Neal had come and gone, diamond ring in its box, having been rejected by the finger he'd intended to place it on. Emma hoped he could get on more fully with his life now, with the closure of knowing that his teenage love had found her family, had formed a new one, that he could do the same with his own father. Knowing that she - still angry, but understanding, now, why he left - no longer quite hated him.
He had retreated to spending most of his time with Gold, but his presence in Storybrooke had opened up a lot of questions for Henry, to whom Emma had lied about the identity of his father for months.
It was thus an uncomfortable morning, in a string of many such uncomfortable mornings, to say the least.
Henry hadn't said one word to Emma since the first time he spoke with his father, occupying himself the entire trip back to Storybrooke with Gold and Neal. Henry had clung to Emma fiercely during her sort-of-mother-in-law's period of strength, fearing that he would lose her, but after Cora had been defeated, he had gone back to being sullen with her, not speaking much as he fell into a routine of living with both of his mothers, neither wanting to push him, both knowing an explosion was imminent. And he proved them right, bursting into tears and rage at the dinner table the night before, calling Emma a liar and a fake and a terrible person who only told the truth when it was convenient for her.
Regina, ever the type to be rigid with envy, had helped Emma tenderly while she cried after the brunette put Henry to bed that night, promising him in his stubborn and persistent fury at Emma that they'd all talk in the morning.
The older woman rose deliberately early, before sunrise, leaving her lover sleeping alone in their bed, settling in the kitchen alone to nurse a cup of tea, trying her best to swallow her furious jealousy and insecurity towards the man - it would be Rumpel's son - that had fucked her lover, who had given her Henry. Though Emma had rejected him, she clearly hadn't let him go fully; surely she could have found another death trap of a car to drive around in by now? And to lie to Henry about his identity... Well, Regina supposed she couldn't judge, having done her fair share of lying to the boy. But still.
She breathed in the steam of her Earl Grey slowly, eyes fluttering closed, trying to focus less on how similar Neal's gait was to Henry's and more on what Emma had said to the man: "Regina and I are his parents... Of course you can know him, but that doesn't mean we're about to involve you in our relationship... I'm in love with her, Neal... You need to move on."
Regina jumped at the soft pattering of slippered feet that suddenly filled the kitchen. "Henry!"
"Sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep."
"Why didn't you come to our room, honey?"
"I did. You weren't there, so I came down here to find you."
Regina smiled softly and leaned sideways to slide out a stool next to hers, bringing it close and patting it for him to sit. He did so in uncharacteristic silence. She watched the conflict wrack through his eyes: he was used to feeling betrayed by his older mother and feeling comforted by his younger one. He was unsure of how to handle the abrupt reversal of roles.
He broke the thoughtful silence. "Why did Emma lie to me, Mom?"
Regina regarded him sadly over the brim of her mug, sipping slowly as she considered her answer. "That's a better question to ask her, sweetheart. But you should know, Henry, that your mother was quite upset last night after you called her a liar and a fake. I think we both know that Emma, whatever she may be, is neither of those things." Henry frowned deeply at her gentle reprimand and opened his mouth.
"I'm not saying your feelings are wrong, Henry," Regina began again, preempting his objection. "You have every right to be angry at Emma. It's always hard when the people we love most lie to us. But sometimes people think they have good reasons for lying: sometimes we lie to protect someone, because we love them."
"But Emma's supposed to be good," Henry agonized.
Regina swallowed hard. "Good means many different things, to different people, at different times. Cora always thought she was doing good things, honey: so did I when I tried to take your book away and convince you the curse wasn't real. Good and evil aren't quite so simple, honey."
Sweat had dampened the underarms of the simple, flowy shirt she'd taken from her last foster mother's closet before heading out into the night. Alone. This is how I like it, 17 year-old Emma Swan convinced herself internally as she hitched her bag up higher over one shoulder and shuffled amidst the intermittently working lights on the road, leaving her old life behind her as she headed out to find work. And maybe something else, too. She just wasn't sure what yet.
28 year-old Emma Swan twitched in her sleep. She didn't want to relive this again. But she had no choice as she slept on and dreamed her past into her present.
He'd hired her sooner than she'd expected, her teachers at that old school having barked at her that she'd never succeed in a job interview with that cocky attitude, jumpiness, and at once too easy and too guarded smile. She hadn't liked the way he's stepped back to take in the sight of her: blonde hair, firm, grabable, and bangable ass, a decent face, and a nice rack. That's what the boys in her last home had told her, anyway. The one she was running from.
But hey, she had a job now, and she wasn't half-bad at it. She could hold her own with the customers, and when she flirted with them just a bit - which came easily to her - they tipped her extra. For the first time, she had money she hadn't stolen.
Life was good for the first time in a long time until the woman with the short black hair and sexy smile walked in, asking for pumpkin pie. Then, for a while, life was great.
"Then you're not mad at Emma for lying to me?" Henry asked, wiping his nose in what he thought was a subtle way on Regina's nighttime blouse.
She smiled gently into his hair as she cocked an eyebrow at his gesture. She was too grateful to have him back, cuddling in her arms, asking her for guidance, to reprimand his rudeness. She thought for a long moment before answering.
"There are so many terrible things that I've done - especially to your mother, Henry - that make me think sometimes that I don't have the right to be angry at her for doing anything wrong in response." He furrowed his brow, unsatisfied. She reconsidered. "But yes, I suppose I am... upset with her. But we can't forget that I lied to you, too, sweetheart, and you've forgiven me."
Henry shrugged into his mother's chest. "I'm not saying I don't forgive her. I'm just saying I'm angry. I don't understand. She told me this whole big story about him, about how he was a volunteer firefighter who loved pumpkin pie and died saving a family." Regina blinked, beginning to understand the root of Henry's confusion and anger. He continued. "It scares me that she came up with such a big and complicated lie so easily. Isn't that scary, Mom?"
Regina took a controlled breath, trying to reign in her own sense of anger on Henry's behalf. "Indeed," she murmured, more to herself than to her son.
It had started slowly. The woman would always sit at the counter, always at odd hours of the night, and always in a red leather jacket.
"And what can I get for you?" Emma had asked the first time, smiling her patent waitress smile distractedly as she wiped down the counter.
"Pumpkin pie and a strong coffee would be great, please... Emma." The teenager suppressed an eye roll, hating that her boss made her wear that damned name tag, but she found herself simultaneously shocked by the way this woman had said her name. With care, with respect; not with the lasciviciousness of many of her male customers or the petty humor of many of the women who came by.
She grimaced an apology. "We haven't got any pumpkin pie, sorry. We do have a mean apple pie, though, with just the right amount of cinnamon," she offered.
"No pumpkin pie? And you call yourselves a proper diner," the woman murmured, almost more to herself than to Emma. The blonde blinked, bemused, watching the woman's small, dark hand pad over her hair and rub the back of her neck. She felt a giddy kind of relief when the woman relented to apple, and smiled to herself when the woman lingered over her coffee as long as her eyes lingered over her waitress.
A thrill shot through her core when the woman, on leaving, called over her shoulder to Emma, "You tell that boss of yours that no self-respecting diner goes without serving pumpkin pie."
Emma rolled over in bed, lost in dreamlike memories, unaware that tears were already beginning to leak out of her sleep heavy eyelids.
During the next few days, Emma discovered through scattered small talk that the woman's name was Tiffany; that she worked days unloading trucks for the local grocery store; that she was training nights as a volunteer firefighter; that her grandmother used to make a pumpkin pie that was to die for. Tiffany would bristle when the older men in the diner would lick their lips at Emma's retreating ass, frequently calling her over and sending her back to the kitchen with inane requests just to watch her more often. Emma would roll her eyes at Tiffany, always alone at the counter, and murmur resignedly, "More cash for me. Wish everyone could get paid extra just for walking or something."
Tiffany - who insisted that Emma call her Tiff - would always say they should make a sitcom based on that diner and call it, "When Misogyny Pays the Bills." It was a few weeks of genuinely laughing at this cute little quip before Emma opened up enough to tell Tiff that she worked nights so she could sleep in various libraries and community centers during the days. If she had books with her, it was easy to pass as an over-worked, exhausted college freshman.
Tears darkened Tiff's brown eyes and she wiped them subtly with matching brown fingertips. "You can stay with me, Em," she had offered softly. Emma had licked her lips eagerly but declined, not willing to rely on anyone, even if this anyone was this gorgeous, attentive, kind, clever woman. Tiff nodded slowly and didn't offer again, but Emma knew the option remained open to her.
A short time later, Tiff came in close to dawn, clomping slightly in her firefighter boots. She regaled Emma between orders with stories of her first volunteer call. "Kicking down the door would have been easier, but no, I had to - "
"Miss! More ketchup!" A rueful smile, a few seconds of silence, the sound of the blonde's footsteps as she swallowed another bite of pie passed before the young woman had returned to hear the rest of the story.
"Lemme guess," the blonde offered, "you hacked the damn thing down with your axe, didn't you, just because you could?"
Their laughter rang through the diner as her boss peaked out from the back appraisingly, observing silently the growing bond between the women.
"I'm sure Emma will be more than willing to explain herself, if you're willing to listen. You haven't been much for talking lately, Henry," Regina reminded the boy, softening the gentle reprimand of her words by punctuating her syllables with kisses and the soft rhythm of her thumb swiping across his hand and her other hand caressing his back.
"I guess I just feel kind of betrayed. I understand why she lied - she wanted me to believe in good, and she thought my dad wasn't any good - but I just don't understand why she felt like she had to make something up that was so... so..."
"Elaborate?" his mother supplied.
Henry nodded, not exactly sure what the word meant, but knowing that Regina knew what he meant.
"And it makes you wonder what else she could just lie about, on the spot like that," Regina continued, knowing things like this were hard for her son to articulate, particularly when they involved his blonde mother instead of her.
He nodded again. Regina sighed, reluctantly bringing one hand off of his back so she could take another calming sip of tea. Whispered words of Emma's love swirled into her mind, confessed both in serious conversations and in the throes of lust, and she tried for Henry's sake to keep her own swelling insecurities at bay.
Upstairs, the woman in question dreamed on.
Tiff had invited Emma to come back to spend the morning at her place: she had the morning off and would love the company. Her eyes had drifted down to Emma's lips, and the blonde didn't miss the meaning of her friend's question. Her cunt surged with heat, but she stuttered with disbelief.
"Oh, but I'm not... I'm - I'm not a..." She looked around to make sure her Republican customers couldn't hear her. They already gave the black woman with short hair and firefighters boots enough dirty looks. She didn't need to add this to their arsenal. "... lesbian."
She thought about the blow jobs and fucks against lockers in high school. With no sex gods, sure, but none of the experiences had been unpleasant. Tiff grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
"Whatever you say, Em, but I just - I mean, the way you look at me, I - "
"And how do I look at you?" Emma's voice was unintentionally laced with sex and the giddiness of flirtation, and she flushed.
"Like you want me as bad as I want this damn diner to make some pumpkin pie."
Emma's eyes darkened as she licked her lips and took in Tiff's red leather jacket, subtly but firmly bulging triceps, those gorgeous eyes, and full lips, pondering how their small talk had over the weeks become talk about parental abandonment, anger, guilt, misogyny. Fantasies. Lost dreams. New dreams. She felt that distinct burning in her core catch new fuel and reignite.
"Maybe I do," she leaned down and whispered headily, as Tiff's smile widened.
"And that doesn't make you a lesbian?" she teased, eyes dancing with joy and lust.
Emma shook her head childishly, her own smile bright with her. "Nope! Just Emma."
"Well, just Emma," Tiff murmured happily, "would you like to do me the honor of meeting me after your shift on this fine summer morning?"
Emma's smile remained just as dazzling as the rising sun throughout the rest of her work night. Each man she served thought it was for him, and tipped her extra.
Emma woke with a start, breathless and sweating. Regina was usually the one prone to flashback-style dreams, not her. She reached out her hand for her lover, but found only air and a pulled back blanket.
Confused, she groggily rose and slid on some sweat pants to go with her tank top.
She stumbled downstairs, realizing irritably that it was only 5:14 am. That woman, she thought. What could she possibly be doing up at this time? It was a Saturday, for crying out loud. One of the only days they all had off together.
"Regina?" she called at the foot of the stairs, not sure which room her lover might be in.
Regina furrowed her brow at her son, who matched her expression, as the woman responded in a somewhat clipped voice, "In here, dear."
Emma froze at the threshold of the kitchen as her eyes fell not only on her lover, but on their son. The previous night rushed back to her unpleasantly as she took in the cloudy look on Henry's face.
"Kid, I - " she began awkwardly.
"Em, sit down." Regina's insecurity was tempered somewhat by the frazzled state of Emma's hair and the sleepy puffiness around her eyes. She gathered Henry into her lap and offered Emma his vacated stool. "We promised Henry we'd talk today, and I've already spoken to him about his outburst at you." She looked at their son gently but pointedly, rubbing his back slightly, glad to have him in her lap once again, no matter how old he was.
"Sorry for shouting at you, Ma, and calling you all those things."
Emma nodded, her eyes alternating dizzily between lover and son.
"Henry, I know you're mad at me. And you have every right to be." She glanced over Henry's head at Regina, who raised her eyebrow and nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue. Emma sat awkwardly and reached for Henry's hand. He stiffened, but didn't toss her off. She took that as a good sign, and plowed on.
"I lied to you, and I shouldn't have. I think you know I was trying to protect you: at the time, I thought your dad had betrayed me, and I - "
"I know, Ma. I'm not too mad about that part anymore." He sighed, sounding to Regina momentarily aged far older than he was.
"I'm just confused about how you came up with such a - an - ela - elaborate story on the spot like that. It scares me that you can lie so well."
Regina smiled at his stumbling use of her word and avoided Emma's eyes. She would very much like to hear her explanation, too. There had been so much to talk about the last few weeks - so much to cope with, so many apologies to make, and so much sex to have, besides - that they hadn't discussed this yet, and her own insecurities about Emma's ability to lie - what if she was lying about her love for Regina? - were increasing by the second.
Emma swallowed. Hard. "Henry, I don't know if you really want to know - "
"But I do, Ma. And I think Mom does, too."
Both women grimaced at their son's insight.
The blonde took a shaky breath, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she fought to waken fully. "I didn't make that story up on the spot, Henry. It was a real story. It just... wasn't about your dad."
Regina stiffened and Henry sniffled, looking up at Emma with hope. "Tell it to me? The real story. Please?"
Emma nodded sadly. "The basics were true. I was working at a diner off the interstate after I left foster care. Someone came in that wanted pumpkin pie, but we didn't have any. But that someone... was a woman." She searched Henry's face for a response but found none. He had taken the idea of his two mothers being each others' lovers fairly easily. She glanced at Regina, more nervous about her response than Henry's to that particular aspect. But the brunette was already putting pieces together, from what Henry had told her, unbeknownst to Emma, and there was compassion swimming in the melted chocolate of her eyes.
"She was a volunteer firefighter, and for a while, we... we spent a lot of time together outside of work, almost like your mom and I do. It was nice, Henry. It was special. I really cared about her, and I think she really cared about me."
The sex was like nothing she'd ever experienced. Tiff's fingers tracing patterns in places inside of her she never knew she had, her tongue tracing pictures of ecstasy on Tiff's dripping cunt, pale fingers meeting dark as their bodies entwined on the volunteer firefighter's futon, Emma's screams of pleasure echoing through nearby apartments and making Tiff's cat - named Pumpkin, of course - hiss in annoyance. She'd never been with anyone who'd focused on her pleasure before, whom she wanted to reciprocate for out of sheer excitement and happiness, not a sense of obligation. Years later, she wouldn't be able to fathom how she got through work that week, spending every moment of their mutually free time fucking and being fucked in ways she never dreamed imaginable.
Everything was perfect. Until the day it wasn't.
"But then she died," Henry supplied, realizing that his anger at his blonde mother had largely been based on a misunderstanding; that she hadn't concocted some bullshit story on the spot, but that she had shared with him a deeply personal story of her life. It just didn't happen to be about his father. He swiped his thumb across her hand like his older mother so often did to him. Emma smiled softly at his sensitivity through a glaze of tears in front of her eyes, not having the strength to meet Regina's. She nodded.
"Yeah, kid. She did."
The seat at the counter that Tiff always occupied remained empty all night. She promised she'd be here after her shift, Emma thought dazedly, staring into the controlled flames in the kitchen and worrying about the nature of uncontrolled flames. Emma used as much spare change as she could subtly grab from the register to pay phone call her lover. No luck. No word. Nothing. She mustn't be clingy and panicy. Tiff was probably just tired after her shift.
The blonde teen slept on the busses the whole day, needing rest to numb her worry but needing to feel movement. Hearing nothing, still.
Until that night, when her boss stepped into the alcove where she pinned on her name tag and got set for her shift, a solitary ritual since he had learned that she could skillfully handle her shift on her own: why pay anyone else? She jumped at the intrusion and stared confusedly at the local newspaper he'd placed on the chair in front of her.
"Local volunteer firefighter sacrifices life saving family," read the headline, the bolded words "fallen heroine" next to her name, under an adorable photograph of Tiff posing proudly in her gear. They'd all mocked her for being a woman, and suddenly they're calling her "heroine"? she thought chaotically, unwilling to process what she was seeing. A hand came down gently, unwelcome, on her shoulder.
She vaguely registered his apology, his sorrow; she'd been a loyal customer, he noticed they'd gotten to know each other, and does she need the night off, because he can call in another girl. She jerked her head oddly as someone - it couldn't have been her, just like that damned paper couldn't be talking about Tiff - told him that yes, she needed the night off, thank you, and oh, he should really put some damned pumpkin pie on the menu.
She never went back.
Regina twitched oddly, Henry almost slipping out of her lap, as her hand jolted up to reach Emma's face, to capture the tears that threatened to spill from her forest green eyes.
"I found out one night when I showed up to work. It was in the newspaper and everything. I took the clip with me. You can see it if you want to," she droned on, her voice betraying nothing, refusing to cry, once again, in front of their son. "I met Neal a short time after, and I needed to - I just needed to be close to someone, and he was good to me, he made me laugh, he looked out for me. He reminded me of her a little. So does your mom. Tiff - Tiff, that was her name - was very direct. Like your mom."
Henry slid out of Regina's lap after squeezing her hand gently and clambered into his birth mother's lap, cuddling his head up to her chest. He was sobbing. "I'm so sorry I jumped to conclusions, Emma. I just was scared - "
"That if I made up a lie like that, what else was I lying about? Yeah kid, I know the feeling. It's not your fault." Tears splashed onto Henry's hair from Regina's fingers. Her jealousy melted, knowing what Emma must have felt like. Alone in the entire world after such a particularly unfair death, and years later, a child's misunderstanding - your child's misunderstanding - making everything that much deeper, the wound that much harder to heal, your heart bleed that much more strongly. All over again.
"Oh, Em," the former Queen whispered to her Savior, desperate to reverse their roles as she suddenly understood why Emma had always been so empathetic, so understanding about Daniel, so fiercely protective of Regina's right to keep him strongly in her heart, even while living her life loving Emma.
For the first time in many minutes, Emma lifted her eyes up to meet Regina's. Henry's guilted crying racked through Emma's body as both of his mothers tried to soothe him, entire years' worth of conversations passing between them above his bowed head.
Regina stood and slipped behind Emma, wrapping her arms around the blonde from behind, as the younger woman let her head fall back with relief into her lover's chest.
She spent a chunk of her remaining money - the fake ID she'd gotten to facilitate easier travel and access to much-needed alcohol had been expensive - on a bus ticket to go down that interstate, away from the diner, forever. She slid the red leather jacket that Tiff had left 'round her shoulders the night before she died - no - not ready to wear it quite yet, but unwilling to let it go. She knew Tiff's family would take care of Pumpkin. Who would take care of Emma?
Her first decision in the new town was to get herself a car. She was sick of busses now, as they smelled of suppressed panic and death. She spent a solid few weeks getting the lay of this new land, healing herself as best as she could. She was used to people leaving. People dying. She didn't let herself think about Tiff actually dying, though. She couldn't. She needed to survive.
She yearned desperately for companionship, and knew that Tiff wouldn't want her to be alone.
She spotted an abandoned yellow bug in a secluded spot. She felt for the screwdriver in her bag, alongside Tiff's old jacket.
She was ready for a new life. Or something.
"What, kid?" Emma asked, opening her eyes from their comfortingly closed position between Regina's breasts. Henry had murmured something into her own chest, and his tears and her tank top had muddled whatever it was he'd actually said.
He emerged from her chest and sniffled, running his pajama sleeve across his nose. Regina's eyebrow instinctively quirked, but she said nothing.
"You told me you weren't a hero, my dad was, because he saved that family from the fire. But you meant Tiff, not my dad... Well, you saved our family from a fire, remember? When you saved Mom. So see? You didn't just break the curse. You are a hero, same as Tiff was."
Regina's heart swelled with unspeakable pride as she reached across Emma's body to pull Henry closer to them both, her lips buried in Emma's hair.
Several deep breaths later, when Emma had regained the power of speech from the strength of Regina's constant caress on her side, she asked, forcing a small smile, "So I take it you're not mad at me anymore, kid?"
Henry smiled and shook his head energetically. "I'm sorry for being so mean to you. I was just scared."
"Yeah well, snapping at people we love because we're scared runs pretty strong in this family, huh, 'Gina?" Emma teased, her sniffling sounding an awful lot like her son's.
Regina smiled softly through her own glistening eyes as she smoothly swiped Emma's blonde mane to one side. She bent down to kiss the nape of her neck sensually, and a rush of awed appreciation coursed through the younger woman as she felt the older woman's tears smearing onto her body.
"Moms?" Henry asked softly, somewhat afraid to interrupt their moment but knowing they wouldn't mind too much.
"Mmm?" they answered in unison.
"Do you think we can make some pumpkin pie today? You know, in honor of Tiff?"
Emma stiffened against Regina's lips as Henry's older mother began, "Oh, Henry, that's very sweet of you, but I don't know if - "
"No, no, 'Gina, it's ok. That sounds like a great idea, kid. Want to run upstairs and shower so we can go out and get the ingredients?"
Henry nodded excitedly as he kissed both of his mothers before scampering upstairs.
Left alone, Regina shifted to stand in front of Emma, straddling her as the blonde pulled her lover into her lap. Regina let Emma hold her, her cheek buried in her trembling chest, knowing the blonde took the most comfort from feeling as though she was doing the comforting.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, Emma, yes?" Regina asked, trying to calm the storm that she knew was raging in her lover's mind.
"I was so scared with that fire, Regina. I never would have left you there, you know that?" Her voice was choked with emotion that others rarely found there, but that Regina was growing pleasantly used to.
A long pause ensued as Regina considered whether what she wanted to say was true. She concluded that it was, and said, "And I never would have left you, if it had been your ankle that had gotten hurt," she whispered.
Emma pulled Regina away from her gently but eagerly so she could look into her face. She was glowing, the combination of her tears and her smile a radiant combination. "I knew it! I knew you loved me, even then!"
Regina grinned broadly in response, and kissed her lover soundly on the mouth. "Don't push it, Swan."
Their laughter and Regina's squeals as Emma tickled her reached Henry, getting ready to shower upstairs. He grinned broadly. He was extra sad that Tiff had died, that Emma was still hurt about it, and that he had yelled at her when she really didn't deserve it. But he sure was glad he'd pushed her to tell them the story: he loved things that, even accidentally, made their family closer.
And anyway, pumpkin pie was super good stuff. And a helluva lot safer than apples.