Chapter 25

Regina's frustration with Neal began to grow into something that gave her a permanent twitch beneath her right eye, and eventually Emma had to put a stop to it.

"Regina," she said, watching as she whipped her cell phone against the couch cushions for the eighth time that evening. "What did he do now?"

"He's cancelled Monday's meeting," Regina spat, picking up her glass of wine and throwing its contents down her throat without so much as a shudder. "That took weeks. Weeks. I nearly got Tamara to stake out his studio."

"He's being a douchebag – why don't you just drop him?" Emma asked.

"Because I want him."

"There are plenty of other artists out there, and most of them would kill to get close to you. Why not just—"

"No," Regina said flatly, rubbing at the marks that her glasses had left on the bridge of her nose. "I want him."

Emma really didn't see the appeal. She never had. But she supposed she was looking at the whole thing from a very different perspective, and Regina probably wasn't interested in how low Neal insisted on wearing his jeans if he was still capable of producing good art while doing so.

The problem, though, was that Emma wasn't convinced he was producing good art. She knew guys like Neal, and she knew what a showboat he was. If he was hiding away, refusing to let Regina step foot inside his workshop, then there must be a reason for that. It was unbearable that Regina simply hadn't realised it yet.

"Regina," Emma said softly, shifting towards her and cupping her cheek. "Can you let me try and help?"

It had been a long week, one where they'd spent nearly every evening at some gala or another. Now that Emma had gotten the hang of not punching people whenever they sneered at her over their wine glasses, she found most of the events kind of boring. The only perk was Regina, who right then was leaning into her touch like Emma was the sole reason she was still awake.

"How?" she asked miserably. Emma stroked her thumb over her cheekbone.

"I'll go and talk to him myself," she said. When Regina raised her eyebrows, she added, "Alone."

"The whole problem here is that we can't schedule a meeting with him."

"I know that. I'm not talking about a formal appointment with you and me and too much power dressing. I'm talking about me going to see him by myself and finding out what the hell his problem is."

She tried not to wince as she thought about the way Neal always watched her, always tried to touch her, always joked about how he'd steal her away from Regina if only she gave him the chance. She didn't want to go there alone. But she knew that there was no way he'd turn down a meeting with her, and if this was the one thing she could do to help Regina, then she would do it.

Regina was eyeing her dubiously. "I'm not sure that's going to work."

"Can you at least let me try? I'll ask him if he wants to grab a drink and I guarantee you he'll say yes. If he doesn't, then it's no problem, right? We're just in the same place as before."

Regina sighed, pulling away from Emma's hand to rub at her eyes once more.

"I suppose."

"I'll text him now. And then I'll put my phone away, and we'll forget about this for now and enjoy an evening with Henry. Okay?"

Regina glanced at the clock. It was Saturday, and Henry was due to arrive for dinner any minute. Normally the prospect perked Regina up immeasurably, but tonight she just looked exhausted.

"Fine," she said, waving her hand. She got to her feet and went to get the next bottle of wine.

Shaking her head, Emma pulled out her cell and quickly typed out a message to Neal, asking if he was free for a drink the following day. Without Regina, she added, hating herself for how it sounded but knowing full well it was the only way she would get him to say yes.

Then she put her phone down again, just like she'd promised. She was determined to get Regina to enjoy this evening without worrying about whether he'd replied or not.

The problem was, the second Regina stepped back into the room, a loud buzz came from the coffee table. They both looked down at Emma's phone.

That sounds great. Come to my studio at 7?

Emma sighed. "He might still cancel."

"He won't," Regina said flatly. "You're right."

"Why do you sound so sad about that?" Emma asked, watching as she poured wine into both of their glasses.

Regina shrugged. "It's me he doesn't want to see. That's a bit of a blow, no matter how much I hate him right now."

"I'll talk to him," Emma reassured her, placing a hand on her knee. "I'll find out what his deal is and see if there's any point to this whole thing. And if there's not, I'll be right here to find you someone better. Okay?"

Regina nodded, looking thoroughly miserable. "Okay. But if he's high again, can you at least punch him in the face for me?"

"I promise," Emma laughed.

"Good," Regina said, and then the door buzzed from downstairs. She got up with a sigh and went to wait for Henry outside the elevator while Emma looked back down at her phone.

A slimy feeling crawled up her spine any time she thought about going to see Neal by herself. But she was doing this for Regina, not for anyone else, and it was perhaps the first time since she'd known her that she felt confident she might actually be able to help her. That was enough to push the doubt away for now.

She heard voices outside and went into the hall. When Henry walked in and saw her there, he didn't look remotely surprised.

"Oh, hey Emma," he said, stepping towards her and hugging her around her waist. Emma and Regina both blinked in surprise.

"Hey, kid," she said. "How are you doing?"

"I got an A for that story you helped me work on," he said, referring to the homework she'd spent a whole day doing with him the last time they'd been together.

"That's great," she said, high-fiving him before nudging him towards the kitchen. "What did your teacher say?"

"She said I have a talent for creative writing," he said happily, dropping his backpack in the doorway. Then, after a beat, "Oh, wait. Let me take this upstairs."

He rushed off with his bag, Regina gaping after him.

"That's the first time he's ever done that without me asking."

"Well, you know what they say," Emma said. "63rd time's the charm."

They settled down at the kitchen island and waited for Henry to come crashing back down the stairs. When he did, he hopped up onto the stool next to Regina's. His mom blinked down at him like she thought he'd made a mistake.

"Anyway, my teacher said it was really good and she thinks I should write more stories in my spare time to get even better," he said happily. "Mom and I are going to the zoo again after school this week so I can write about the monkeys. Are we still going, Mom?"

"We sure are," Regina said, hesitating before reaching out to stroke his hair away from his forehead. She was expecting him to flinch away, but he just carried on beaming. "Emma, did you want to come with us to do some hardcore research?"

Emma grinned. "That's okay. You guys should go and have a nice time together."

"But, the monkeys!" Henry gasped, outraged.

"I see enough monkeys from hanging out with you," she said, and Henry glared at both of them when Regina laughed loudly.

"Whatever," he said, the derision dripping from his mouth making him sound every inch like his mother. "Mom and I will go and we'll send you loads of selfies so you can see what you're missing out on."

"Okay, but make sure you put an arrow above the monkeys or something, just so I don't get you confused," Emma said, and suddenly Henry's scarf was being hurled at her face. She squawked loudly while Regina laughed at the pair of them.

"Regina!" Emma whined after dramatically disentangling herself from the striped fabric. "Your son just assaulted me."

"I'm not entirely sure it wasn't justified," Regina said, getting up from her seat and kissing Henry on the top of his head. He let her, still laughing at Emma's overreaction, and Emma remembered the very first time she'd met him: he'd climbed out of Regina's car and refused to return his mother's hug. When she'd kissed his cheek, he'd scrubbed it clean.

"See? I'm the victim here," he said, his cheeks pink from giggling. Emma pressed a hand against her chest, acting wounded.

"You are not."

"I am too. Mom, tell her!"

"I'm not getting involved in this. You're both idiots," Regina said from the fridge.

"You can't call me that, I'm your son."

"That's precisely why I'm allowed to call you that. I've had to put up with you for 10 years, after all."

Henry laughed again. Then, distracted by what his mother was doing inside the fridge, he asked, "What's for dinner?"

Regina paused as she pulled out a few things. "I was thinking we could make garlic bread."

Henry and Emma gasped simultaneously.

"I love garlic bread," Emma said.

"Me too! We never get to have it. Can I help?"

"Ooh, me too!"

"Oh, good. Apparently I have two children now," Regina said, blinking at them with vague concern on her face. "But yes, you can help."

Emma nearly fell off her stool in her rush to get across the kitchen. "What can I do?"

"Good God, Emma," Regina laughed. "You'd think that you've never made this before."

An awkward pause followed, and Regina looked blankly at her. "Don't say it."

"Well..."

"Emma, you're 27 years old. You do know how to cook, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Emma protested. "I've been taking care of myself since I was 12 – I'd be pretty screwed if I hadn't learned how to do that by now."

Henry had arrived between them, looking straight up as he watched their conversation.

"But you've never made garlic bread before?"

"Why would I make garlic bread? You can buy it from the store for, like, a dollar."

"Is that your same attitude to all food? When you say 'I know how to cook', do you really mean 'I know how to turn the microwave on for five minutes'?"

Emma slapped her shoulder. "No, I don't mean that."

Henry giggled from between them. "I don't know how to make garlic bread either."

"You're 10," Regina said, nudging him with her hip. "And I've been putting off teaching you because I'm certain you won't want to eat anything else ever again once you know how easy it is."

Her son's eyes lit up. "Will I be allowed to have it every week?"

"Once a month," she said. "The mac and cheese rules apply."

"What are the mac and cheese rules?" Emma asked.

Henry sighed. "When I started living with my dad, he let me have mac and cheese twice a week until Mom yelled at him."

"Excuse me for not wanting you to have a heart attack at 14," Regina muttered.

Henry ignored her, explaining to Emma, "So now I'm only allowed it once a month."

"I have mac and cheese way more than once a month," Emma whispered. "Don't tell her."

"I can hear you," Regina said.

"Can I come and stay with you?" Henry whispered back.

"We can have a mac and cheese slumber party," Emma said. "With garlic bread. We won't tell your mom. She'll never find out."

"You two need to learn how to whisper properly," Regina said, but she was laughing. "Emma, can you please get out from under my feet and go get the bread?"

"What about me?" Henry asked, rising up on his tiptoes so he could see more of the counter. "What can I do?"

"I'm going to show you how to mix up the garlic butter."

Henry's eyes lit up, and he stepped closer to his mom. Emma watched from several feet away, a smile on her lips. She didn't want to interrupt this moment, not when she knew how long it had taken Regina to cautiously arrive at it, and so she stayed away, her arms folded across her chest as she waited for it to be over.

That moment came when Regina saw her watching and said, "Emma. That bread would be good any day now."

She grinned, going back to her one menial task. Regina obviously didn't quite trust Henry with any of the dangerous jobs yet, so while she was helping him to carefully mash butter, garlic and herbs together with a fork, Emma was left in charge of heating the oven and slicing up the baguette.

The whole process took forever, partly because Henry could barely contain his excitement and kept knocking things over, and partly because Emma and Regina got into another argument when Regina caught her trying to sneak grated mozzarella into half the portions. It was a mess and it was loud and it was probably the most at home Emma had ever felt in her life, and even when Regina was snapping at her that their cholesterol levels were going to spiral because of her insistence that every single recipe needed cheese in it, she couldn't help but grin softly, resisting the urge to kiss her.

Once the bickering had stopped and the bread was finally in the oven, Regina said, "Emma, can you make a salad?"

She and Henry groaned at once. "Salad? Why do we need that?"

"You think I'm going to let you two work your way through a whole loaf of bread for dinner?" Regina asked, gently tapping Henry's scrunched up nose. "Think again, kids."

Emma and Henry exchanged long-suffering looks, but Emma did as she was told, throwing the offending item together while Regina helped Henry set the table.

By the time they came to eat, Emma was filled with a kind of happiness that she'd never really felt before. It was warm and bubbling and she thought that if she smiled too widely, it would spill out of her mouth.

Then she noticed what Regina had put on each of their plates: Emma's had four slices of crispy, gooey garlic bread beside a pile of salad, and Henry's had three. Regina's own, however, just had the one. A small one. The rest of her plate was obscured by the mound of salad she'd heaped on for herself, and just like that, Emma's bubble of happiness popped.

"This is so good, Mom," Henry said, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Regina said, but she was smiling. She looked across the table at Emma, asking with her eyes whether she was enjoying it too.

"Is that all you're having?" was her answer. Regina's smile flickered.

"Mom never eats as much as me," Henry interjected, with the pride of a 10-year-old who had no idea why that might be a problem.

"Take some more, Regina," Emma said, nudging the bowl towards her. "Please."

"I'm fine," Regina said, spearing a tomato with her fork. "I had a big lunch."

Emma knew that was a lie, because she'd been with her at lunchtime and then she'd been claiming she'd had a big breakfast. She pressed her lips together.

"Are you sure we can't have this more than once a month?" Henry asked. Regina looked back at him.

"Quite sure. No one will want to go near you if you're a stinky garlic monster, anyway."

Henry grinned. "I don't care about that."

"Your classmates will. I'm not going to start home schooling you because you refuse to kick your garlic habit."

Henry was laughing, and the moment for Emma to start getting at Regina over her eating habits was gone. For now, anyway.

She smiled at them both and went back to her own dinner, keeping half an eye on Regina's plate as she navigated her way around the one slice of bread she'd allowed herself.

When the door buzzed several hours later, Henry's face actually fell. He wasn't sleeping over that night because his dad was taking him to see his grandparents the next morning, and so at 8pm on the dot, their visit was over. Henry looked at his mother, silently begging her to let him stay.

It was the first time he'd ever done that, and it broke Emma's heart to watch Regina resist.

"Go and get your backpack," Regina said, kissing the top of his head. "I'll see you for the zoo on Tuesday, remember?"

"Right," Henry said, forcing himself to his feet and going in search of his bag. For the brief moment while he was gone, Emma let herself look at Regina, who looked happier than Emma had ever seen her. Something about her normally rigid posture had finally loosened.

"What?" Regina asked, catching her staring.

Emma shrugged. Henry's feet were pounding down the stairs again. "Nothing. You're just cute."

Regina's cheeks turned pink, and she turned away so that Emma wouldn't see her dopey smile. Then Henry was back in the room, and Emma was gathering him up in a hug that was so tight it made him shriek.

"This was fun," she said as she pulled away, holding out a hand for him to slap his own against. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Henry said. "You need to help me with my monkey story."

"I wouldn't miss it," Emma said.

Regina walked past her, trailing her fingertips over her lower back before she reached her son and slid an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Henry. I'll take you downstairs."

They left, and Emma was left alone in Regina's living room, her stomach full and her mouth tasting a little too garlicky for comfort. She briefly wondered if she should run upstairs and brush her teeth before Regina got back, but she was cosy on the couch and, besides, Regina would be back any second. It would be weird if Emma had vanished by the time she returned.

Except she was waiting for close to 10 minutes before she head the elevator doors ping outside. When Regina walked back into the living room, her smile had gone.

"Hey," Emma said, sitting upright. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Regina said, grabbing her empty wine glass and stalking off to the kitchen. Emma froze, not sure whether she was supposed to follow or not. When Regina eventually returned, her glass was only half full, and Emma suspected she hadn't just filled it up that way.

"Regina," Emma said gently, watching as she collapsed onto the sofa as far away as possible. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. Shall we watch a movie?"

"No," Emma said, edging closer to her. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"Nothing h—"

"Regina, I'm not a moron," Emma said, her voice soft enough to take the sting out of her words. "You were happy when you left. What happened?"

She could see Regina's jaw clenching and unclenching, and it looked painful. Emma held her breath, her fingers resting on Regina's knee and gently tracing a pattern through her jeans, as she waited for her to answer.

Eventually, Regina sighed. "It's nothing."

"Tell me anyway."

"He just... He made a comment."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Henry did?"

"No! God, no," Regina said, smiling in spite of herself. "He was so well behaved tonight."

"He really was," Emma said, not letting the subject get steered away. "So, Robin said something?"

A long pause, and then, "Yes."

"About what?"

"About the..." Regina started, faltering. Emma had never seen her like this before, unable to formulate her words or even to meet her gaze. "About the food."

"Don't tell me he complained about the smell," Emma said flatly. Regina laughed, but it was obvious she didn't find any part of this funny.

"No. He asked what we ate, and I told him, and he didn't look very happy. And I asked why, in case he'd already given Henry a big lunch and thought it was too much, or I don't know. But he said I should know better than to be eating that junk at my age."

A crashing noise filled Emma's head. For the first time in her life, she truly understood why people said they saw red before they committed a murder.

"He said what?"

"He's right, really," Regina said, and Emma wanted to reach out and shake her.

"Regina! He is not. You're a young woman who looks great and can eat whatever the hell she wants. What is his problem?"

Regina took another sip of her wine. She still wasn't meeting Emma's eye, which was disconcerting, but at least she was talking.

"I don't know. He's always been like this."

Emma paused, remembering what Henry had told her about him. "He works at a gym, right?"

"Yes. That's how we met, actually."

"He was your trainer?"

"A long time ago," Regina said. "It was before my business took off. I decided to try and get in better shape, and I ended up working with him. He was very good, very motivating. He was also strict, which was helpful for me."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "How strict?"

"The normal levels of strict," Regina said, waving her hand in a complete non-answer. "He helped me a lot and made me feel good about myself, and then eventually we started dating. I had my own personal trainer living in my apartment." She laughed emptily.

"That must have been nice," Emma said slowly. "Having someone tell you what you can and can't eat all day long."

She was expecting Regina to snap at her for that, but she just shrugged. "He wasn't very good at switching off."

"So, what happened?"

"Well. My business started getting bigger, and I had less time for training and cooking. I suppose I must have started to let myself go," she said. Emma scoffed with disbelief, but Regina kept talking. "But Robin was there and he motivated me and helped me focus on improving myself."

Emma paused for a long time before she forced out, "Improving yourself?"

"You know what I mean," Regina said. "He took me out running before work, and cooked the meals so I wouldn't end up eating junk food when I got home at 11pm."

"Okay – so, tell me what he would do if you did eat junk food," Emma said. "Say it was the weekend and you were really craving a cheeseburger. What would happen?"

Regina thought about it. "I guess I would tell him I wanted one, and he would tell me to resist it."

"Resist one cheeseburger every couple of months?"

"That's all it takes, you know," Regina said.

"No, it's not," Emma spluttered. "Also, that's all what takes? You've looked in the mirror, right? You do know how great you look?"

"There's always room for improvement," Regina said quite calmly. "Robin helped me work harder – I trained more and I worked more, and I learned to sleep less and eat less in order to get stuff done. It worked, because my business exploded and here I am. You can't get this wealthy by waking up at noon and going out for McDonald's every night."

"Right," Emma said, her voice completely flat. "And was that enough for Robin?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you were thin and rich and exhausted, was he happy with you?"

Regina's silence answered her question for her. Emma leaned back against the couch, shaking her head.

"Do you like yourself, Regina?" she asked. It sounded like a stupid question, because Regina had the most outrageous self-confidence out of anyone she'd ever known. She knew she was beautiful and she knew the effect she had on any room she walked into. But she also starved herself and refused herself even the tiniest of pleasures. She was convinced everyone hated her, and she wouldn't let herself date anyone unless there was contract protecting her heart from getting broken.

"Of course I like myself," Regina bristled.

"So why does it bother you so much when your ex-husband tells you not to eat bread? Do you know what I'd do if Killian said something like that to me? I'd end him."

Regina chuckled. "I know you would."

"Then why does it matter what Robin thinks?"

"It's not what he thinks that matters so much," Regina rolled her eyes. "It's what everyone thinks. If you told me to stop eating junk, I'd react in exactly the same way."

"But..." Emma said. "That's crazy. You're the most self-assured person I know. You don't care what anyone thinks."

"I don't care if people think I'm rude, or selfish, or any of those things," Regina said. "That's true. But for a long time, my looks were all I had. My mother didn't care much for my personality growing up, but I was attractive and that was almost enough for her. Then my husband seemed to feel the same way. No matter how self-assured I might be… that's still a hard feeling to shake off."

Emma watched her sadly. "Right."

"When I was just starting my company, Robin wasn't happy because I could have been working harder, and then when the business took off and I was too busy to go on date nights with him anymore, he was mad because I'd worked too hard and become better than him. Sometimes you just can't win."

"But..." Emma started, although she had no idea where she was going with that. She was cut off by a despondent wave of Regina's hand.

"Forget about it," Regina said. "It's not important."

"It is important," Emma insisted. "You're a control freak, sure, but it shouldn't extend this far. You shouldn't torture yourself to make yourself feel worthy of happiness."

"I'm not torturing myself."

"Right. You're just starving yourself."

"I am not."

"You eat the bare minimum and only when you know people are watching."

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Regina asked. "I'm fine. Look at me – everything is okay. You don't need to worry about this."

But Emma did, and nothing Regina could say would reassure her.

She hesitated before asking, "Have you ever seen a therapist?"

Regina glared at once. "No, of course not."

"Why's that?"

"Because there's nothing wrong with me."

"There doesn't have to be something wrong with you for you to need therapy. Sometimes people just benefit from having someone to talk to."

There was a pause as Regina rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I don't think therapy is for me."

"I bet a lot of people think that. But it helps."

"You've tried it?"

"Yeah," Emma said, quickly continuing so Regina wouldn't ask more and learn about the court-issued counsellor she'd been forced to see after she'd been released from prison. "And I think it did me some good."

"And what makes you think I need that?"

She was being deliberately difficult, but Emma was more than happy to throw an uncomfortable truth or two at her if it would shock her into listening. "You are incredibly rich, and incredibly lonely, and you have an eating disorder."

Regina nearly choked on her wine. "I do not. Don't be so ridiculous."

"You're obsessive about food and not in a good way."

"I just watch what I eat."

"Every woman watches what she eats. You starve yourself, and then you use your personal trainer as a form of punishment when you think you've failed."

"That's a bit rich coming from the woman with the drinking problem," Regina retorted.

Emma flinched back from her. "Sorry?"

Regina hesitated then, looking a bit ashamed of herself. "I'm just saying."

"Just saying what?"

With a heavy sigh, Regina tried to be a bit more delicate. "You… You drink a lot, Emma. Especially when you're unhappy. And I know I can't really talk, but..."

She trailed off and Emma knew she was supposed to take pity on her, but instead she just raised her eyebrows, waiting for her to finish.

Regina cleared her throat. "The first time you came to my gallery, you were hungover. On our first date, you drank nearly a whole bottle of wine. I always have to remind you not to get drunk when we go to events and… it took me longer than it should have done to realise that maybe it's not normal."

Emma went cold. She'd been dreading having this conversation with Regina for a while, but that was because she'd been expecting her to blow up as soon as Emma questioned her eating habits. What she absolutely hadn't been expecting was an intervention of her own.

"No," she forced out. "This isn't about me. We're talking about you."

"You're deflecting."

"You are."

"Emma, I have just as much right to tell you that I'm worried about you as you do."

"Except you're talking crap. I don't have a problem – sure, I like a drink, but so does everyone, and half the time I'm only drinking because you've just poured me a glass."

Regina raised her eyebrows. "You're really blaming this on me?"

And Emma knew she couldn't – not really. She'd fallen onto whisky long before she'd turned 21, because being numb to the world was so much easier than forcing herself to remember exactly how much it sucked. Now it was just habit, and it didn't matter that she was mostly happy – there were still too many things niggling at the back of her mind, threatening everything she'd managed to achieve for herself, and without letting herself think about it, she'd chosen alcohol as her special way of suppressing it all.

When she didn't reply, Regina bit her lip. "I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm saying it because I'm your friend."

Emma smiled, but it was half-hearted. "I know. That's exactly what I was aiming for too before you totally blindsided me."

"That wasn't my intention," Regina said, squeezing her hand. "I've been meaning to mention this for some time, but then you beat me to it with the eating disorder crap."

"It's not crap," Emma insisted. "It's true."

"Just like what I'm saying is."

"Stop trying to turn this around on me," Emma whined. "This isn't a competition as to who's the most fucked up."

Regina surprised her by laughing. "It would be a close call if it were."

"True," Emma smiled with her. "But, I mean it. I'm your friend, and I have to sit with you in restaurants while you order chicken again and again and again. I just think you should consider doing something about it."

"Why?"

"Because you're the most accomplished person I know, but this worries me. I just want to make sure you're okay."

When Regina didn't respond, she quietly added, "I'm not trying to force you to do anything. I'm just saying it might be worth thinking about."

Regina looked like she'd rather die, but she sighed. "If I say I'll consider it, will you drop the issue?"

"For tonight, sure," Emma said. "But not forever. You can't walk over me like you do everyone else."

Regina smirked at her. "That's definitely not true."

"Yes it is," Emma said, determined to stand her ground. "Just think about it. If not for yourself or for me, then for Henry. He'd probably like to have a mother who doesn't end up in rehab aged 40."

It was a cheap shot, but it worked. She could see Regina's brow furrowing.

"Fine," she huffed. "I'll think about it. But I'm not going to talk about it again until I'm ready to, and if you mention this in the next month, I'll fire you."

"I'll give you a week and no more," Emma said, squeezing Regina's knee. Regina scoffed, her face a picture of cold rejection, but her hand slipped on top of Emma's and squeezed it right back.

"Alright," she replied. "Now, can we finally watch some TV without you wittering on in my ear?"

"Sure," Emma said, settling back with her chest feeling tight. The conversation hadn't gone well by anybody's standards, but at least it had happened. Regina's hand was still grazing over hers, and that was probably the best outcome she could have hoped for.

Regina grabbed the remote and started flicking through Netflix. "I don't want to watch any more Orange is the New Black. It always makes you weirdly tense."

Emma smiled, not responding. Instead, she reached down and made a grab for Regina's feet. Regina didn't resist as they were pulled into her lap.

"How about we finally start Breaking Bad?" Regina asked, wriggling her toes as Emma began to rub her feet.

"Pick whatever you want," Emma said. They had vastly different tastes in TV shows, and she'd learned by now that they were never going to agree on anything. "As long as it's not one of your weird subtitled Japanese shows about the war, I'm easy."

Regina smiled to herself, selecting something and sitting back as it loaded. After a beat, she said, "We'll talk about the drinking again when you're ready."

Emma's hands froze on her feet. She swallowed.

"Okay."

She waited for Regina to say something more, but apparently she was done. It was the most strangely tentative gesture from someone who normally loved nothing better than to push things until they broke.

Emma went back to Regina's feet, slowly rubbing her thumbs against the soles. She barely looked at the TV – she had something more important in her hands, and it needed her full attention.