Last chapter of Part One. Finally back to SwanQueen.

Chapter Eight: Tether

Two years later.

Roxbury, Boston, MA

Insistent shaking and a small voice pulled Regina Mills from one nightmare into another. Sticky eyes struggled open and blinked blearily at the spartan room. The shaking continued and she groaned in protest.

"That's enough, Henry," she told her son gently. "I'm awake."

"Mommy, am I going school today?" he asked, his expression hopeful.

Regina sat up, winced at the ache in her back and glared at the rotting couch beneath her. "No sweetheart," she answered, not having the energy to correct his grammar. "There's no school on Saturday."

She watched all the joy drain from his face and hated herself all over again. No school meant spending the day with their neighbour, Mrs Machin, a grouchy older woman who never left her apartment and spent all day ironing people's clothes and complaining about the weather. It wasn't a suitable place for an inquisitive, energetic seven-year-old to spend his days, but Regina's only other choice was to leave him home alone.

After initially finding their feet in a family-friendly side of the city, in a small but clean apartment with agreeable neighbours, Regina soon realised that fighting her mother was going to be much harder than expected. She set out to find work immediately, knowing that her savings would not last the year, and soon found that she'd been blacklisted. Every administrative position suited to her talents and education wanted references and once they finished speaking with her former employer, she was shown the door.

Perhaps I should have taken Kat's offer to challenge them for unfair dismissal, she thought, knowing that her ready compliance looked bad on her behalf. It was pointless to consider though; she knew why they'd let her go – either bribery or threats. Perhaps they'd thought well enough of her not to take money from Cora Mills, but Regina knew all too well how terrifying her mother could be. Though it was destroying her chances of finding her feet again, she found it hard to blame her former employers for saving their own skins.

In the end, she'd only managed to secure the most menial of jobs – waiting tables at a local greasy-spoon café and answering complaint calls for a delivery company. All day, five days a week, she spent being shouted at or harassed, but for Henry, she tolerated it. He'd spent his days in a kindergarten just down the road from their apartment complex and went home with a local family until Regina finished work late in the afternoon. She'd repaid their kindly neighbour by cleaning their house on a Sunday while Henry played with their children.

It had been hard, but Henry was happy. It had worked… until she got sick.

The café had sent her home once she started coughing in the kitchen, but she'd still managed for the most part to deal with disgruntled customers over the phone. She didn't have the luxury of missing both pay cheques. But lack of proper rest led to tonsilitis, and when this developed into an abscess, she found herself in A&E. It was there that she realised the seriousness of the matter.

She'd changed her insurance back to her own name – she knew she had – but the records still read Queenie Farrier. Mother, she cursed. The hospital threatened to charge her with insurance fraud if she tried to claim, so she was left with no choice but to pay out of her own pocket. It wiped her out. By the time she was healthy enough to return to work, Henry's meagre college fund was empty and they were behind on the rent.

Moving into a slum apartment, where she slept on the couch and lived hand-to-mouth on a daily basis, was her only remaining option if she wanted to keep her son and her freedom.

Regina stroked her son's hair and kissed his forehead. "We'll have some time together tomorrow, ok, sweetheart?"

"Not tonight?" he asked, confused.

"I have to work tonight, remember?" His expression hardened and she sighed. "I'm sorry, Henry. I don't want to leave you so much, but I have to. I should get paid well tonight, so I won't have to work tomorrow."

Henry looked up at his mother with distrust. It wasn't the first time she'd said this. "Promise?"

"I promise." She kissed him again and rose to her feet. She moved into the tiny kitchenette behind the couch and fetched a bowl from a cupboard. "Let's feed your tummy monster and then pack some things in your bag so you'll have something to play with at Mrs Machin's. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?"

Henry shook his head vigorously; the old woman had terrified him when she caught him making a potion in the bathroom sink. His mother hadn't been too happy either since she'd had to replace the shampoo he'd liberally used. He watched her as she scooped oats into the bowl and sniffed the milk. Her nose recoiled slightly but she poured it over the cereal anyway before throwing it in the ancient microwave, which buzzed alarmingly as it cooked the mixture. Regina fetched two glasses from another cupboard and shared the milk between them as she grabbed a wrinkled apple for herself.

She sprinkled raisins over the oats once they were done and poured over another splash of milk from her own glass to help cool it down a bit. "Here you go, your highness," she announced as she presented the boy with his steaming breakfast.

Henry's stomach growled as he lifted an overflowing spoon in the air and began to blow on it. Before it reached his eager mouth though, he caught his mother inspecting her apple. "Aren't you having some, mommy?"

"Not today. I'll grab something at work." She ate her apple, savouring the feeling of solid food. She wasn't going to add that she was in the habit of lifting scraps from plates before they fell in the bin.

"This milk tastes funny," Henry commented, his face scrunching comically.

Regina sniffed hers and then knocked it back before she could really taste it. "It's starting to turn," she told her son. "But it's not so bad that we should just throw it away." When she'd eaten as much of the apple as she could, she placed her glass by the sink and ruffled her son's hair. "I'm going to get ready for work. Don't forget to blow on your oats," she warned before disappearing into the bathroom.

After taking Henry to Mrs Machin's, catching a whiff of the musty apartment and promising again that they would have the following day just for the two of them, Regina walked the half mile to work. She busted tables until after lunchtime, managing with a swift hand and a keen eye to sate her hunger on crusts of bread and scraps of meat – enough to stave off her own tummy monster and the increasing bouts of dizziness she experienced lately.

At three o'clock, she walked another mile across town to a strip club, where she changed uniform and started all over again. This time, instead of sticky-fingered children pawing at her apron, there were ass-grabbing hands. It had taken some getting used to, but she'd become adept at dodging and fending off horny men who felt like she owed them. The tips would be better if she was on stage of course, but every time she thought of it, she just wanted to cry. Crying on stage would not get her far and might even jeopardize the unenviable position she occupied at present.

"Are you still coming tonight?"

A voice sounded from behind Regina as she sat in the dressing room having a break. She recognised it and smiled as she swivelled round on her chair. "Yes, Ruby, I'm coming tonight. I already told Henry that I'll be home late." The lanky, scantily-clad woman in front of her smiled sadly and leaned back against the counter.

"It's a step up from this place," Ruby offered in consolation. "Maybe it'll lead to something that pays better so you can get out of here?"

Regina nodded but there was scepticism behind her expression. "Something needs to give…" she trailed off as her voice caught in her throat. "I can't do this much longer."

Ruby observed the darkening circles under her friend's eyes. They hadn't known each other very long, but she'd taken to the well-spoken brunette instantly and instructed her on how to handle herself with the boss, the other girls and the clientele. Regina Mills was not suited to a place like Pussy Galore, but she wasn't too stuck-up to work amongst strippers. Regardless of the fact that she was out of her depth, she adapted quickly and worked hard. She was strong willed and Ruby respected that. It was why she'd invited Regina along to her evening job. Not only was she confident that the young mother would be able to keep up, but she would know how to behave around the guests.

Swan's Ugly Duckling Foundation was a fairly new program, which built youth/family centres in run down neighbourhoods. Ruby volunteered at one of the centres during some of her off hours, which was where she'd heard about tonight's fundraiser and the need for waiters.

I can't do this much longer sounded to Ruby less about the job and more about life in general. It worried the lanky stripper that her friend was starting to give up. "Well, I've got a uniform in your size, so there's nothing stopping you."

Regina actually felt some of her old self float up from the chasm of her mind – of her buried past – as she buttoned up her shirt and tugged at the collar until she was happy with how it sat. She left the noises and smells of the club close to half six and followed Ruby to her car.

During the ride, she tried to calm her breathing and distance herself from the Regina Mills who'd hosted these kinds of events. Tonight, she was Regina Mills – single mother, widow, waitress. Nothing more.

Boston City Centre, MA

Emma straightened her tie and checked her reflection one last time before stepping out of the car and handing her key to the valet. She'd refused to buy a flashier car or hire a driver to chauffeur her around, but she had splashed out for a full overhaul and refurb of her beloved bug. The yellow Beetle shone like the sun and purred like a kitten now and Emma took pride in driving the little motor around town. While it made her conspicuous, she also felt like it was an f*** you in the face of all those snobbish oligarchs who sneered at her rise to fame and money.

Ragnar met her at the door to her down-town events building and offered his arm. His wife, Julie already had a hand looped in one arm and the two women exchanged a fond eye-roll as Emma complied and the three of them entered the foyer.

Though she'd hosted a few of these champagne fund-raisers now, Emma Swan still had to dig deep into her drawer of tricks to find the right role to play. She needed to be charming, affable and entertaining without insulting her donors. Which was not an easy feat when they were most entertained by her tales of hardship. Often, she could twist the conversation so someone asked about her latest rescue/adventure, but one or two of her regular guests seemed particularly stuck on her gloomy backstory. It grated, but they paid well and her reward was always the smiles on the faces of the families who benefitted from her projects.

This night kept her busy with one group of people or another. Very occasionally, she would find someone who was genuinely interested in supporting the communities she helped and there would ensue a long conversation about the ins and outs of her business endeavours. No matter how the night turned out for her personally, she hadn't failed yet to rake in enough donations for her next project. So, despite the opinions of some, she was pleased by the results.

By eight o'clock, all of the expected guests had arrived, by nine, most of them were lubricated and conversing loudly about their individual achievements or the latest scandal, and by ten, half of her guests were three sheets to the wind. It was as she was mingling – or schmoozing, as Rangar liked to call it – that her gaze passed over one of the waitresses and she felt like she'd seen a ghost. Her saviour, her angel was here? It couldn't be! She turned to get a better look, but only caught the back of a head.

Damn, Emma thought as she returned to half-heartedly listening to the twins who were demanding her attention.

Another thing she'd noticed about having money and a dangerous reputation – she got a lot more attention from flirtatious individuals of both sexes. She'd been tempted once or twice, on her lonelier days, after a few drinks, but hadn't crossed that line yet. Even when she had considered throwing caution to the wind, her gut rebelled. She had a feeling that sleeping with any of these privileged peacocks was going to be a huge mistake. So, when the pair in the front of her grew in confidence and started to get handsy, Emma decided that discretion was the better part of valour and made her excuses to escape, distracting them and then sneaking off. She followed the wall and paused behind pillars as she crossed the large room and advanced towards the kitchen.

The hustle and bustle behind closed doors, which the majority of her guests were happy to avoid, was Emma's place of sanctuary when she needed a break from the vapid or narrow-minded talk in the main room. But as she pushed through the swinging doors, she met a scene that she was definitely not expecting.

On the floor lay a broken plate of half-eaten hors d'oeuvres and beside it stood one of her long-term caterers holding captive a wilting angel. It's her, Emma marvelled for the second time that night. She'd dismissed her earlier sighting as a trick of the light or wishful thinking, but this time she was sure of herself. It is her. Quick. Help her!

As her brain was still taking in the bizarre scene, Emma started forward. Her gaze absorbed all of the warning signs of someone in danger of passing out and she leapt into action. She reached her target just as the angel's legs gave out and crumpled. She caught a quick flash of troubled brown and felt her heart beat faster before the waitress lost consciousness in her arms.

So, back to where we started! I hope you all enjoyed the build-up. Please let me know your thoughts. It really helps with the editing!