In the morning, at the beginning of her work shift at the station, Emma, always with a clear conscience, allows herself a chocolate-coated doughnut and a glass of cocoa. She can afford all of this and more at any other time of day, but she considers the morning to be a positive reinforcement that makes the beginning of the work day a little less tiresome and even in some ways pleasant. But even this little mischief can't make up for the Monday morning that started with her hastily concocting that damned report. She could, of course, have listened to Regina Mills' advice and prepared it ahead of time, but Emma decided against it precisely because it was Regina Mills' wish. Fortunately, she has a whole folder of old reports from previous years stored on her computer, and if she copied practically any of them, it wouldn't even be a lie – nothing ever happens in Storybrooke, Maine. She isn't even sure why the city budget funds a Deputy for her – a single Sheriff could easily handle the workload. But she thought Jones' presence would come in handy – she can always send him to Granny's for some pastry or grilled cheese, and on days like today, she is especially grateful for the opportunity to send her Deputy to the Mayor's office with the report.

After making the report fit the Mayor's requirements, she takes out her phone and picks the contact she needs from the recent calls list. After what seemed like the tenth beep, her Deputy's voice booms out, raspy, sleepy, and not entirely happy.

"Hey, KJ!" Swan greets with forced cheerfulness. "How's it going?"

"Is that why you're calling me at this hour, Swan? To find out about my life?" the phone grumbles.

"No, you're right, that's not why," Emma agrees reluctantly. "I need your help. Stop by when you wake up, okay? I know it's not your shift, it's just... I need you to do something."

"Eh... fuck it. I won't fall asleep anyway."

Emma grins, hanging up. On the one hand, she is sorry to bother him, but on the other, she isn't. About twenty minutes later, Jones arrives at the station, looking disheveled and gloomy.

"So, what's the deal?"

Emma businesslike hands him the modest result of her labors.

"I need to get this report to the Mayor's office," she says, meeting Jones's dark gaze and continues, "And I need you to do this."

The man's face softens a little. He looks at her differently now, as if... with understanding.

"You've been to see her, haven't you?" he asks curtly.

"Yeah, I have," Emma nods, deciding this is the time to clean up the mess on the table and finally throw away the evidence of her crimes against the figure.

"How is she?" Jones steps closer. Emma could feel him watching her face. But she somehow avoids looking at him. "As hot as the pictures?" an attempt to defuse the situation.

"I don't know what to tell you," Swan finally looks up at him. "I'd say she's just a regular bitch if I didn't know her better. Although... Now I'm not sure I know her at all," she chuckles, but there must have been some bitterness in her voice because now her old friend's bearded face shows sympathy. "I'm not sure about anything anymore."

Jones keeps silent, waiting for her to continue, and Emma says helplessly:

"I just don't feel like seeing her, you know? If I don't have to."

Now the sympathy on his face is mixed with doubt and surprise, and he drawls incredulously, without taking his piercing blue eyes off her:

"What, after all these years?"

"No, of course not!" she throws up her hands indignantly and jumps to her feet. "It's just... I take no pleasure in it! Why can't I take no pleasure in it?!"

"You can, of course, why not?" he agrees soothingly, sitting down on the visitor's chair.

"It's just... I don't know. She hurt my feelings, and every time I see her, I feel what I felt back then, you know?" she goes to the window and stares with unseeing eyes. "Defective... unwanted," Emma grinds out, and the admission seems to make her even more disgusted with herself.

"Well, that's understandable," Jones props his feet up on the table. "I mean... It's been a while... Don't you think?"

Emma abruptly turns around, wishing she didn't allow herself this moment of revelation.

"Just take this bloody report to her office!"

Jones springs to his feet with a show of alacrity.

"Will do, boss!"

Emma stares out the window again. She didn't see Jones take the long-suffering folder and leave the room. The strange anger returned. Her emotions were getting the better of her more and more often now, and it was beginning to tire her out. Maybe she should go to Dr. Hopper for a consultation so that he could help her close this stupid gestalt from which an eighteen-year-old girl was looking at her with offended eyes?..

She never went to see Dr. Hopper. And then, a couple of days later, something she hadn't expected happened: Regina Mills called her.

"Madame Mayor. You didn't like my report and decided to tell me this personally?" Emma quips, deciding that it wouldn't give Regina the satisfaction of catching her off guard.

"No, Sheriff. It's not about that. I need to talk to you. Today."

Emma blinks, at a loss what to say:

"Er... okay."

"I'll meet you in my office. The sooner, the better," and hangs up.

Swan's first impulse is to go straight to Town Hall because she is too curious about why Mayor Mills wants to see her. And then she thinks – well, no. She's a busy person. And what so urgent could happen that it can't wait?!

So she takes her time cleaning up her desk (inside and outside) (which she usually does very rarely), goes to Granny's to pick up her lunch (although lunchtime is so far away), and only then she decides that she can move on to the Mayor's office.

Red-haired Maggie informs Emma as soon as she sees her in the doorway:

"Oh, Sheriff, good. Mayor Mills is waiting for you."

Surprised and a little flattered, Emma knocks on the Mayor's office door and pushes it open when she hears a 'come in'. Now Emma has a chance to look around. The Mayor's office was quite luxurious before. But a certain imprint of its owner affected it. Gold was a dry and pragmatic man, and his office lacked polish. Now, in the possession of Regina Mills – a woman of some taste – the Mayor's office seemed to have taken on a new identity. Her personality. Everything is balanced, deftly combining austerity and grace, grandeur and subtlety, luxury and moderation. The dark tones interact with the light ones in a bizarre way, and the office doesn't seem too dazzling or too gloomy, it creates a strange sense of calmness even.

Regina stands up at the sight of her and nods at the visitor's chair. "Have a seat, Sheriff Swan."

Surprised by the relatively warm reception, Emma watches a woman dressed in a business pantsuit approaching her mini-bar. Emma strides across the sunlit floor, acutely aware of the sound of her boot heels on the expensive tiles.

"Would you like a drink?"

"I'm on duty," clearing her throat, Emma adjusts the collar of her jacket.

"Of course," Mills says. She splashed the amber liquid into the tumbler and sips it pensively. Emma patiently waits for her to get down to business.

"I need your help," the woman finally says, and Emma raises her eyebrows.

"Professional help, I mean. As the Sheriff of this town. But I don't want it to go on record. It has to be kept strictly between us, do you understand me?" she puts the tumbler on the tray and walks over to the table.

Emma straightens up and folds her hands on the table in front of her looking very serious.

"I'm listening."

No matter what kind of relationship they have with Regina, she's the Sheriff first and foremost duty is safety, and she's ready to help anyone who needs it.

Regina sits down too, apparently sensing her mood, and for the first time, she looks at Emma with a straight, calm gaze with no hostility or emotion, as such.

"I have a stalker."

Emma stares at her questioningly for a few seconds, then raises her eyebrows:

"Go on."

Regina continues in the smooth, carefully measured voice of a politician.

"They sent me a rose first. Here, to the office. The spikes were cut off, and there was a note. It was this Friday."

"What did the note say?" Emma busily pulls a notebook and pen out of her inside pocket so that Regina could see that she is a professional and asks all the questions because they are relevant, not because they are of any interest to her.

"It said, 'A rose is beautiful, but even thorns won't help it if someone wants to cut it.'"

"So much pathos," Emma can't resist commenting.

Regina jerks an eyebrow and then clarifies:

"It turned out to be a rose from my garden."

Emma nods, scribbling in her notebook. "What happened next?"

"Then someone – and I have no doubt they were the same person – cut off a branch of my apple tree."

Emma nods again, not looking up from her notes, and Regina continues. "I discovered it last night. And the next morning, I found an apple pie on my doorstep."

Emma's head snaps up in surprise.

"It turned out to be infested with worms," Madame Mayor finishes in a flat voice.

Emma pauses, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't.

"Is that all?" she clarifies just in case.

"Is that not enough for you, Sheriff?" there is a familiar edge to Regina's voice. "I'm sorry I decided to take action before some lunatic decided to break into my house in the middle of the night."

"No, you did the right thing," Emma says conciliatory. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No, when it became clear that someone was pursuing a very specific goal to intimidate me, I immediately turned to a person who has some relevance to the situation – a representative of public law and order."

"Right," Swan says. "So, any idea who it might be?"

"Sydney Glass," Regina says without hesitation, shrugging a little.

"Glass? Your opponent in the election? Why him?"

"He's not just my opponent, Sheriff Swan. He's been stalking me in one way or another for as long as I've known him. You may not remember, but in High School he found his way to the school council, just after I became its chairman. Then, by a happy coincidence, we ended up at the same university. And he was always around in some strange way. I have long suspected that he seemed to have an unhealthy interest in me. It was evident in his behavior. Some kind of inadequacy. I can't put it in a nutshell. He tried to ask me out a couple of times, but I let him know that nothing could happen between us. At some point, I thought he'd calmed down. But I went back to Storybrooke and started campaigning, and then he showed up and – what an amazing coincidence – put forward his candidacy."

"Why would he do that?"

"I've been thinking about that, too. Perhaps out of a desire for revenge or to attract my attention. Or show me and himself that he is not nothing. One way or another, his plan hasn't been a success. He failed miserably in the election, and I think it was a blow to his ego that he couldn't forgive me."

"So you're a hundred percent sure it's him and no one else?"

"Ninety-five percent, I'd say."

"And the other five?" presses Emma.

"To tell you the truth, I had a feeling it might have been you, Sheriff," Regina says, and Emma's mouth drops open in surprise.

"Me... me?"

"But I brushed it off very quickly. Still, I don't think you're capable of such a thing, " she says, watching Emma intently as if studying her reaction.

"You flatter me, Madam Mayor," Emma shakes her head.

Regina doesn't even bat an eyelid.

"So, who else? Well, offhand. Any potential foes? It could be anyone, some psycho who didn't want you to be a Mayor. You never know," Emma's eyes widen. "Or one of your exes. You must've had... other relationships," it takes Emma a lot of physical effort to get herself to talk about it. And do it as if it didn't matter to her at all. And it really didn't. "Men after Robin."

She knows Regina isn't married. Robin and his family left Storybrooke when Emma was still in the police academy in Boston. And she hasn't heard anything about the future of his relationship with Regina since.

Regina is a beautiful woman, and one would have to be blind to deny it. Well, okay, Emma is ready to admit that she is one of the most beautiful women – both real and imagined – that she has ever seen in her life. And she's seen a lot of them. And she can't wrap her head around the fact that a person who's just a living embodiment of sex could deny herself having sex. As career-obsessed as this woman is, she surely had lovers. Swan is ready to bet on her shiny Sheriff's badge.

"Women don't count, then?" Regina gives her a lazy, piercing look, and for the second time in a few minutes, Emma feels her mouth drop open and her heart pounding very fast.

So that's the way it is. It somewhat contradicts the information she had so far. Since when is Regina Mills interested in women? Why does it matter to her, though?..

"Okay, let me rephrase – any post-Robin relationship?" Emma quickly pulls herself together.

"I don't think it's appropriate to list names, Sheriff, because none of these people live in Storybrooke right now. Unlike Sidney Glass."

"They might have been acting through an intermediary," Emma objects.

"This is Glass, Sheriff Swan. Just trust me. I know that."

"How can you know that for sure if you haven't seen it with your own eyes? You don't have any security cameras, do you?"

Regina sits there, her face set, her eyes boring into Emma. But Emma is already carried away and isn't going to stop.

"I'm the Sheriff here, not you, Madam Mayor. You asked me for help, so let me do my job properly."

They both sit for a moment, staring at each other. Finally, Regina sighs wearily and looks away.

"It's him," she says more softly, and there is no struggle to her voice anymore. For some reason, Emma instantly relents.

"But first, we need to know for sure," she says, much more calmly. "I need to give your house a look-over."

Regina gets to her feet, and so does she.

"Do you still have everything he sent you? The rose? The pie?"

"The cleaning lady probably got rid of the rose. I didn't take it home, and it must have wilted over the weekend. And I immediately threw the pie in the trash. Panicked and threw it away. The trash has probably already been taken away."

"And the note? You said there was a note with the rose."

"Yes, it's here," Regina leans over and pulls a folded sheet of paper out of her desk drawer. The text was printed on a printer.

"Well, there's probably no point in sending it for examination," Emma says, turning the paper over in her hands. "Now I need to see your house."

They take a patrol car to Regina's house. It was decided that Emma would then give her a ride back to the Town Hall, after which she would go patrolling the streets.

Emma examines the stump of the apple tree where the branch was cut down, then goes through the rooms to make sure that no one secretly put up a bug. She goes around the neighborhood, asking if everything was all right, if they noticed anything or anyone suspicious in the area lately. Everyone shakes their heads.

"It's a pity there isn't any CCTV," Swan says when she got back to the mansion. "Maybe he wouldn't have the guts to do what he did. Anyway, you need to install the cameras. At all exits."

"Yes, I'll call the firm that does it right away," Regina agrees, and it's nice to find something they both agree on for once. Emma nods, too, and shuffles her feet. Regina looks at her expectantly.

"Okay, I'll go. If there's anything else – anything at all – you have my number."

Regina nods without smiling. "Okay, thank you, Sheriff."

She sees Emma to the door. She didn't offer a drink, Swan thinks, but she wouldn't have accepted it anyway.

Fifteen years ago

They return from school when Regina asks her. "Will you come to the gas station with me?"

Emma looks at her carefully, and Regina clarifies. "I need to fill up. It doesn't have anything to do with Robin."

Robin works at the gas station. For some reason, Regina felt that for moral support, she needed Emma to meet up with her (ex?) secret boyfriend.

Emma continues to stare at her, and Regina blushes and looks away, stares at the road ahead of her, and she's so tender at that moment, so vulnerable. Emma nods, and then she realizes that Regina probably doesn't see it, and she says quietly." Of course."

Her hand falls loosely on Regina's wrist. It feels so thin, her wrist, so easy to wrap your fingers around it. Regina turns to look at her, and Emma smiles with just her lips. The corner of Regina's mouth twitches up, too, and Emma strokes the soft skin under her thumb.

They drive in silence, and, for some reason, Emma doesn't want to take her hand away. She probably should, though. According to the unspoken rules, how long can friends ride side by side, holding hands, without making it seem strange? But Regina keeps her eyes focused on the road and doesn't try to pull away, and Emma just can't. When then they pull up to the gas station Emma unconsciously takes her hand away, though. Maybe she does it when she sees Robin's hunched figure, or, maybe, when she feels Regina tense up.

They pull up to the fuel dispensers and Robin walks over to the car.

"Regina," he looks quite a sight. Kind of sad and even haunted. Emma starts to think he's always been like this. She both can and can't figure out what Regina sees in him. A typical "nice guy". An average working stiff. Calm. Who won't hurt you, except unintentionally. For some reason, that's all he does. He doesn't want to hurt Regina. But he does. Because he wants to be good for everyone. For Regina, and for his long-suffering wife with his child, the one who got married when she was knocked up, and now endures all the antics of her hubby. But it doesn't work like that, it's impossible to be good for everyone. Even so, she can't quite wrap her head around why Regina wants him. He might be fun to be with at times, but that's the side of him that Emma doesn't really know.

"Full tank, please," Regina says distantly, trying not to look at him.

"Regina, we need to talk, please..." and his eyes are so, so sad. His low, mournful voice gets on Emma's nerves.

Regina doesn't look at him but pretends to rummage in her bag for a credit card. Emma gets tired of sitting in silence.

"We're here to fill up, not talk talky talk, " she grumbles, glaring at him. But he doesn't let up, puts his hand on the rolled-down car window, and calls out to Regina again, ignoring Emma.

Emma can feel her anger at Robin rising – before she met him, Regina used to be quite cheerful, and all he can do is upset her. Emma would punch any other asshole in the face who upsets Regina, and everyone would be happy. But she can't punch Robin in the face. All she can do is sit there helplessly and watch as this bastard, hiding behind his so-called 'feelings', upsets Regina again. He always only spoils everything. She liked the pre-Robin version of Regina – sometimes thoughtful, sometimes sarcastic, but mostly happy. Now she is more often withdrawn than not and keeps silent. And her eyes are so sad. Her former carefree hardly ever breaks through now, they laugh less and less often together. And less and less often, Regina looks into her eyes, mostly hides them. Yes, Emma hates Robin. That's for sure.

Finally, when Regina seems to get tired of listening to his nasal pleas, she gets out of the car with a cool, 'Two minutes' and walks a short distance away. Robin trails after her.

Emma sits with her back to them, and even though they're standing in a small remote nook, out of sight, she can see them perfectly in the rearview mirror. She knows she shouldn't be peeking, knows she should give them some privacy. But she sits there transfixed and can't take her eyes off them. Off Robin's arms, which are wrapped awkwardly around Regina's fragile shoulders. He looks like an uncouth bear with his stubble and straw-colored hair falling over his eyes. And those calloused paws of his. Does Regina really enjoy holding his hand? What's so nice about it? And he hugs her so clumsily, is that the way to hug Regina?! And then Regina looks up, and he leans towards her. Emma can't see from here, but she can tell they're kissing. He wraps his paws around her waist, pinning her to his stained uniform, and in Emma's sight, it feels like an outrage. She can see the intensity in the way he moves his stubbly chin, pressing his jutting, primate-like lower jaw against Regina's lips. And she thinks she's going to be sick. Does Regina really like his kisses? Is it really that good to feel his rough tongue in her mouth, which he thrusts so enthusiastically into her as if the quality of the kiss is determined by how deep he can push his tongue down her throat?!

Regina returns, looking a little disheveled. Even though not a single hair is out of place, Emma can see that she's slightly unhinged, as if this jerk has turned her head so much with his kisses, opened up some new facets of bliss to her, that coming down to this mortal earth, she's a little disoriented. Her dark red lipstick is smudged, exposing her lips in their pristine state. And Emma wonders what it's like to kiss them. How would she feel if she touched those amazing lips with hers? Just thinking about it makes something explode in her chest, and a wave that crushes everything crossing its path sweeps through her body, making her face burn.

Emma fidgets in her seat, trying not to look at Regina, who now gets behind the wheel. Looking in the same rearview mirror that Emma was hypnotizing a moment ago, she frantically straightens her hair and wipes off her smudged lipstick. How does Robin feel when he kisses those lips? Does he feel lucky? Thrilled under her touches? Does he feel even a hundredth part of the giddy delight that Emma felt at the mere thought of kissing his girlfriend?

God, she thinks as she covers her eyes with her hand as if trying to hide from her thoughts – she wants to kiss Regina...