Regina has an in-suite washer and dryer, again far too high-end for someone on a waitress' salary, but Emma isn't about to complain about this convenience. After their light lunch Regina shakes out their clothing and tosses it in the dryer. Seeing her clothing mixed with Regina's feels oddly intimate and Emma finds herself blushing and looking away as the dark-haired woman sets the cycle and starts the machine.

The leather couch in the living area is small but comfortable and Emma sinks into it with pleasure. Regina settles beside her and, still nursing their mugs of tea, they flip idly through daytime television. It's cozy, warm and safe.

Outside the snow continues to fall.

xxx

Regina's eyes wander over the woman dozing on the couch beside her. It's getting dark, night still falling fast on this evening in early February. Blonde hair spills over the back of the couch, lit intermittently by the flickering light of the television.

She'd given up on watching the TV a while ago, probably around the time her blonde friend had slipped off into a light doze. Grey eyes shut and face relaxed, Emma looks young and peaceful. Regina contemplates the sleeping face, the long limbs splayed on her couch, the socked feet propped on her little oak coffee table.

Her pulse flutters as her eyes linger on her friend's body. She has an almost overwhelming urge to reach out, to feel the warmth of the woman beside her. To run her fingers through the golden hair, to brush perfect cheekbones.

But that would be preposterous, wouldn't it? Regina may not have a lifetime of memories behind her, but she's pretty clear on the fact that it would be a violation of the other woman's trust.

But somehow, perhaps of its own volition, Regina finds her hand creeping out. Slowly, ever so slowly. The fabric of the borrowed sweatshirt on her friend's body is warm and soft under her fingers as she traces the sleeve of the garment. Her fingers pick over a seam, then tighten until she's holding a fistful of the material. Her breathing hitches in her throat.

She wants to be closer. She wants to pull the blonde woman to her, wants to feel the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of her breath.

The feeling is overwhelming, and so impossible at the same time that Regina feels desperate tears sting the back of her eyes. Her eyelashes flutter and a frustrated sigh escapes her mouth.

I want...

What does she want?

I want to be close to her. I want to connect with her. I want to feel her, to touch her.

I want her.

Regina's eyes snap open and she forces herself to let go of the bunched fabric in her fist. Pushing backwards, she scrambles clumsily off the couch.

Flustered, and more than a little aroused, she moves to the front window of her apartment. The only light inside comes from the flickering of the television behind her, its quiet drone lost almost entirely as background noise.

Outside the world glows.

After dumping a load of snow the clouds have since moved off, leaving behind a mostly clear sky that is fading fast to a deep, majestic blue. The orange and white lights of the streetlamps and surrounding apartments and businesses cast a glow on the thick blanket of snow.

Down below her the traffic is moving slowly, and Regina can hear the muted noises rising from the street. Vocal sounds of frustration, a honking horn, a man calling out, a child shrieking in excitement or frustration.

Her eyes take in the scene below her, her ears hear the sounds, but none of it registers. Her whole being, her whole soul, is focused on the woman sleeping behind her. If she listens carefully she can hear the soft sound of breathing, and now and then a faint creak of the leather as the woman shifts in her sleep.

Regina watches absently as the color drains from the sky to be replaced with the black of night. The neon Open sign flickers to life on the bar across the street. Gradually her pulse slows, her breathing returns to normal. The sound of the television intrudes on her silence, the evening newscast just beginning.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, Regina turns her back to the window.

The blonde is still sleeping. She's slid down on the couch, slumped such that her head is supported but her bum is about to slip off the cushion. She is surrounded by a cloud of golden hair. The television is casting shadows on her perfect cheekbones.

Regina shakes herself, almost caught in the other woman's spell yet again. She strides across the room and clicks off the TV, then turns on a reading lamp. The room is bathed in a soft, yellow glow.

Sleepy grey eyes blink open to meet her own and a content smile spreads across the blonde's lips. Regina takes a sharp breath as her heart thunders painfully in her chest.

What is happening to me?

Regina forces herself to smile back and then turns away, taking a shaky breath as she moves deeper into the apartment, clicking on lights as she goes. The little green indicator is lit up on the dryer informing her that their clothes are ready. Have probably been ready for hours, while she was content to let Emma snuggle on her couch in borrowed clothing.

She scoops the blonde's clothes out of the machine, absently noting the faint warmth that still lingers, and then turns to her friend.

"Fancy heading out for a bite to eat?" she asks. She is pleased that her voice remains steady, calm, giving away none of her inner turmoil.

Does Emma not sense this? How can she not see how it burns inside my chest? Do I even want her to see?

Regina finds herself half-hoping that the blonde will decline the invitation. That she'll need to head home, to her apartment or condo or wherever she's living, giving Regina a chance to shake off whatever strange thing is happening to her.

But at the same time the idea of a cold, lonely evening causes Regina's heart to sink, and she holds her breath as she waits for the reply.

Emma stands and stretches, not noticing the dark, hungry eyes that trace her lanky body. She yawns, runs fingers through her tumultuous hair, and then nods.

"Sure. There's a great little Mexican place just a few blocks from here."

Regina breathes out.

xxx

Emma leans back and pats her full tummy. She feels rested and content.

The little restaurant is packed, filled with an eclectic mix of diners and servers, live cacti, and a few too many mismatched tables and chairs. On the walls, strings of Christmas lights mingle with sombrero hats and paintings of desert sunsets. Overall it's cheerful, and a little too loud, and Emma wonders if that's why her dinner companion is so quiet. Or if something else is going on.

She's not sure how to ask without risking shutting the woman down even further.

She had debated, while she lay on the couch this afternoon, warm and content in someone else's clothing, if now would be the right time to broach the subject of Storybrooke. Of their history together, their shared son.

But she'd fallen asleep instead, and now she's glad that she didn't say anything because clearly the other woman already has something on her mind. Dark eyebrows are drawn together over distant eyes, while elegant fingers merely pick the food in front of her.

Their waiter glances over periodically, trying to decide if they're finished, and Emma purposefully ignores him. Regina is toying with a piece of taco shell, rotating it round and round in absent circles, her eyes unfocussed.

Emma leans forward and brushes her fingers across a soft wrist."Penny for your thoughts?" she asks gently.

"Hm?" Dark eyes snap into focus and, strangely, a hint of red flushes the other woman's cheeks.

"Not worth that much, I'm afraid," Regina replies ruefully. Then she straightens up and drops the piece of taco back onto her plate. She half-rises and twists to collect her heavy coat and scarf, draped on the back of her chair. "I'm ready whenever you are."

They argue good-naturedly over the bill, finally agreeing to split the cost of dinner, and then they're out on the street.

"There's not much snow left," Regina sighs, gesturing around them.

And she's right. The sidewalks have been shoveled clear and the streets plowed, leaving behind only dirty piles of snow in the gutters and the occasional drift in an unshoveled doorway.

The dark-haired woman seems deflated somehow, heavier, bundled in a thick coat with her gloved hands stuffed deep in her pockets. Her hair is still down and for a moment Emma sees the Regina she used to know, the mayor weighed down by sadness and anger.

This suddenly feels unacceptable and, without stopping to think she wraps her fingers around the other woman's arm. "Come with me," she says.

xxx

It's a little neighborhood park, tucked away behind rows upon rows of brownstone buildings. Emma remembers it from a time years ago when she'd chased someone here, apprehended him in the middle of the night, marched him to a bank machine and demanded her bonds money back.

That night the park had been dark, deserted and slightly eerie. Tonight however it has a whole different feel.

The snow still lies deep in the open expanses between a few scattered trees. A trio of child-sized footprints cut across the park but for the most part the snow is unblemished, pristine. They step carefully, boots sinking deep into the snow, shoulders brushing with every second step. Apart, together, apart, together.

On the far side of the park a man is throwing snowballs for his dog. The sky is dark, leaving much of their surroundings in shadow, and Emma casts a wary eye around them, always on the lookout for danger. Regina is more carefree, less jaded. She stops walking and laughs in delight as the dog dives headfirst into a pile of snow. He emerges a few moments later, tongue lolling, pants of breath steaming the air around his head. The dog pauses, alert, while his owner packs another snowball. And then he's off again, bounding through the snow.

Regina bends down and gathers a handful of the cold flakes. Emma watches her test the texture, watches her compact it between her fingers. She stands and tosses it in the air, watches it come down in scattered chunks of ice and snow.

Then she's moving again, picking her way carefully through the snow, Emma trailing a few paces behind. The man calls his dog, clips a leash onto his collar. They exit the park through a pack of trees. Emma sees a glint of canine eyes in the dark, looking back longingly at the snow, and then the man and his dog are gone.

In the middle of the park Regina comes to a stop. She tilts her head back, looks up at the night sky. Emma comes to her side and stands quietly for a few moments, studying the perfect profile of the woman beside her.

When Regina speaks it is soft, wondrous. "Orion," she says.

"What?" Emma asks.

"Orion," she repeats. "The constellation."

Emma follows the dark eyes that flit across the night sky. Few stars are visible tonight, but apparently Regina sees something in them nonetheless.

"Ursa Major. Ursa Minor will be coming up over there," Regina points to the scraggly trees where the man and his dog disappeared a few minutes before. "And... the Pleiades..."

As her voice trails off, Emma asks softly, "How do you..."

"I don't know!" Regina snaps suddenly in frustration. Her body tenses, her eyes swing meet Emma's, hollow. Lost. Angry. "I don't know how I know the names of the stars. I don't know how I know to how make tea, but not what kind I like. I don't know when I learned to cook. And I don't know why you feel so-"

Regina snaps her mouth shut abruptly and steps away, fists clenched into balls at her sides.

Emma follows her, reaches out a hand which is immediately batted away. She tries again, moves closer. Strong arms push against her shoulders and chest, trying to drive her away. But she won't let that happen. She can't let that happen.

She wraps the other woman in a hug, holding her close.

For a moment it's like holding a molten volcano, an explosion ready to happen. And then, just as suddenly, the fight drains away leaving behind a lost, crying woman. Emma feels a cold nose bury into her neck, hot tears against the collar of her jacket.

She remembers Henry, their son, at a time when he was sad and confused, when all she could do was hang on. And that's all she can do now. She sways gently, rocking the crying woman in her arms.

Gradually the tears slow. She feels Regina take a few deep, ragged breaths, but her face remains buried in Emma's neck. Emma becomes aware of the warmth of the smaller woman's body. The soft breathing against her neck. Warm hips pressed against hers.

She becomes aware of her own heart beating, hard and erratic in her chest. Of the hard lump suddenly heavy in her throat, choking.

Emma pulls away as gently as she can. Dark, teary eyes rise to meet hers, soft and hopeful.

Emma finds her hands climbing, clenching. Wanting to pull the other woman to her. To lose herself in warm curves. In deep brown eyes and in the smell of apples. In the soft smile and gentle innocence.

Emma swallows hard past the lump in her throat. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head faintly in an attempt to clear it. Under the moonlight, knee deep in the snow, stranger things have been known to happen she's sure. Stranger things than falling in love with her son's adoptive mother, a woman who is no more than a fraction of her former self.

Or is it simply lust? She's not sure, but it can't happen either way. If the real Regina were here, the full Regina, she would have been slapped by now. Laughed at in scorn. For what right does Snow White's daughter have to love the Evil Queen?

The panic must show on her face because she sees the dark eyes hesitate, start to cast down and away, and in that moment she reaches out blindly. Brushes the back of a mittened hand along a perfect jaw line. Watches those eyes soften again. Watches the dark head tilt up, red lips begin to part.

I'm going to kiss her. I'm going to lean down and...

This woman doesn't even know she cursed an entire land.

Emma thinks of Henry, of her parents waiting impatiently for her back in Storybooke, and she knows that she can't do this.

"We need to get you home." Six quiet words to shatter the spell. And then more words. "You have work in the morning."

It's for the best, right? This is not part of her mission. Get Regina, get home to Storybrooke. She's just become lost somewhere along the way.

Regina steps back, startled by the sudden change. Dark, hurt eyes dart everywhere but Emma's face. Emma watches several heartbeats of rapidly changing emotions before the other woman's jaw clenches and her thin shoulders take on a firm set. Resolute. More like her former self than Emma would ever have dared to imagine.

Regina steps away, begins making her way stiffly out of the park. After a moment Emma trails quietly behind.