Chapter 1

You were red and you liked me because I was blue

You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky

Then you decided purple just wasn't for you

Halsey - Colors

Fifteen years... For fifteen years Emma hasn't seen or talked to that woman. No, of course she's seen her on the election propaganda billboards littered all over the town. She's seen her on the news and the political debates on the local channel. Her mom had turned on the news after a family dinner 'cause 'Look! It's Regina! Aren't you excited to see her? You were friends in school, weren't you? By the way, why did you stop rubbing shoulders with her? I don't get itl'. There even was that time once when she wasn't able to handle her curiosity (It was out of idle curiosity, honestly. Anyone would've wanted to take a glance at their ex best friend whom they haven't seen since their graduation, wouldn't they?) and she had peeked at her Facebook page. She didn't know what she had expected to see there. One could hardly recognize the girl that would straighten out her hair, having been shy about her Latin American curls; who would wear black oversized cardigans that would hang loosely over her delicate shoulders; who would explain her Algebra homework with a long-suffering sigh, trying to prove to Emma that she wasn't stupid, she was just being lazy, and she, Regina, wouldn't be around Emma in college, so it was high time she buckled down. The girl who'd bite her teeth into her dark-crimson lower lip doing sums with concentration and tapping a pencil on the table. She used to have that adorable look when her brows creased, which would make Emma want to smooth it out with her thumb. And a strand of sleek dark hair would fall in her face which she would tuck behind her ear absentmindedly.

But to see her with her own eyes? Nope, she hadn't. Emma wasn't even sure if she wanted to. After you've been methodically erasing a person from your life, to meet them in person... it would be just terrifying.

It's terrifying because she might see her and realize that none of those things she'd been trying so hard to bury under the ruins of broken hopes, and torn shreds of illusions haven't been dead at all. That it keeps pulsating stubbornly in some remote corner of her soul. The corner which seems to be forever occupied by that girl who she once knew and loved. The girl who has been gone from her life for a long time. And who Emma hoped wouldn't ever be back.

But there isn't that girl anymore, right? Instead of her, there is a strict politician smiling from the poster on the wall behind the reception desk (Emma wonders why it hadn't been removed yet. The electoral campaign is over. Is it some kind of a reminder that 'Big Brother is watching you'?) She looks a tad arrogant although trying to seem pleasant. The need to capture voters' hearts.

"Madame Mayor is ready to see you." the secretary's voice interrupts her train of thought and Emma rises.

She nods and gets up discreetly wiping her slightly sweaty palms over her jeans. A deep breath before turning the door handle. A brief reminder to herself not to lose her cool. She doesn't give a shit what impression she will make on the new Mayor. Yes, they used to be close, but they are not anymore. Now they are Mayor Mills and Sheriff Swan. Not Emma and Regina from the senior class of Storybrooke High.

Waggling her head to brush off the unwelcome thoughts, she pushes open the door and just stands there for a few moments eyeing the spacious, light office. Or its owner, to be more specific, whom she momentarily notices.

Regina Mills – no, Madame Mayor – sits at the enormous desk looking through some papers, very businesslike. Black hair thoroughly coiffed doesn't quite reach her shoulders, perfect posture, strict suit, snow-white shirt with two buttons unbuttoned, hugging her chest tight. Her facial features, ones that used to be more delicate, now grew harsher, as if they were sharpened by the skillful hands of a talented sculptor. Regina Mills now looks like the true embodiment of a cinematic fatal woman, nothing less.

For sure, she must be responsible for a mini-cemetery of broken hearted men. Why just men's though?

"Sheriff Swan, do come in. Don't just stand there like a stock," a slightly husky, alien voice draws Emma out of her stupor. "In case you've finished your examination, that is."

Ah. There you go, eh? Well, then.

"Madame Mayor."

The woman in front of her doesn't bother to look up. A strange feeling it is – to see someone so familiar and yet so alien all at once.

Having shut the door behind her and feeling strangely disoriented, Emma approaches the desk and, without asking for permission, subsides into the visitor armchair. The leather of the armchair emits a curious sound and Emma hopes Regina understands that it's armchair that's to be blamed, not her. For some reason, this insignificant incident helps her relax and pull herself together – she feels more confident when she can take herself and the situation less seriously.

"You're late," the woman finally tears herself away from the documents and looks up at Emma indifferently. No sign of recognition. Emma wants to applaud her acting skills. She even thinks for a split second – maybe she honestly doesn't remember her?.. An enviable ability to erase people from ones memory. She would have traded something precious to master that skill.

"Just two minutes," Emma brushes off without flinching under her cutting gaze.

The Mayor blinks, her jaw moving slightly, then moves off of her posh leather armchair to get up and rise above Emma.

"If you expect, Sheriff," she enunciates coolly and Emma can see the way her nostrils flare, "that the sheer fact of our acquaintanceship gives you any kind of special treatment or that you are allowed to forget about punctuality and just carelessly..."

"The sheer fact of our acquaintanceship?" Emma can't help herself. She is thoroughly annoyed with this cold detachment. She wants to come closer and give this woman a shake, to put a stop to this farce. Regina remembers her alright, they are both perfectly aware of that, so what is this play for? She just as much wants to erase everything there was between them. But since it's so damn impossible, maybe they should behave like adults they both are? To try to live with it? "What the hell is wrong with you, Regina?" Emma asks, and finally the other woman allows herself to screw her face slightly and Emma feels some kind of childish satisfaction. "We were friends in High School. It doesn't change anything. You are a Mayor now. And I am a Sheriff. The least we should do is try to be civil. As adequate adults. And you could stop treating me like a stranger. It's a history now, for Christ's sake..."

As a response to her tirade the woman raises an eyebrow then sits back in her immense armchair, dramatically resting her arms on the armrests.

"Have you received my e-mail with a list of documents?" she inquires. Emma blinks, surprised with a sudden change of the subject. She was just preparing herself for a squabble...

"I got it yesterday, yes."

"Have you become familiar with it?"

"I had a glimpse," she answers cagily, feeling as though she was a poor student in the principal's office.

"I strongly recommend you to do it quickly."

"Certainly," Swan assures her.

Regina moves closer to the desk and folds her hands.

"I expect your reports weekly. Every Monday morning the activity report must be sitting on my desk. I do believe you'll take it seriously, Sheriff."

Emma stares at her incredulously.

"You mean I have to spend every Sunday spooning with the report? Delightful." she answers with a snarl crossing her arms against her chest rebelliously.

"Do not play with me, Sheriff." Regina levels her with her no-bullshit glare. "I don't demand anything extraordinary from you. With the proper equipment in place, you could prepare it on Friday and on Sunday all you'll need to do is to add several corrections if there's a need. Although as much as I know you, expecting you to be organized is just..."

"I knew you wouldn't resist taunting me," Emma sneers hoping to disarm the Mayor with her directness. She isn't going to play by Regina's rules. She can pretend she doesn't remember her, doesn't know her and that Emma is just a big fat nobody. Emma's going to treat her the way she wants to. And she just desperately wants to take the frills out of this woman. Becoming serious she adds:

"Any requirements for the reports? The size of the font, intervals, stuff like that..."

"If you had become familiar with the aforementioned e-mail, Sheriff, you wouldn't have asked that unnecessary question," says the woman giving every appearance that her patience is wearing thin. – "Times New Roman font, 14, 1,5 interval..."

Emma looks at her with affectedly bulged eyes – she was actually joking, but Regina clearly wasn't. She was dead serious.

"I would make some notes, but I didn't bring my notebook."

Regina stares at her.

"It was a joke, Regina, relax," Swan shakes her head. What happened to this woman and what did she do with the Regina who had always gotten her sarcasm perfectly? "If it's in my e-mail, I'll read it."

"Wonderful. Do you have my phone number?" Madame Mayor starts to turn over piles of papers on her desk.

Emma shakes her head.

"No, I don't have your number," and added for some reason, "I deleted it years ago".

Mills throws her an unreadable look and Emma mentally scolds herself – it was completely unnecessary, to behave like that. As if what had happened between them still means something. And still hurts. Because it's not like that at all. It hasn't been like that for a long time.

Regina fishes out her phone and enunciates "Write it down, then."

"That it, Madame Mayor?" inquires Emma after they have swapped phone numbers. Now she adds her name to the contact list under the insipid "Mayor Mills". Maybe "Mayor Milf"? She'll think about that. "Are you done with me?" and without waiting for her reply, she stands up. She doesn't want Mills to think that being here brings her joy.

"Yes, Sheriff. I'm done with you," answers Madame Mayor matching her tone and keeping her chin up. "Do try not to procrastinate with those documents. As you may know, we have plenty of work to be done."

"Worry not. I'll send them to you them in the near future," says Emma with overdone politeness.

"How nice," her voice gets sickeningly sweet which could fool nobody. "Good day, Sheriff," and she turns away as if she is awfully busy with her paperwork, as if having to deal with Emma is an unfortunate necessity which distracts her from her far more important matters.

"Good day, Madame Mayor," responds Emma emotionlessly as she gets out of the office, not wasting another second.

The door shuts behind her with a silent click, the smell of coffee from the secretary's desk reaches her nostrils.

"Coffee, Sheriff?" offers the girl cordially sending her a sincere smile which seems incredibly bright and warm after exchanging pleasantries with Regina.

"No, thank you," Emma smiles nervously in return, secretly glancing at the desk name sign. "Maggie."

She wants to leave this building as quickly as possible, to be left alone and sort out the thoughts which were swarming fussily, pushing each other aside.

As soon as she is in the driver's seat, she feels like she can finally breathe and leans back with relief.

Stilling the unwanted shaking in her hands, she tries to make out her feelings. If there are any butterflies in her stomach, woken after their lethargy. No, none. Nothing remotely close, thank God. No former affection. She doesn't even like Regina Mills. She's a complete stranger. An unpleasant stranger, come to think of it. All she feels for her now is some dull annoyance mixed with a hint of disappointment. And no feelings, God forbid. As well as no desire to see her weekly. She'll send Jones to take her reports. Or she'll e-mail them, which is better. Did they invent the Internet for nothing?

Fifteen years ago.

The persistent horn disrupts the silence of the fresh autumn morning once again. Emma runs down the stairs almost fall head over feet with her heavy bag hanging from one shoulder. Washed in the cheerful morning sunlight, the kitchen teems with the cozy smell of freshly cooked blackberry pancakes. Despite the rush, Emma still manages to scarf one, clench another in her teeth and the third one between her ring finger and little finger as she laces up her red Converse shoes, desperately trying not to stain them with grease.

"Emma, what takes you so long? Regina's been signaling you for five minutes already," chides her mother softly putting a mug of steaming coffee in front of her dad. "And when are you going to start having breakfast like normal people do? Set your alarm earlier if you're always running out of time."

Shoving another pancake in her mouth and emptying her cup of cold coffee in one impressive gulp, Emma kisses her mom's cheek. Throwing over her shoulder "I'm out. Today's the important test, gotta go. See ya later!" and darts out of the house.

Her parents' parting words drown in a loud stream of invectives Emma let out – as she almost trips over the large newspaper that had just been delivered.

"Why didn't you get the newspaper?" she yells. She miraculously hasn't embedded her forehead into the tiled pathway.

"You could've done it yourself if you woke up earlier..." but the door is already shut behind Emma's back. She rearranges the strap of her backpack with one hand, limps along towards the vintage car at the mailbox – one shoe still unlaced.

Regina Mills, the best student in her class, the President of the School Council and her best friend (she doesn't even know how it happened) unnecessarily makes up her already expressive eyes with eyeliner in the driver's seat. Not looking away from the small mirror she throws her way a "What a slowpoke you are, Swan. I thought I'd get old before you got out of the house."

"Don't grumble" Emma brushes off, throwing her backpack on Regina's Cadillac convertible backseat. It was a present for her eighteenth birthday by her parents. Emma didn't even have the energy for envy when she first saw it.

Emma sat down, deftly stuffing the last pancake in her mouth and tries to lace up her shoe with unruly greasy fingers. When she straightens up she explains:

"I couldn't tie my tie."

Regina, with her eyeliner frozen in her hand, finally tears herself away from the mirror to send a sideways glance at her hapless friend.

"Oh my God! I finally realized who you remind me of!" she theatrically looks at her wide-eyed. One eye seems smaller – she hasn't made it up yet. Her mother forbids her to use anything that is not a lip-gloss, but Regina wouldn't be Regina if she didn't do what she wants at all times. "You're channeling Avril Lavigne!" she accusatorily points her eyeliner at Emma's father's striped tie which dangles on top of her white tank top.

Emma looks downright scandalized.

"God, one can't even put on a tie without being pressed with stupid unreasonable charges," throwing back her thoroughly straightened hair she opens up the passenger's door.

"I'll buy you a belt for your birthday after all," Regina points at her cargo pants hanging off her pelvic bones and then returns to the mirror to finish off her second eye.

It was said flippantly, but Emma still manages to catch a fleeting glance at the uncovered part of her stomach. Emma knows Regina likes her abs.

A familiar jalopy comes around the corner (next to Regina's car, all her schoolmates' second hand cars seem that way) and stops with a squeak overtaking them. She'll always recognize dirty-yellow slicked down with gel Stan Ericson's dyed hair.

"Hey Swan, let's get together sometime?" he says it without any hope left, but Emma knows he's plotting to wear her down.

"Piss off, dickhead!"

"Oh, don't play hard to get. I know you want me to scratch your itch."

Rick Hudson grins nastily from the driver's seat and Emma just wants to wrench Regina's eyeliner from her fingers and send it flying straight into his face.

"I don't need a boyfriend who's just a copycat of Justin Timberlake," deadpans Emma and flops down on the passenger's seat putting her feet on the car's dashboard dramatically. Under other circumstances Regina would have advised her to keep her feet to herself, but now she doesn't even bat an eyelid. Emma is silently grateful for it.

"Hitch up your pants, bitch!" spits out the joke of a wannabe boyfriend and the car drags down the street squealing with tires.

"Go fuck yourself!" she matches her words with a certain gesture, but the addressee is already gone and can't assess the extent of her indignation.

"Your charm-resisting skills are admirable," Regina puts away all the stuff in her bag and starts the engine.

"Asshole," mutters Emma looking after the car as it goes round the corner.

"Don't you want to give him a chance?" asks Regina with an almost sincere bewilderment. Emma could have believed the interrogative tone of her voice, but the malicious smile touching the corner of her dark crimson lips says Emma is being teased mercilessly.

Emma sprawls herself on her seat, watching her friend slyly.

"You know, pirates would use so much eyeliner because the sunlight bothered their eyes. What's your excuse?"

"To hide away any sign of my dark rotting soul," grumbles Regina, taking off.

Emma looks at her unimpressed.

"You should stop with your gothic stuff you know."

"God, it seems to me it will never come to some people that not just goths wear black," sighs Regina and shakes her head. Emma can't help admiring the way wind ruffles up her pitchy dark strand of hair. "And either way, I don't imitate anybody! Ever. All those teenage subcultures are just a desire to differentiate themselves from others, but in reality it's merely a veiled need to belong, to be a part of a group. Whereas I don't have any need to imitate anyone whatsoever."

Emma doesn't reply, so Mills nods at her shoes on the dashboard and adds:

"And take your feet off the dash, for Christ's sake."

Swan obediently does what she's been told and Regina softens.

"Ready for the test?" the brunette sounds not so annoyed anymore.

"Yep, was up all night studying."

Regina tears her focused eyes away from the road to look up at Emma, bewildered.

"Really?"

Swan turns to her and her eyes display all the world's boredom.

"Look at this face," she points at herself. "Does this look like a nerd's face to you?"

"It looks like a face of a lazy ass to me," hums Regina.

Emma rolls her eyes and turns away looking at the rows of houses they pass by.

Regina seems to be in a better mood now so she plucks up enough courage to ask what she wanted to ask back when she was tying that damn tie.

"What about Robin? Has he shown up?"

"No." Emma can see the way her jaw muscles tighten. "Hasn't called for days now." It was said indifferently, but Emma knows the pain is hidden somewhere there, and it makes her want to twist Robin's fucking head off.

"Don't you even think of calling him," she warns her just in case. Regina is silent and Emma feels it is exactly what she wanted to do.

"He'll show up," Emma says quietly looking at her friend with caution. "No matter how many times he goes to his ex and their kid, he always comes back to you eventually."

"She's not his ex wife. They haven't divorced after all," informs Regina darkly turning on to the street leading to Storybrooke High. "And I'm not sure I want him to. To show up again, I mean. I miss him – yes. But I'm tired. Tired of not being his first choice."

Emma sighs and says casually (she knows Regina hates being pitied and comforted – she likes to seem strong. So the only way to talk about serious stuff is as if it's something insubstantial):

"Robin is surely a douchebag, you know what I think of him, right? But I think he really loves you," tenderness unwillingly enters her voice which has nothing to do with Robin and his love. Just with Regina who is worthy of so much more, a thousand times. "It's just the circumstances are against him. And he was never too bright, It occurred to him to impregnate his girlfriend at the age of seventeen after all," she feels enough courage to look at Regina – just in time to notice the corner of her mouth moving up."Who'd think you can have kids as a result of having sex!" her eyes open wide. Regina tears her eyes away from the road for a second to send her a crooked smile.

"I'm not so sure anymore, Emma. But thanks for trying to cheer me up."

Emma kisses her temple brashly and says with a gruff slap on her shoulder to smooth the awkwardness:

"For you, anything, babe."

Regina chuckles and Emma feels good again.