A/N: It's been a super long time, but I'm back with a new story! Those of you that know me might note the irony of me writing an AU, as I tend to feel they are not really the same characters anymore. My thought process with this story though was to take the root of Emma and Regina's stories, separately and together, and explore them in a non magical setting. So hopefully you enjoy this new fic, and please let me know what you think (whether complimentary or constructive!)

And of course a big shout out to the best beta in the entire world, michaelawaffles! And not only thanks, but credit to her for coming up with the title! She fuckin rocks :)

Knowing this day would come should have made it easier to swallow. Eight years was a long time to prepare oneself, especially for a woman like Regina Mills who was nothing if not a master of compartmentalization. Even still, the automated voice on the other end of the line caused a lump to form in Regina's throat that was downright impossible to choke down..

"An inmate at the Maine Correctional Center is attempting to contact you," the voice taunted her with forced, unnatural inflections. "To accept this call from..." A small pause, just enough to make her hope she wouldn't hear the voice of– "Emma Swan..." –but there it was. Of course it was. "Press 'one' now."

She tried to ignore the sensation in her gut, like icicles crystallizing along the edges of her stomach. Regina thought maybe had she known the exact date, if she only knew today would be the day, perhaps this would be easier. It wasn't true, of course. October of 2013. For eight years she anticipated this date with a growing sense of dread. She pointedly ignored the calendar as the autumn air began turning crisp, vainly hoping perhaps through a lack of acknowledgement the month might slip by without event, landing them safely in November's embrace. And yet, on this 22nd day of October, her phone rang with the call Regina hoped might never come.

The thought crossed her mind that she could just hang up the phone. Regina wasn't a woman known for her kindness or warmth, and shutting the girl out would certainly be the easiest solution. Though while perhaps lacking in tenderness, she was a woman of her word. Breaking it wouldn't be fair to Emma, or to Henry. And so it was with a heavy sigh she pressed the button to accept the call and all the repercussions it may bring.

"This is Regina," she curtly stated her usual greeting when the other end of the line came to life.

"Hi, is this Regina? I mean– shit..." a woman's voice babbled into her ear. "I'm sorry, I'm just... I'm really nervous. I've been rehearsing this call in my head for like a month, and then you didn't answer the way I expected you to and... and now I guess I'm making a complete ass of myself, huh?"

"Breathe, Ms. Swan," Regina said, subtly rolling her eyes at the girl's lack of grace under pressure. "I haven't changed my mind about our deal."

"Okay," Emma sighed, at least slightly assuaged, though her voice still trembled. "That's, well, it's really good to hear. I've been thinking about this moment since–"

"When do you get out?" Regina interrupted, not remotely interested in idle chitchat or hearing this woman's hope and dreams. Her own world was about to be upended, shifted off its axis and spun in reverse. She hadn't the mental energy to spare towards the plight of anyone else. Emma was a nice enough girl, from what Regina recalled of her, and not altogether intolerable. That didn't make them friends, or confidants, or even acquaintances really. A singular thread of fate tied them together, and that was all Regina was prepared to deal with right now.

"Three days," Emma replied, and Regina felt her gut roil. She wanted more time; she wanted forever, really. But no amount of waiting or preparing was going to make this easier. "We don't have to do it right away," Emma hurriedly amended in Regina's silence, seemingly eager to please. "I have a little bit of money. Probably enough to find my way to Storybrooke and a place to stay for a day or two if you need time to, you know, explain things."

"No, no," Regina said, suddenly aware of the weight of her own body as it protested against her words. "He already knows everything. Let's just get this over with."

Eight years. In just a few short days, a moment eight years in the making would arrive. Regina never could have anticipated when they first made this deal how utterly hapless she would feel now.

Eight Years Ago

A correctional facility was certainly a strong contender for the last place Regina Mills ever wished to find herself, and yet here she was. Thankfully as a visitor, but the air still hung heavy with the stale smell of despair. She surveyed the listless faces surrounding her, trying not to fidget in her seat at the small, unsteady table she occupied. Regina was hardly unused to being alone, but this meeting in particular put her on edge and the lack of distraction only served to fuel her anxiety.

A door opening on the far side of the room caught Regina's attention. A young woman slowly emerged through the threshold like a skittish doe and, although she never met the girl once in her life, Regina knew immediately that this was Emma Swan.

She was pretty, Regina had to admit, in an intriguing sort of way. Her eyes were almost too big for her face, high cheekbones made her chubby cheeks that much more pronounced, and the corners of her lips tipped downward in a perpetual pout. Yet somehow, it all came together just right, giving an almost ethereal impression that was only magnified by the fluorescent lighting bouncing off her pale hair and skin. How preposterous, Regina thought, that anyone should actually look anything short of hideous in fluorescent lighting.

The most notable thing about her, however, the thing that made Regina's heart worm itself uncomfortably high in her throat, was her heavily protruding stomach, visible even through the baggy prison garb.

"Regina Mills?" the girl inquired with her shoulders drawn up defensively and a protective hand placed over her rounded belly.

"Indeed," Regina replied, smoothing the wrinkles of her skirt as she stood to formally greet her companion. "And you must be Ms. Swan," she cordially extended her hand, hoping her clammy palm would go unnoticed as Emma dutifully grasped it with her own. The exchange was abrupt, both women recoiling quickly and retreating to their seats.

"I, um, I know we talked briefly on the phone, but I just needed to meet you at least once before deciding to, you know," Emma halted, choking on the words and swallowing hard, "giving you my baby."

It felt like a balloon might burst in Regina's chest upon hearing those words said aloud. Over a year on the waiting list without any interested parties had seen her hope dwindle at ever being chosen. Sure, she was still young. At twenty seven years old there would be plenty of opportunities for motherhood. But Regina was a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted when she wanted it, and the crash of reality was more than a little disappointing.

She had hesitated when the call finally came, only to discover the birth mother was a convicted felon serving time. Regina couldn't very well hope for a thriving political career if she were to have a child genetically predisposed to criminal tendencies. Then again, DNA certainly wasn't everything, as she knew all too well. Perhaps fate had deemed her worthy of giving this child the life its biological mother couldn't, the one her own mother failed to provide. This was her baby, she determined. Regina felt it somewhere deep inside, and so she quieted her hesitations and took the call.

"Indeed, it's a perfectly reasonable request," she replied, hoping her smile reached her eyes as she tried so hard to show some semblance of warmth. No one wanted to give their child away to some cold-hearted politician, and she was struggling to keep the formal mask at bay.

"So, usually I really hate to pry but... I just have a few questions, if that's alright?" Emma asked nervously.

"Of course, dear," Regina nodded assuredly, deciding one of them had to uphold some pretense of confidence. "Anything you'd like to know."

"Your profile says you're unmarried," Emma continued upon Regina's blessing. "Which, don't get me wrong, that's totally cool. I'm just wondering if there's going to be a boyfriend or something in the picture?"

"No," Regina snorted with contempt, quickly realizing she might have been a bit too assertive with her answer. "No, it's just me," she tried again, more calmly this time. "I was married once, but it ended badly. To be quite honest, all of it was bad..." she stopped herself then, hoping the girl wouldn't pry for details. She decided to try a different route. "I don't have much interest in relationships at the moment. And I don't have much in the way of family, either. What I do have is love. I have so much love to give. And I feel that love would be much better spent on a child than anyone else right now. Your baby... It would be my entire world. First steps and science fairs and bake sales – I want to be a part of all of that. Even the diapers, the tantrums, and fevers. It would all be done with love."

Emma looked like she was going to cry now, and Regina wanted to kick herself. She wasn't sure what she said wrong.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"No," Emma cut her off. "Don't apologize. What you said... it's perfect. It's everything I want for him."

"Him?" Regina asked, surprised to hear the girl specify a gender.

"Shit," Emma shook her head self-deprecatingly. "I should have asked if you wanted to be surprised. I just found out the other day."

"No, it's quite alright," Regina replied with a soft, encouraging smile. "A little boy sounds absolutely wonderful."

"It does, doesn't it?" Emma nodded, and suddenly tears were streaming freely down her face. Regina wasn't entirely sure how to deal with such outbursts of emotion, least of all from a complete stranger, and so she sat silently and waited.

"I just want you to understand..." Emma whimpered, "I'm not a bad person. I don't want to give him away. I know I could send him into foster care and take him back when I get out, but eight years is a long time. I won't let him grow up the way I did. He deserves a home, one he knows is forever, and someone to love him."

An unfamiliar feeling took hold in Regina's gut. Rarely did she feel empathy towards another's sob story. She feared at times that she had become heartless, but hardening herself was how she survived all these years. Listening to anyone talk about how tragic their life was left her feeling empty, evermore more alone as old wounds opened with not a bandage in sight.

Emma wasn't looking for sympathy. She wasn't trying to compare the cards she'd been dealt with the ones in Regina's hand. This girl had survived, was still fighting to survive, and only wished her child would never experience that feeling. That much Regina most certainly understood.

"I will," Regina said, hoping she wasn't being too presumptuous in her assertion. "I can promise you he will always have a place to belong with me."

Emma smiled ruefully, pain in her eyes, yet there was a glimmer of relief. That even though it hurt, maybe everything would be okay somehow. Until her smile faded into nervousness again.

"There's just one more thing," Emma said, eyes cast downwards to fidgeting fingers picking at jaggedly bitten nails. "Well, two, I guess. I'd like to know how he's doing... Nothing major, I'm not trying to impose. Just, like, a picture on his birthday. Maybe a quick note, whatever's doable."

"That sounds perfectly reasonable," Regina easily agreed, her body strung tight with anticipation at the realization Emma might actually be about to choose her. "And your other request?"

Now Emma's fingers found her mouth, gnawing her stubbed nails viciously for several unnerving moments. The girl caught herself, watching her hands as she folded them on the table, likely hoping her white-knuckled grip went unnoticed. Her hesitation was starting to spark a note of anxiety in Regina as well, until at last those wide, green eyes rose to meet her own with an earnest, heartbreaking plea.

"I'd like to meet him someday."

It seemed a simple enough stipulation back then, when Regina was desperate for a child and willing to agree to almost any terms the young woman proposed. But on that day, so many years ago, she had not yet experienced what it would mean to be a mother.

She had yet to experience bringing her son home, that first sleepless night and the countless ones that followed. First smiles, first steps, first days of school. The worry through his fevers, the exhaustion through tantrums. Birthdays and holidays and Saturday afternoons at the park. A billion tiny fragments of time pieced together to create Regina's entire world.

For Henry's entire life, it was just the two of them. Regina remained uninterested in dating, and though she once attempted a 'no strings attached' relationship early on, it proved unfulfilling. She concluded being a good mother was all the fulfillment she really needed – right now, anyway.

When Henry was old enough to start asking questions about where he came from, Regina was always honest with him. He always knew about Emma, was always intrigued by her, always asking questions about his birth mother that Regina couldn't begin to answer. She hardly knew the woman, after all.

"Do I look like her?" he would ask. "Do you think she likes dragons? Where is she from? When do I get to meet her? What kind of ice cream do you think she likes?"

His questions were endless, but the curiosity was to be expected and didn't weigh too heavily on her mind. She didn't even mind when he requested to include a card of his own in the yearly package Regina sent to Emma. It depicted a dragon – which Henry was exceptionally adept at drawing for his young age – being fought off by two sword wielding stick figures. Her heart admittedly sank just a little when he requested her help writing 'Henry' over the smaller figure, and 'Emma' over the larger.

The truth was that Emma's release couldn't have come at a worse time – if there even was a best time. Just shy of his eighth birthday, Henry was already beginning to rebel against his mother. She didn't exactly regret being honest with him about where he came from, but her openness was coming back to haunt her now.

The fact that his birth mother was in prison did nothing to dissuade Henry from placing Emma high on a pedestal, romanticizing the woman into his personal white knight who would one day save him from the cruel mother who refused him such luxuries as cookies before dinner or sleepovers on school nights.

"No, my dear," she would tell him with gentle firmness. "I'm afraid I simply can't allow that."

"I bet Emma would let me!" Henry would shriek back in indignation. And then would come the serrated stab as he sharply proclaimed, "You're not even my real mom!"

And the words cut deep.

She would hold a stoic face, reminding herself this was simply a phase and one day he would understand, as she carefully explained once again why saying such things was uncalled for. But the pain in her chest pulled deep into her gut all the same, and because of that she supposed part of her had come to resent Emma some time ago.

Which made it all the harder to sit here now, fidgeting in in her seat and waiting for Emma to emerge through yet another doorway, just like the first and last day they met. Only this time Regina wouldn't get to walk away from the table alone, filled with excitement and hope for what was to come. Because now the seat she waited in was that of her car, and the door she watched with nervous anticipation belonged to the bus station outside of town.

Regret for offering the girl a ride festered in her chest the longer Regina sat idly with her thoughts. The words had come tumbling out of their own accord in her anxious attempt to fill the silence and end the phone call with Emma. The woman needed a ride to some car she apparently had waiting for her upon release. Regina damned her rigid upbringing for drilling habitual courteousness into her head, dooming her to the half hour she must now spend confined in the vehicle with her child's birth mother on their way to find it.

A bright flash reflected off an opening door, momentarily blinding Regina. Her vision cleared, and there stood Emma as if materializing from sunlight. Her shoulders were squared, apprehensive but no longer skittish. She was thinner, of course – muscular, even – the chubby face Regina recalled now boasting high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Hardly the soft little girl she once was. Eight years may have changed Emma Swan, but her's was a face Regina could never forget.

She glanced in the mirror to ensure her meticulously feathered dark locks still held their place, pleased to note her even darker eyes maintained a well-practiced air of authority. Regina took a deep breath, tipped her chin high and got out of the car.

She leaned against the open door with careful disinterest, not even bothering to wave or call out as she waited for Emma's roaming eyes to find her. Regina gestured curtly for the girl to get a move on, then returned to her vehicle to soak up the last few seconds of seclusion it would provide her.

That bubble burst as the passenger side door opened and Emma unceremoniously collapsed into the seat.

Both women simply stared at one another for a long moment, unsure what to say or what to expect. Regina was certain if she released her grip on the steering wheel, her hands would be visibly trembling.

"Hi," Emma finally broke the silence with her stilted greeting and a clumsy half-smile.

"Hello, Ms. Swan," Regina replied, slipping into the dignified character she was accustomed to playing, thanks to her years in politics. "You're looking well."

Emma surveyed her own attire with a scrunch of her brow. "Thanks," she smirked a little, gesturing grandly over her tattered maroon sweatshirt and sagging jeans. "I call it 'Post-Prison Chic.'"

Sarcasm in its elitist form of scoffing and mockery was not unfamiliar among Regina's circle of peers and colleagues. Quite the opposite, in fact – both politicians and PTA mothers alike loved a good biting remark at just about anyone else's expense. Emma's self-deprecating nature, however, was something quite foreign, and Regina mustered little more than a terse nod in reply.

"You, though," Emma began again, "you look incredible. I mean, you know–" she wrung her fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck in an apparent nervous habit, "–like you've done really well for yourself."

If her designer pantsuit didn't give that bit of information away, the classic Mercedes Benz she arrived in most certainly did.

"Yes, well," Regina replied smugly, "being Mayor does have its perks."

She knew there was no need to flaunt her superiority. Afterall, Emma had just finished a stint in prison and probably couldn't feel more inferior if she were an old wad of gum scraped off the bottom of Regina's Louis Vuitton.

Still, in Henry's eyes, she was all too aware that this distinction meant nothing. In fact, Emma's anomalous nature compared to the rest of their world could very well give the girl the advantage here.

"Mayor, huh?" Emma gasped. At least someone was impressed. "That's... wow. I never thought my kid would be the son of a Mayor."

"My child," Regina snapped defensively at the unfortunate comment. "He is my son."

"Oh! I... I just..." Emma sputtered, "I didn't mean–"

"I know precisely what you meant," Regina cut in. "Just make no mistake that I am his mother. I have been his mother for the past eight years you were absent. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son."

"Jesus, lady," Emma huffed, shaking her head. "It was a poor choice of words, okay? I'm not here to take him away from you."

"So long as we're clear," Regina replied, feeling a little embarrassed by her outburst, though justified all the same. Emma had no right to her child, not legally, not emotionally. That she was even allowing this at all was a privilege to Emma, and for her son's sake alone.

Emma didn't speak after that. She didn't even chance a glance in Regina's direction, far as the woman could tell. An unwelcome sense of guilt got the better of her, and it was Regina who broke the silence.

"So is that really what you're wearing?" she inquired with all the incredulity she could muster.

"I... don't have anything else," Emma confessed sheepishly. "These are donations to the prison. They're the only things that fit me for walking clothes."

A part of Regina so wished to let Emma come as she was. To show Henery just how very downtrodden and disheveled his birth mother really was. But she could just imagine the look of disappointment on her son's face, seeing Emma in her current state.

And Emma... well, maybe Regina felt like she owed her something, much as tried to repel the sensation. The woman made Regina a mother, after all, and Emma was rather down on her luck. Regina didn't want to feel for her – and oh, her resentment still burned like the sun. But Emma had nothing and no one, and it was the latter Regina could empathize with all too well. A few items, she decided, to get the girl on her feet couldn't hurt.

"We'll stop at the store on our way," Regina said, with no room for question.

"Reg- Ms... Mayor, you really don't have to–"

"It is already decided. And don't tell me you couldn't do with some help. I won't suffer foolish pride."

She could tell Emma wanted to protest. Regina may not have known her long but it was easy enough to assess the woman not accustomed or inclined to taking handouts. She cursed the part of her that felt the urge to care for this girl. Henry was her charge. Not Emma. Despite the vexation she felt, she couldn't leave Emma with nothing.

Emma didn't protest, but her jaw clenched tightly in the silence. Her demeanor turned tense and reserved as they pulled into the Walmart parking lot. Yes, the store wasn't exactly high end, but Regina's charity only extended so far. Even entering the grungy establishment was a charitable act as far as she was concerned. She couldn't imagine Emma would accept more anyway.

They walked into the store together in quiet discomfort, neither entirely sure how to act around the other and therefore not acting at all.

"I really don't need much," Emma insisted when they made their way to the clothing section. "A few shirts and a pair of pants will be more than enough."

"It's cold," Regina replied. "You'll need a jacket as well."

"Regina–"

"Please, stop arguing with me, Ms Swan," Regina sighed exasperatedly. "Here," she offered, holding up a faux leather jacket in red. "This should suit you."

Emma eyed it suspiciously. Or maybe it was Regina the eye was directed at. Either way, she accepted the jacket Regina proffered.

"Yeah," Emma said with an unease Regina was not accustomed to. It was almost... affectionate. "This is really great. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Regina said, bewildered by the sentimental sensation she felt. Emma Swan was no one to her. Nothing more than the woman who bore her son, and now deemed to inconvenience her life by virtue of existing.

"You..." Emma began, with so much uncertainty. "You know you don't owe me anything. I chose to give him to you."

Oh, she hated Emma Swan. She hated her with every fiber of her being. In her son's mind, Emma was the perfect mother. She was everything he ever wished Regina would be, no matter how much she loved him or how hard she tried. Because Emma was his fantasy, and Regina's hell. But this living, breathing woman before her, with her humility and doe eyes made her all too real, and far too hard to abhor.

Not that she would let Emma know that.

"Yes, Ms. Swan," she hissed, feeling far more comfortable with the distance the formal title provided. "I am well aware that I did not purchase my child. Please don't make me regret my generosity."

"Regret?" Emma spat. "I didn't ask you for any of this. If it's such a burden to you, fucking keep it."

Normally, Regina hated being challenged. People bending to her will was the norm. Emma, it seemed, was something else entirely. And she wasn't quite sure how to handle that.

But they were already here, and they already selected the items for Emma. So Regina chucked the jacket into the cart with rabid disdain, ordering Emma to "proceed to the checkout," as they walked in awkward silence once again.

"You don't like me," Emma stated flatly after long minutes of silence back in the car.

"I hardly know you Ms–"

"It's Emma," the girl interrupted tersely.

"Ms. Swan," Regina intoned with harsh insistence. "Whether I like you or not is irrelevant. We made an arrangement, and I am upholding my end. There is no reason to pretend that our relationship extends to anything more than that."

"Fine," Emma huffed. "Whatever."

Silence returned, and this time Regina welcomed it. Talking to Emma was proving itself quite aggravating, and not only because she was insufferable. She was also so human, so flawed, so strangely relatable and yet unlike anyone Regina ever met. Compartmentalizing was pertinent to maintaining control over her life, and no matter how Regina might empathize with Emma in certain areas, she couldn't allow it to muddy the fact that this woman was easily the downfall of her relationship with her son. Sure, this meeting wasn't set in paperwork, and the plug could be most easily pulled. But she wouldn't do that to Henry, not to mention such a move would ensure her losing him to his resentment indefinitely.

She was going to have to trust Emma to hold up her end of the deal. No, not trust. Regina didn't trust anyone, let alone a perfect stranger with the power to destroy her. She would have to trust herself, to trust her instincts and her eyes to stay sharp. After all, she was Regina Mills, and she could ruin Emma with a flick of her wrist. If there was one thing she learned from her mother, it was how to utterly, viciously tear another human being apart, and she destroyed plenty of happiness in her lifetime. Not that she was necessarily proud of it, but she was capable of doing what needed to be done. And of that, she was indeed proud.

Love was weakness, after all, and what was empathy but the first plucked strings of affection? She would not empathize with Emma, she decided quite firmly. This was business, just like any other poor fool who came through her office. She would deal with the matter at hand, then file it away and move on to the next.

Regina's resolve was challenged almost immediately when they arrived to pick up Emma's car – a hideously old fashioned Bug in the most obnoxious shade of yellow imaginable – only to discover a dead battery and nearly empty tank of gas that would never take her anywhere near as far as Storybrooke.

"I, uh..." Emma stuttered, anxiously combing hair back from her face with one hand, the other determinedly stationed on her hip. "It's fine. I'll figure it out. And just... catch up with you later."

She spoke eyeing the vehicle as though it had betrayed her, with anger and a hint of sadness that Regina was loathe to realize was actually desperation. Emma had no idea how she was going to fix the car or make it to town. She had no money and no support. Just a friend of a friend who held onto a car while she was away and didn't even bother to make sure it worked.

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, exhaling hard as she did so. She did not feel bad for Emma. She didn't. Regina simply needed to get this meeting over and done with, and didn't have the time to waste waiting or wondering when this tumbleweed of a girl might blow into town.

"Get in," Regina said sharply, yanking open the passenger side door of the Mercedes and storming around to the driver's side to insert herself.

"I said I got it," Emma replied, indignantly leaning into the car without actually entering. "You don't want anything to do with me, and I sure as hell don't want anymore help from you. I'm not your charity case, lady."

"While that may be true," Regina hissed, "what you are most certainly becoming is a major inconvenience. My son is expecting you this evening, and God knows when you'll show up if left to your own devices. So get in the goddamn car, Ms. Swan."

She snarled the name through clenched teeth, making her displeasure quite transparent. It was a tactic that had proven quite effective with her son, and whether because of biology or the girl's childish nature, it was hardly a surprise when it turned out to be equally effective on Emma.

She plopped her defiant ass down in the seat, seething and full of rage, but begrudgingly compliant. Regina smirked a haughtily victorious sneer, smoothly guiding the Mercedes out of the dusty dirt lot with a sideways glance at her pouting companion.

"Get off your high horse," Emma huffed. "I'm doing it for the kid."

"Whatever you say, Ms. Swan," Regina chortled with a condescending lilt. She peripherally noticed Emma roll her eyes and dramatically fold her arms across her chest, but the girl said nothing in her defense, and Regina mentally marked a check in the 'win' column for herself.

She fought the urge to break the silence all the way back to Storybrooke. Regina found something of a rush in antagonizing Emma – a completely unfounded pleasure in eliciting a reaction from the girl, a sense of challenge in the stubborn fearlessness so rarely found these days. Most people cowered to Regina. Emma didn't. And while she didn't have to like her, Regina at least had to respect that.

A petulant, unspoken competition of silence carried on until the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign came into view. Had Regina spoke before now, it would have been a win for Emma. However, as they crossed the town line, Regina determined a mature conversation was a necessity and not a surrender, and thus deemed this particular challenge a draw - which still placed her one point ahead of Emma.

"Henry will be waiting for us with his babysitter at Granny's Diner," she explained curtly. "I will pay Ashley and dismiss her, and you will not greet or approach my son until I have finished and make the proper introductions. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Emma replied, disappointingly differential as she wrung her hands together anxiously. They were equally apprehensive about this, Regina realized, even if for entirely different reasons. Still, she warned herself, no empathy. Emma could not have that power.

By the time they pulled up in front of the diner, Emma was visibly trembling. Regina considered telling Emma she had nothing to worry about, that Henry adored her on principle alone. But she couldn't bring herself to make it any easier on the girl. It's not like anyone was going to do the same for Regina.

That is, until they were on their way to the door, Regina reaching for the handle when Emma's fingers softly wrapped around her outstretched arm and beckoned her to halt. Regina didn't have much fight left in her, and merely turned to look at Emma inquisitively.

"Do you think he'll like me?" the girl asked, in the smallest, most uncertain voice Regina ever heard from Emma.

Without a chance to quiet them, the strings of empathy strummed deep inside, just for a moment, and Regina sighed resolutely as she replied.

"I have absolutely no doubt."