"I can only have one more drink. I have to be able to drive home tonight."
"Of course. I'll make some tea after this."
Emma sat down in an overstuffed armchair, while Regina fussed around pouring drinks. As she sat watching Regina, she realised the futility of her plans to put some distance between them. Ruby was right. There was a pull between them, the kind that meant that no matter what, they could never just be casual acquaintances. Apathy was not an option. They could be lovers, friends, or even enemies, but as long as they were in each other's orbit there would always be a force drawing them together. It was as inevitable and as irresistible as gravity. The only way to escape it would be to run away, to leave Storybrooke and Regina behind, and when she turned that idea over in her mind, she wasn't sure that she was ready to do that yet.
Despite the minefield of possible complications, she hadn't felt this whole, this together in a long time, maybe ever. She had a job that she was enjoying, and she'd formed genuine connections with people, something she'd never really allowed herself to do before. Storybrooke was filling holes that she'd never realised existed, and she wasn't ready to give that up yet.
Emma was disturbed from her reverie, Regina's fingers brushing hers as she handed her a glass of the sherry. Trying to distract herself from the reaction this casual contact provoked, Emma smiled up at Regina and said, "Of course you have sherry glasses."
Regina raised an eyebrow. "Were you expecting me to hand you a chipped 'I heart New York' mug instead? What kind of savage do you think I am?"
Emma laughed. "That's more my speed. And, I'll have you know that I only give that mug to honoured guests. It's one of my most prized possessions, stolen from the staffroom at my first teaching job."
Emma grinned as Regina rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So you can add petty thief to your long list of accomplishments, then?"
Emma pouted. "You wound me. I'm no petty thief, I assure you. Maybe I'll tell you the story of Tim the Beaver some day, otherwise known as the greatest heist of all time."
Regina kicked off her heels and curled up on the sofa opposite her, wriggling stockinged toes and sighing in obvious relief and pleasure. Emma was surprised by how relaxed Regina suddenly seemed, how homely this all felt.
Emma took a slow, measured sip of her drink. She smiled a little wistfully as the thick richness of the wine coated her tongue. "I love this stuff. It tastes like liquid Christmas. Or at least what I've always imagined Christmas would taste like if distilled into its purest essence. I don't really have many good memories to draw from."
Regina looked at her, eyes brimming with sympathy. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must have been, what your life was like."
Emma distractedly peered at her drink, swirling the gold-brown liquid, watching it coat the sides of her glass. She spoke, surprising herself with how much she was willing to share with Regina.
"This time of year was always the hardest. The kids at whatever school I happened to be at that month would be so excited about Thanksgiving and Christmas. More often than not, I'd be in a group home – families often get too busy to want a foster kid around for Christmas, and I'd be shunted off to spend the holidays with a new group of strangers, get a generic Christmas gift from a charity. A few years I spent with foster families, but it usually wasn't a great time. People drink too much, say things, do things that they might not do other times of the year. One year I ran away, spent a few weeks on the streets. I didn't like the way their eldest son looked at me, and my instincts told me to get out of there while I could."
"I'm sorry that you had to grow up like that." Emma could tell that Regina felt the words were inadequate, but she appreciated the sentiment behind them.
Emma shrugged. "It wasn't all bad. I also met some really decent, caring people who helped keep me on the right track, who helped a lot of other kids."
They sat in companionable silence for a little while, sipping their drinks, before Regina finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, tentative, and Emma sensed that it took a lot for her to reveal this much of herself.
"I'm afraid that I won't be the mother that Henry deserves. My mother was…" she hesitated for a moment. "My mother was not a kind woman. I don't want him to grow up thinking of me like I thought of her, questioning her love, resenting her."
Emma shook her head. "No. What you've given Henry is the greatest gift. Love. A family. A home. He could never think that about you. He knows you love him and he loves you."
Regina was silent, eyes fixed on her drink, clearly holding back tears.
Emma continued. "You know, I found out when I was a little older that there was a family who had planned to adopt me. I was with them until I was almost four. I don't really remember much about that time; I was too young. But I know for a little while that I was loved, secure, and I still kind of remember what that felt like. And then that feeling was taken away from me because they unexpectedly got pregnant, and didn't want to keep me when they could have a child of their own."
Regina looked horrified. "How could they do that?"
"I don't know. For a while, I thought there must be something wrong with me. And then I spent a lot of time wondering how my life could have been different if they had kept me. I ended up just bouncing around the foster system, and the older you get, the less likely you are to be adopted, because people really do think there must be something wrong with you. Henry's lucky that you saved him from that possibility." Emma smiled grimly, the wounds of her childhood still a little fresher that she would have liked.
Emma shook herself. "I'm sorry. Now I'm being incredibly maudlin. You don't need to hear all of this - I'm supposed to be cheering you up."
Regina looked at her with an expression she couldn't read. "No, I'm glad you shared this with me. Earlier, you said I was your friend. Maybe you were joking, but I hope that you meant it, that we are friends."
Emma drained the last drop of her drink. "I did mean it. You now know things about me that very few people know." These experiences, these feelings, they were things she hadn't shared with anyone before, and she was surprised at how easy and how natural it had felt to talk about them with Regina.
"Would you like me to make some tea?"
Emma thought about it for a moment, before declining. "I wish I could stay a little longer, but it's getting late, and I have an early start tomorrow." It was true. She did have a before-school softball practice to run in the morning. But it was also true that she was afraid of how much she might let slip if she stayed any longer.
Regina nodded. "Of course. I've kept you far too long for a Monday night."
She was polite about it, but Emma thought she could detect a hint of disappointment.
Regina walked her to the door, and they stood there, Emma fidgeting, not quite knowing what to do with herself in this situation. She hadn't read the manual on how to say good night to a colleague/friend you had complicated feelings for at the end of a not-date. What was the etiquette here? A handshake? A jaunty wave? A hug? A hug felt too dangerous, too loaded with possibilities.
She figured she'd start with the basics. "Thank you for dinner, Regina. I know the kid conned you into inviting me and you didn't have to do it, so I really appreciate it. The food was wonderful, and so was the company."
"I'm glad you came." Regina stepped forward, pulling Emma into a hug. The hug was awkward at first, Emma stiffening in surprise, but then she relaxed, allowing her arms to snake around Regina's back, drawing her closer.
As they stood there, Emma couldn't help but catalogue the minutiae of this moment. The way that Regina in stockinged feet was unexpectedly quite a bit shorter than her, and as a result, Regina's chin was at the perfect height to rest on her shoulder. The way that Regina's breath tickled the side of her neck. The softness of Regina's cheek against hers. The way that the subtle spiciness of Regina's perfume, understated and no doubt expensive, enveloped her senses. The smooth, cool material of Regina's dress under her hands, and the way that she could feel the light flex of muscles in Regina's back. The way that their bodies fused together at a thousand different points, fitting together like two halves of a whole. The way that her own heart was thudding so quickly, so hard, that she was certain Regina must be able to hear it.
After what seemed like both an eternity and an infinitesimally short amount of time, Emma realised that she had been holding Regina a little too long and a little too closely for it just to be a casual friendly hug at the end of a casual friendly dinner between colleagues. And then she realised that Regina hadn't moved to end it either. Emma reluctantly stepped backwards out of the embrace uncertain of how much she had revealed, how much the unconscious yearning of her body had betrayed her.
Emma was surprised by how intimate this felt. She'd slept with enough people that by now she'd stopped counting, and yet she'd never felt quite this undone, this exposed with any of them. She felt more naked now, fully clothed, than she ever had skin-to-skin with any of the men or women she'd had sex with.
Emma looked up and met Regina's eyes. Regina was wearing that soft half-smile that Emma had very quickly learned was so rare and so precious, looking at her with liquid dark eyes and an expression that she suspected was the mirror image of her own. Emma drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly incredibly nervous. This wasn't one-sided at all.
Time seemed to slow down, although Emma couldn't have said which one of them took the first step forward. Regina's hand came up to tangle in her hair, before tracing her jawline and coming to rest on her shoulder. Emma's eyes fluttered shut, sighing with pleasure. She'd never wanted anyone with quite this intensity before. When she opened her eyes again, Regina was close. So close, she could feel Regina's breath, suddenly quickened, hitting her face. So close that the swell of each breath created a minute point of contact, a bridge between Regina's chest and her own, before it receded with each exhalation. They stood there for a moment, gazes locked, the air between them heavy with possibility, neither moving to close the gap. This was really happening.
Regina's hand moved to the back of her neck, and Emma tilted her head forward, and there was only a hair's breadth between their lips, when the sound of Henry calling for his mother from upstairs brought them crashing back to earth. Regina pulled her hand back like she'd been stung, stepping backwards, and Emma found herself suddenly leaning into empty space, missing the contact.
Regina looked at her with wide eyes, a hint of panic colouring her voice. "You need to leave. Now. This cannot happen. Do you understand me? This, whatever this is, absolutely cannot, will not happen."
Regina bundled her out the door hastily, and before she even knew what was happening, she was standing on the doorstep, staring at the closed door in front of her. And the Emma Swan she'd always known herself to be, the one who rarely stayed for breakfast, and certainly never did relationships, wasn't sure whether to be relieved or devastated.