Coffee To Go: Chapter Twenty-Eight

I don't own Once Upon A Time.

Please enjoy.

I went through every. Single. Scenario. Every one of them in my mind. Maybe Regina was playing her mother. Getting information from her, pretending she was on Cora's side, fooling her somehow. Regina was scared. Regina was plotting.

But the truth was, Regina was a smart, capable, fierce woman and I had known that from the start. The truth was that I had lost. Lost what? I didn't know. Regina, obviously, for one. Whatever had been going on with Cora, second. But over all that…it's stupid to admit. It is. But I'd lost that little something that meant I, god it's all a mess in my head I didn't even know how to describe it. I'd just lost it.

People were talking about me. I knew there was plenty of gossip flying – no doubt about why I had a grim look on my face, why I stomped around, why I wasn't friendly anymore, why I gave people blank glares when they flirted with me over alcohol at the bar. So far I'd heard all kinds of things. According to some, I had contracted a disease. I was sick. I was a robot and I needed some new parts. I had killed someone and I'd covered it up with my position as deputy but I was suffering from a guilty conscience. That one was my favourite.

Graham wasn't gossiping, or even asking me about it. I guess from my grey face and red eyes he knew what had happened. It was probably confirmed when Henry went on and on and on and on about how much fun he had with Gina…and I just sat there and nodded.

"Everything alright?" he'd asked me when I wandered in for my shift.

I shook my head. "No."

A hum. Then a nod. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not at all." I tried a smile out for size but it felt wrong. I shrugged. "I just want to do my work. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And hey, don't worry," I said, forcing a laugh. "Tonight when I feel less shitty you can say 'I told you so'." Painful as it was, I met his eyes and shrugged. "Won't that be fun?"

"I never wanted to," he said quietly.

"Yeah." And then, clearing my throat, "I'm going on patrol," I said brusquely. "See you tonight."

Ruby wasn't much better. Three days after It happened, she was hovering over my coffee. Waiting. I looked up from the drink – at that point in time it felt like the only thing keeping me awake – and cocked a brow.

"Can I help you?"

"You look like shit," she said immediately. She wiped the bench with a towel when Granny shot her a look.

"Oh thanks." I hunched my shoulders a little more. "Just what a girl wants to hear."

Ruby hummed apologetically. Then, when I was about to drink, she nudged me excitedly. "I've got it. Ooh, sorry," she winced, noticing the spill. "Let me get that." I sat patiently as she wiped up the mess. "Sorry, sorry. Okay, so I've got a plan."

"A plan?"

"A plan. To get you back in your mayor's pants. Whatever she did to kick you out is probably bogus so if you-"

"Nope." I took a long draught of the liquid. I tried to forget that everything about it reminded me of Regina because if I did, I would have to swear off it and, like it said, it was keeping me going. "Not going to happen."

To Ruby's credit, she took that at face value and ran with it. "Okay then, different plan. Girls night. Me, you, and Belle. It'll be fun. We can drink and dance and forget everything crap that's going on." She nudged me again and didn't even blink as she mopped up the ensuing spill. "Sorry again."

"You're giving me a free refill, okay? Because you keep spilling my coffee and I don't appreciate it. And as much as I love you, being a third wheel is so not appealing right now." I had just been joking but when her face lit up as bright as her name, I just had to grin at Ruby. "So you made a move, did you?"

"I, um, well there was this…" She blushed again. "Yeah."

"And?"

"She's perfect," Ruby breathed. She leant against the counter, resting her cheek on her hand. "She's smart and funny and beautiful and totally perfect in every way." She heaved a love-sick sigh. "So what do you think? Threesome with me and Belle?" I slapped her arm and she clutched it, laughing. "Come on, Emma. Girls night tonight. It'll be fun."

"Sorry, Ruby," I pleaded out. "I'm gonna spend some quality time with Henry and then I have work. Maybe another night."

I didn't like the knowing look she was giving me but I allowed it. She gave the counter another wipe down as she considered her words, biting her lip thoughtfully. "Look, Em, I don't mean to pry but what happened with Regina, whatever it is, it sucks. I get it. Just don't forget that you've got a lot of people in your corner and we don't want you to work your life away and never do anything fun or put yourself out there again." Her voice was soft and she pushed a little harder at a persistent stain with her towel. "We love you, alright?"

"Yeah." I threw back the remainder of my drink, nevermind that it was scalding, and gave her a smile. "Thanks Ruby. Girls night soon," I said and fled. It wasn't that I was annoyed or upset with the sentiment. On the contrary, I was glad. It was nice to know that I had people with me who were on my side no matter what the story was. But those words 'we love you'…I couldn't help but feel they were hollow. Because who could, right? Graham, sure, but we'd grown up together and we'd been forged in the same heat, tempered by the same troubles, clashed and broken and remade ourselves and each other more times than I could count. We were family and I would always be thankful for that. Ruby. She was new. She was vibrant and curious and lovely. But she didn't know me. Regina knew me. I'd told Regina things, I'd broken down in front of her and shown her those soft parts of me where it would hurt the most and she'd used them so for now, as much as Ruby's friendship meant, those little wounded parts were going to be carefully hidden away and kept safe. And if by the time I came out, my armour was rusted over or it hurt to peel away those layers then so be it.


The first coffee arrived. It sat on my desk so casually that I reached for it and almost sipped from it without thought. Graham, probably, had put it there. I was tired from my nightly shifts at the bar and coffee was coffee, no? Coffee was still sharp and bitter and hot and brown and god dammit it was still every part of it those things that had reminded me of Regina in the beginning. I hesitated before drinking and it was in that moment, that tiny little hesitation, that I saw it. The little square of paper sitting so innocently in the centre of my desk.

'Enjoy the coffee' was the first line. It was in a hand I recognised and I froze. I lowered the cup from my mouth, hand shaking, and dropped it into the bin. Next was the note. There was more written on it, more than the presumptuous 'enjoy the coffee' but I didn't read it. I tore it from my desk and flung it into the bin as well. Then, not even a minute after I had come in, I grabbed my jacket and stormed out.

"I'm on patrol today," was all I said. Graham nodded.


"Forgive and forget," were Mrs Beechley's cracked words. She liked to sit on her back porch in the afternoon sun and let it warm her. She said it helped. Her hip was stiff now – being broken didn't agree with it.

"Really? Forgive and forget? That's the advice you're giving me, Olive."

"Oh hush. It's not my advice." She sipped her tea. "My mother in law used to say it."

"Everyone says it. It's not exactly a new piece of advice."

She looked over at me from the corner of her eyes. "Look how nice my tulips are turning out." Mrs Beechley pointed them out. "They've recovered now from when your dog trampled all over them."

"He wasn't my dog then and I think you did the most damaged when you threw a lawn chair."

"You exaggerate, my dear. I'm old. I couldn't possibly throw a chair." Another sip of her tea. I hummed something that might be an agreement, and might be a refusal to agree because I know what I saw and I know that I saw her throwing a lawn chair at that darn dog. "She never forgot a thing," she continued. "My mother in law," she added when she saw I had fallen behind. "Forgive and forget. She would let us all forgive one another and then when we least expected it she would bring up some long forgotten feud and let us fight it out." Mrs Beechley shook a finger at me, a great laugh breaking out of her in short bursts, each one shaking her shoulders. "Forgive and forget. Truly. It'll spite that horrible woman. I almost regret marrying my husband, getting her in the package."

"No you don't." She didn't. She had told me so much about her husband in the last few weeks since we really started talking that even if each word was dunked in vitriol, I knew it was secretly spoken with great fondness.

"No, I suppose not," she sighed. "So that woman of yours. She's hurt you." I didn't nod. She didn't need me to nod, no one would have. It was written all over me in an ill-kept appearance and hollow eyes. "Will you forgive her?"

I stared out at the garden for a long time. It was beautiful. The air was taking on a chilled edge and the sun chased it away just enough. It was gold on green and purples and reds here, in this haven of hers.

"I'd like a garden like this one day," I said. She didn't push me for an answer.

I left her after a while and made my way back to the station. It was the second day and a second cup of coffee was sitting on my desk. I dropped it where it belonged in the bin and its post-it note along with it. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop myself from reading the first few words and my heart stopped with the 'I'm sorry'. It was written with firm, deep presses of the pen and I imagined, for a moment, that she had agonised over them. Taken her time to write them out. Neatly, smoothly. I wondered how many times she'd rewritten it. I wondered how long she'd thought about what words to use.

Finally, I thought, she realised that I had been right. She was free of her mother if she was sending me notes and buying me coffee. She'd contacted me. I touched the edge of the note, staring blankly at the wall opposite my desk. She was giving me coffee and notes. She was saying 'I'm sorry'.

I tried to make myself feel something other than sad. I managed a brief anger but that too faded.

I dropped the note into the bin.

"Are you staying at home tonight?" Graham asked, dropping onto the couch. I startled myself and sent the pen I was holding flying to the side. I collected it with a grumble.

"No."

"I'm sure Henry would-"

"Don't," I growled in warning. "Henry doesn't know so don't try and use him against me."

"Have you talked to him about it?" I didn't say anything. "Because every time he brings her up, you flinch and sooner or later he's going to want to see her."

"I'll figure it out." Rubbing my eyes with my knuckles did absolutely nothing to chase away the bone-deep exhaustion that dragged at my limbs. "I'll figure it out," I said again, more quietly. I knew that I would. It would take some time and a few more sleepless nights, more long work hours, and maybe one good day of drinking when I knew that Henry was being looked after and there was no way he would walk in on me while I was shitfaced. I would talk to him and I'd explain it all – I might leave out the part where I wasn't good enough for her, that I was a no good nothing and not worth the dirt on her shoes, that I belonged somewhere and it wasn't with her…I would explain it to him but not like that.

"Everything is going to be okay, Emma," Graham said to me. I was glad that he didn't try to touch my arm or my shoulder or anything like that in an attempt to be supportive. I felt like my skin was barely holding me in, like everything inside of me was stretching, pushing in all these different directions, and my too-thin skin was trying to hold everything in place. It felt like only a matter of time before something broke and I knew that if he did, if he tried to hold me up, it would just tear me apart and who knew how long it would take to stitch me back together again?

"Thanks. Hey, if you're going out, will you grab me a coffee?" His eyes moved to the one in the bin.

"What's wrong with that one?"

"Cold," I said. It had probably been sitting on my desk for hours. "Pretty please?" I asked my brother, batting my eyelids.

"Fine. But I have a demand." I nodded. "I'm calling your boss. You're doing a half shift tonight." It didn't take much thinking to agree to that – I needed coffee desperately right now and I'd worked every night this week at the bar.

"Deal. Make mine a large. Double shot."

"Yes ma'am."


If Graham noticed the daily coffees and notes, he didn't mention them. They were always there, though. When I came in for the morning shift, they would be there in the very centre of the desk. My note would be next to it. After a time I became used to just sweeping them aside. My bin was probably familiar with it too.

Everything else was routine at this point as well. Mornings – coffee and a note I never read. Then work – with Graham or with Leroy, depending on the day. I lost myself in endless, mind numbing paperwork or paper basketball with Graham. That was good. And then I gave myself over to the repetition of nailing and sawing and building with Leroy, pushing and pulling and lifting, and that was good too. The afternoons I spent with Henry. He either had a short memory – maybe I should get that checked out? – or he realised that Regina was a no-go topic for the moment because after the first few days, he stopped mentioning her. Nights were at the bar. The patrons learnt that I didn't do flirting. Or, for that matter, smiling. Much. Sundays remained Henry's day. I roused myself enough to be completely present for the sake of my son but the other days I was a ghost, I felt like a ghost, I was a shimmering mirage wandering through the town – present enough to be seen and to talk but just slightly askew, like an echo. And I thought again and again with a touch of bitter humour that Graham had been right no matter how much he refused to say I told you so. Regina would break my heart. She was mean, he told me. I guess he was right.

Enough was enough, Graham decided one day. At least, that's what I assume he had decided because he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to my work chair. He pushed me down in front of it and took the coffee and note before I could throw them away.

"Enough is enough," he said. "I'm sick of this moping and depressed Emma. I love you, you know that, but this has got to end."

"Graham," I tried to interrupt but he glared at me and I shrunk back in my head.

"Enough. I don't know everything that happened and while I'm inclined to believe that Regina was a bitch," I rankled at that despite everything and he nodded, "see? You still feel something." Did I? I searched for it. "And she's trying to fix it. The only other person I know who is crazy enough to buy coffee every damn day is you so if you would get your head out of your ass and just read the damn notes, please, so you two can either make up or break up completely, I'd appreciate that."

"Read them? I threw them all away," I told him. Crossed arms and leaning back with a smirk felt like victory.

"Nice try. I saved them." He dumped the pile of notes – she had started giving me longer ones, handwriting crossing a few of the paper squares, in the last couple of days – in front of me. "They're in order. I'll be in my office. I'm watching you." He backed away slowly. "Emma?" I looked up at him, tearing my eyes away from the hoard of paper. "I just want you to be happy and," he scratched at his stubble. "If she's it, if she's the one you want, all I want to do is help. Whatever you agree to do, I'll back you up."

Swallowing didn't do anything to get my words past the lump in my throat so I just nodded and he, uncharacteristically, darted forward to kiss my forehead.

"Okay. Get to work, Swan. No lolly-gagging."

I stared at them for a while. I'm not sure how long. It felt like…it felt like the second I touched them for real, without the sure motive of throwing them in the trash, then I'd be inviting something into me that I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with.

I don't think I was ready to relent.

Blinking my way out of my thoughts, I realised that one of my hands was waiting, shaking, an inch away from the pile. I forced it to complete its journey and my fingers curled around the edge of the first slip.

Enjoy the coffee, it read. I tried to get your favourite but I realised that while you knew my coffee order I didn't know yours. I hazarded a guess. I didn't dare ask Ruby – she was watching me very carefully and I will admit to a small amount of nerves.

I smoothed that note down onto the desk and frowned. I reached for the next.

I'm sorry. I remembered reading that. My eyes devoured the next words. Was it the wrong coffee? Is that why you didn't call me? Disbelief. This was not the apology I had waited for. Had I been waiting for it? If I had been, that would not have sufficed. I reached for the next.

I'm sorry, it read again. It's not the coffee. I can't believe I wrote that. It was a note a day, I recalled. Which meant what? That Regina had agonised over having written that and berated herself when I didn't call? Again. Or maybe it wasn't agonising at all but just a fleeting thought. Then I'm sorry was written again, in deep impressed letters. Slow and heavy. They sat still inside of me but kept to themselves, hardly pressing against my innards. I drummed my fingers on the edge of my desk, debating whether I should continue, but there was still a considerable pile to work through and I knew Graham was watching me. I reached out mindlessly and sipped at the coffee.

It was perfect. Perhaps Regina had asked Ruby. Or maybe she had gotten my order right from the beginning. The coffee made me close my eyes and I tilted my head back, eyes closed. Did I even dare go on? The notes didn't seem to suggest that Regina hated me or thought less of me but what if they did? What if they said something I didn't want to read?

The next note was in my hand. I ran my thumb over the edge again and again, sipping slowly at my drink. Emma. It started with my name. It was like she knew – of course she couldn't have known but if she had known – this was where I would get stuck. I wouldn't get any further unless she called to me, beckoning, her voice curling over my name so sweetly. The memory of that voice so cold, in comparison, slid itself insidiously to the front of my mind and I hated it hated that memory so much that I forced my eyes open again and made myself read. Anything to rid myself of that.

Emma, I miss you. I was wrong.

More.

I don't want to write everything down where anyone could read it. I'm sorry. I'm selfish like that. Hidden. You don't deserve that. I wish I could say that was the reason I did what I did that night – I did it because I'm hidden. It's a lie. This was a long note. I clung to every word. I did it because I was afraid and because I was looking for something and because I've never been very good at making choices by myself. Please call me.

More.

I wish you were here with me. I'm writing this at night. I can't even wait until morning when I buy the coffee. You are sorely missed. It's all my fault, I understand that. You must believe me when I write that. No. You mustn't do anything. I hope that you believe that. I very much miss the feel of your hand in mine and your smile and your eyes. Your warmth. Both body heat and the way you make me feel like I'm encompassed by your arms, safe and at peace, just from a single glance.

More.

I can't believe I wrote 'body heat' in the last one. I snorted. It had been a little odd. You probably aren't even reading these. I wrote body heat, can you believe that?

More.

Yesterday was terrible. I miss you.

More.

I said I didn't want to write everything down in such a concrete thing as pen and paper but maybe I have no choice. And perhaps, as I believe, you aren't even reading these. Most likely you're throwing them out. Am I right? I was scared, Emma.

More.

I'm sorry. This one felt heavier. They were the only words on the page. A few dotes after told me that she'd put nib to paper to start again, to write something more, only to stop. Again. And again. This one felt bigger. This one pushed at the edges of me and begged me to acknowledge it. Maybe because it came after the others and I felt myself slowly weakening, letting her words in even though I knew I'd never get them out again. Maybe because it felt like she might, might, mean it.

The last person you want to hear of, other than myself, is no doubt my mother. I asked her to leave. I thought you should know that.

I was so, so scared. And hurt. I pretend Emma so much that sometimes I forget that I am not invincible and not invulnerable to damage. To her. My mother. She gets beneath my skin and after a time I feel…different. Like a puppet, sometimes. A mouthpiece. Other times I get so angry, furious really, and I never know whether it is directed at her or at myself. This time I directed it at you and that was wrong. I'm sorry. Please. Give me a chance to say it in person. Eventually?

Over and over her black lettering filled these notes and when I closed my eyes, exhausted yet again by this, those letters and words were all I could see. Sometimes I saw flashing lights a universe behind my eyes and now that universe was Regina and her words and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I wish there were some way to make up for this. I'm laughing at myself – not truly laughing, I haven't done that since you left. Since I made you leave. Since I stupid, stupid, stupidly told you to leave – because nothing short of the stars would do. All of the ocean. Would you enjoy that more? You could leave me to the mercy of the octopi. A tempting offer.

I remembered this morning making breakfast for you and Henry. It doesn't matter how scared I was. I regret it. Never having the chance to do that ever again is heart-wrenching.

I half expect you to beat down my door, you realise? You have always been so strong and so assured in everything you want and it hurts to know that the reason you aren't here is because you don't want me anymore. I deserve it. I understand.

I understand. You don't want me anymore. I deserve it. You don't want me. You don't want me. You don't—I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to tear it all apart. The notes, throw the coffee splash it against the walls, rip the door from its hinges, throw the world on its head. How could she not know? She was all I had wanted. Henry had been a given, Graham too, by my side. But a family and a place where I belonged had always and forever been what I wanted and she was, had been, a part of that. How could she not realise that? And this last note sounded so final, so defeated, but what was I to do? I didn't want to go to her and I didn't want to have to prove anything to her because when was it my turn? Maybe I wanted her to come to me and tell me that I was wanted. That she wants to hold me in her arms and selfishly, deliriously, never let me go. That I make all the crooked pieces in her heart line up and that I make crappy mornings less crappy. That she'd gladly fight with me just to make up afterwards and that we could spend all the days in forever together and it still wouldn't be enough. And maybe that was extreme, it certainly felt that way in that rolling, sweeping, help me before I'm taken under and drowned kind of way. But I just wanted her to pound on my door and tell me that she wants me. Just me. As I am.

I put the notes in my desk drawer. I put the empty coffee cup in the trash. Then I stood, shrugged into my jacket, and knocked on Graham's door.

"I'm taking the rest of the day," I said quietly.

He looked over my face and whatever he saw made him nod. "Okay. I'll get Henry from school this afternoon. We'll make it a guys night."

"Tell him I love him."

"Will do." I made to leave when he opened his mouth. "Look after yourself," he added quietly. "And let me know if you need me to pick you up. I'll keep my phone on me."

I don't plan on drinking. In fact I don't plan on doing anything at all. But he doesn't know that and I'm not about to turn him down in case I do find myself stumbling into the bar and drinking my dizzying thoughts down one after the other. I just nod, thank him, and tear out of there.

I'm knocking on Mrs Beechley's door before I realise that I'm driving – probably not good. I wouldn't even know if I'd hit someone on the drive over or blown through any red lights or sped – and I wait patiently until she answers the door. Broken hip. Chick moves slowly.

"Deputy Swan. Did you get a noise complaint?" she asks. I think for a moment about making something up and shoving my way in, like I do sometimes just to rile the woman up. It's all in good fun. But this time I just rock back on my heels and smile.

"No. Actually, I was wondering if I could…" I scratched the back of my neck. "Gardening?" I spat out. "Can I do some gardening?"

"I'd never turn away helpful hands." She shuffled out of the way. "And I'm not as spritely as I used to be. It's hard to get those weeds by the fence. Come in, come in."

Half an hour later, dirt beneath my nails, sun on my back, I felt a lot more grounded than I had. It was easier to breathe.

"Did you forgive?" she asked me. I shook my head no. "Did you forget?" I sat back on my heels and chucked some weeds in her direction.

"No."

"Well you don't listen very well," she hurrumphed. "Two things. Two things I told you to do and you couldn't do either of them. Of course, I don't know what happened but I still think you could take my advice. I'm very old, you know," she said.

"I know."

"I've lived a long time."

"Yes, I know."

"I do know a few things and I know that as angry as they might make you, a partner is worth it."

"Do you want to?" I asked. "Know what happened?"

She folded her hands on her lap and narrowed those beady eyes at me. "Depends. Do you want to talk about it? I'm not wasting my precious energy trying to pry words from you."

"You want to hear it or not, woman?"

"Fine."

"Fine." I yanked another weed from the garden. "Her mother was a crazy ass bitch. She was running around ruining Regina's life and I told her to stop or I would stop her. I told her to tell Regina what she'd done. Ask for forgiveness, you know?" I yanked on another weed, grunting when the roots held. A firm tug brought it and a faceful of dirt out of the ground. "She did tell Regina but I was listening and she just, she twisted everything, turned shit on me. I should've done it myself. I just…it would have broken her heart, you know? I couldn't do that."

"You didn't want to. Love is hard sometimes."

"I don't love her," I denied firmly. I felt her eyes on the side of my face, watching. I frowned at her garden. "I don't. She kicked me out of her house – she listened to everything her mother had done and decided I was the problem? Yeah, I'm totally the parasite. I'm trying to help her and she decides I'm not good enough. I'm lowborn and trashy and too teenage-mom, foster-kid, good-for-nothing loser for her." Each word was punctuated with a yank, a pull at the thorned plants, until the space was cleared and it felt like I'd accidentally shredded her gardening gloves in my anger.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you all those things?" She shifted in her seat. "Trashy? A loser?"

"No," I said hesitantly.

"No," the older woman agreed. "And I'll ignore the way it seems like you want to say yes because I've never seen a young woman with more spunk than you. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Emma, and a good heart. Now, I'm going to ask you again and you can take as long as you want to answer because I've plenty of weeds for you to pull while you think about it. Are you ready?" I nodded. "Do you love her?"

I opened my mouth to deny it but she held up her hands silently and pointed to the next patch of weeds.

"Get to work. I'll be taking a nap inside." She tottered back in, waving me away when I moved to help her.

After a little while I settled back into the garden. That had been the reason I'd come anyway. Leroy didn't want me today – too tired to function wasn't something he was willing to risk on a construction site – and gardening was something good. Settling. I was no good at the growing part of it but weeding? It used to be a punishment I'd get a lot at my foster homes but eventually it hadn't felt too much like one. I used it to clear my head. Not to think. Thinking was hard. But clearing my head meant that I could shuffle through all the negative shit relatively easily and release the numbing hold I had forced on my organs – my heart in particular relished being allowed to beat again, sending tiny little painful thumps through my chest as it sounded out Regina, Regina and my stomach twisted and churned.

Eventually, garden cleared, I settled onto the back steps and peeled off the gloves. I looked at my hands. The gloves had definitely been too thin for the job and didn't cover enough of the wrist. Tiny little dots of pain – from the thorns – covered my palms and I ran my thumbs over each hand to ease the pain. It forced red dots out and I moved to the outdoor tap to rinse them.

"So?"

I jumped. "Dammit, Beechley," I swore, glaring at my friend/old nemesis. "You move quiet for an old broken lady."

"Thank you, you rude thing" she said, glaring at me for the comment. "Are you in love with her or not?"

"Yep," I said, retaking my seat on the porch.

"In pain?"

"Yep."

"You should talk to her," the woman said. She offered me a little tub of gunk. Ointment of some kind. When I didn't move quickly enough, she grabbed my hands and started rubbing it in to the palms and wrists where all the damage was. It stung and soothed in equal measure.

"I don't want to talk to her." I was well aware of how petulant I sounded. She raised her eyebrows at me, happy to reinforce that she too was aware of the petulance. "No, I really don't," I said. I was proud that I sounded strong this time. "She just kicked me out. And yeah, in her notes she said she was scared and her mother has always been this larger than life presence in her world I guess but…she hurt me. Doesn't that count for anything?" I ducked my head, not wanting to see it written in my friends eyes that no, it didn't mean anything. What I felt didn't matter.

"Of course it does." She patted my hands. "I'm tired. Help me inside, won't you?" I escorted her to her couch and eased her into it. "Do what you have to do. But if she doesn't come to you, dear, and you want her," she patted my hand again. "You'll have to go to her."

"Yeah."

"Forgive and forget," she said again.

"Only to spite your mother-in-law."

"Who we will hate 'til the end of our days." Her face turned sour. "Horrible woman."

"You told me," I laughed. "Anything else you need or should I leave you to your game shows?"

"Oh leave, leave me. The host is so handsome you'll ruin it for me with your chatter." She shooed me away and I found that I was smiling as I closed the front door behind me. It hadn't happened so frequently in the last few days so I enjoyed the feeling and drove back to the station to park the patrol car.

As I locked it up, turning to the station to return the keys, my good humour fled. A dark figure stood and took a hesitant step toward me. A streetlight lit up her face, those perfect perfect features, and I froze because she was stepping out of a dream into the light, she was here for what? for me? and she was here close enough to touch and my eyes darted all over her and my hands were forced still because as angry as I was and had been, they still needed reassurance that this wasn't a fantasy or dream. I refused them. Dream or not, I wouldn't bend first. It wasn't my turn.

"Hello," she said meekly. I nodded. "I came earlier. To ask Gra- the sheriff, if you were about." I waited. Her sentences were stilted, cautious. "He said you were gone. I was, I was worried. That you were. Gone, that is."

"I'm here," was all I said.

"Yes." Her word was confirmation and a breath of relief, relief so heady that it made me dizzy enough to reach out and steady myself against the car. "Emma," she said and I looked away.

"Let me past," I said and if my words sounded cold or forced then so be it. She stepped aside and I took quick steps into the station. I didn't close the door. She didn't follow. I hung up the keys in their place and took a few moments just to myself. I straightened papers unnecessarily. I pushed my chair beneath my desk. I closed the door to Graham's office. Anything. Because I wasn't sure that when I came out again if Regina would be there. And if she wasn't, I didn't know if I could bear it. So I delayed checking, terrified to find out.

When I did step out into the night air again, she was there. Standing where I had left her.

"Emma," she said again. "I…" I wondered what she looked like. With my eyes fixed to the ground – there was nothing, nothing, that I wanted to see less than those cold eyes when she said 'you, Miss Swan' and 'get out' – I couldn't see. Not her. I didn't dare. But I heard the way she fumbled and then I saw hands inch their way into my vision, cupped around a thermos.

It smelt like the coffee she made at home. Liquorice flavoured, bought for me. That coffee tasted like her lips. Or vice versa. Either way, I found myself staring at the thermos.

"I brought it. For you. Obviously," she added quietly, as an aside or a scolding for herself most likely. "Coffee is, it's our thing." It was almost painful to hear her stumbling over her words. "You brought them to me. I accused you of bringing anarchy upon the town with hot beverages. I brought them to you."

"And what do I accuse you of?" I rumbled out. I was just trying to restrain myself and my voice came out low and oh so careful.

"I don't know," she said.

"Trying to guilt me into something?" I suggested, leaning back against the cold wall. I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Bribing me to listen?"

"No, no. Never. I just wanted to give you something I knew you would enjoy. Coffee, I mean."

"Yeah, well, I enjoyed it a lot more when it didn't remind me of you," I admitted with a cruel edge to my voice. I wished I could take it back. Then I didn't. I hovered undecided between wanting to apologise and wanting her to understand how much I was hurting.

"Oh."

"Don't. Just…what do you want, Regina?"

"I thought, well. I wasn't happy. With the way we left things. I thought," she said, gathering her breath. "We need to talk."

Surely those had to be the most hated words in the English language. We need to talk. They didn't always mean something bad, did they? I took a fortifying breath and held it in my lungs until they felt like they were burning. Then I took another and did the same.

"Okay. Let's talk."

I have one chapter, maybe two, left in this story. I hope you enjoyed this and do please let me know. Come join me on tumblr too – I am unicyclehippo over there as well. Happy reading, readers :)