before them, a labyrinthine homage to ostentation and excessive wealth. "Where to from here?" Regina asks, and Emma directs her down the winding streets to their destination, watching the way that Regina's eyes narrow in confusion with each progressive turn closer but not knowing how to ask her why.

"That's the one," Emma says, and as the car comes to a halt by the curb, Regina lets out an odd, strangled sound and goes very, very still.

"You live here?"

Emma knows then that she wasn't imagining the tension on Regina's face earlier or the strain in her voice now. She furrows her brows in confusion, looking between Regina and the mansion looming over them without understanding the connection.

"Yeah," Emma says slowly. "Is that a problem?"

A flicker of unmitigated grief passes over Regina's face, but when Emma turns to see what could have provoked such a reaction, the only thing in Regina's sight is a placard on the column by the private gate reading "White Manor." By the time she turns back to Regina, the look is gone.

"No," Regina says flatly. "No problem at all."

Emma wants to push. It is, after all, what she does best. But when she opens her mouth, what comes out instead is, "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" It isn't a particularly insightful question—obviously they'll see each other tomorrow; they have school—but that's not really what she's asking. She doesn't actually know exactly what she's asking, only that she is holding her breath waiting for an answer that is suddenly critically important.

Regina holds Emma's gaze for a long, protracted moment before her face softens into something that, more and more often, seems to be directed at her. "Of course," she says. "You won't get out of your tutoring lessons that easily."

And with that, bewilderingly enough, Emma can breathe properly again. "Okay, then," she says, and she gives Regina one last look and a smile before getting out and closing the car door behind her.

By the time she makes it up the unnecessarily long driveway to the front door, Emma expects Regina to be long gone, but when she turns to look, she is suffused with an entirely unfamiliar feeling of warmth to find that the car is still idling by the curb, waiting to make sure she makes it inside.

Regina waves, and she waits until Emma gives a half-wave back from the doorway before she drives away, car fading into the encroaching darkness of the night. Emma stares after her taillights as they fade into the distance until finally, they wink out of existence altogether.

There are three things Emma Swan thought she knew about Regina Mills:

1. Regina Mills has perfect grades, perfect hair, a perfect boyfriend, and a perfect life.

2. Despite the aforementioned perfections, Regina Mills is also a colossal bitch.

3. Fortunately, this seeming hatred for everyone and everything does not extend to Emma Swan. Unfortunately, if Regina Mills ever deigned to recognize Emma's existence, it probably would.

In her head, Emma watches as a line is drawn through the third item on her mental list.

A/N: I'm on tumblr ishipitlikeups, but I'm not nearly as active as I used to be because of all the life turmoil (see chapter intro note). Things have since calmed down, though, so hopefully I'll get back to posting more frequently. Feel free to drop in my inbox and message me about the story or anything else, really. I like to talk about pretty nearly anything.