Chapter one

The brown canvas was one of the worst she'd ever seen.

Emma wrinkled her nose, taking in the paint strokes that were slapped haphazardly across the rough fabric. She could have sworn that when she'd first started coming to these events, there had been a lot more colour involved. Now everyone seemed to be favouring sludgy greens and greys that reminded her of pond water, and it was making it even harder to pretend to be enjoying herself.

Although, really, that was only half the problem. The other was that there was an overweight man chattering away in her ear, and he'd been there for the past 10 minutes.

Emma took another sip of her champagne and tried not to flinch away from him. It had been a long time since she'd been dragged kicking and screaming under pain of contract termination to an event she had no interest in: ever since she and Regina had fallen back into one another's arms the previous year, there had been no expectation for her to show up to gallery openings; no need to spend all her wages on couture suits. But, maybe because she was a sucker, she did it anyway. The only difference was that she didn't resent it anymore, and that made it a hell of a lot easier to tolerate the cluster of crooning, clucking men who had the collective earnings of a small African country.

Except, of course, for the guy who was still talking at her even though she hadn't said a word since he'd first appeared.

"I'm just thrilled that rough brushstrokes are back in vogue," he said, edging even closer. He was in his fifties and Emma didn't think they'd ever met before, although all these men did look exactly the same, so it was hard to say for sure.

Her usual method of getting rid of people like that was to stare pensively at the painting until they got the hint. This guy, though, was made of stronger stuff.

"And the perspective here," he continued, reaching out like he was actually going to touch the canvas. The years of art-world etiquette that had been drilled into Emma made her flinch automatically. "It's just stunning."

"Mm," she eventually said. His cheeks visibly pinkened at her enthusiasm.

"The lack of colour is also something I'm really enjoying – it's so brave."

Finally, Emma was reeled in. "Brave?"

"Oh, definitely. So often I come to these events and leave feeling like someone's squeezed a lemon into my eyes."

There was a long pause before Emma asked, "From someone using green paint in a landscape?"

"Absolutely. I think the whole world would be better if it was just various shades of white."

Ignoring the delightfully racist undertones in that little analysis, Emma took a step back. "You know, I should go and find Regina. I haven't seen her in a while and if I leave her unsupervised for too long, she tends to buy entire exhibitions without thinking."

That was a lie, but it worked: she was able to turn away before the man had even replied, and she quickly slipped through the crowd. She was wearing a dress that evening – a short black one that was too tight around her waist and made it impossible to eat anything, but had the added benefit of making her look irresistible to the only person in the room whose opinion she cared about.

It was a Tuesday, which meant it was unlikely they'd be out very late, and Emma was already hoping she'd be lured back to the Upper East Side with promises of foot rubs and orgasms that only grew more mind-blowing as the months went on.

From a quick look around, she couldn't spot Regina anywhere, so instead she headed for the refreshments table. Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she grabbed a plate and filled it with the lowest-carb snacks she could find. It was a struggle – another thing she'd learned over the years was that although rich people were all about the free-flowing Pinot Noir, they were surprisingly stingy when it came to handing out food.

Once she had six things on a plate, she turned and surveyed the room. She'd been to that gallery dozens of times before, and she never enjoyed it very much – it was too bright and the ceilings were low, and there was so many sharp turns and alcoves that it was all too easy to lose someone in there. It reminded her of an old Windows screensaver, except instead of plain brick walls, she was surrounded on all sides by colourless art and even more colourless people.

But then she finally spotted the one splash of life in that whole room, and she headed toward it with a smile automatically spreading over her face.

Regina was standing by herself with her arms folded across the front of her bright red dress. She was staring at a painting like it was talking to her. Emma recognised her posture for what it really meant, though: the tight shoulder muscles and the harsh jawline that was slowly ticking. She'd felt the cloud of annoyance swirling around her in the car earlier, and she could see a shadow on her face as she approached. Regina wasn't contemplating: she was sulking.

"Here," Emma said as she reached her side.

Regina glanced down at the plate and narrowed her eyes. "What the hell is that?"

"Snacks. You haven't eaten properly all day."

"Right. I think I'd prefer another glass of champagne."

"I'm sure you would, but I'm not getting you one until you eat."

Regina rolled her eyes, but she begrudgingly took the plate. For once, Emma couldn't judge her for the look of disdain on her face – that gallery only served oily food and even oilier coffee, and just the fact that Regina was willing to force down one of their smoked salmon blinis was good enough for her.

Regina didn't say another word as she chewed. Her gaze kept straying back to the painting.

Eventually, Emma sighed. "Regina, it'll be okay. I know you're disappointed that that artist signed to Janet instead of you, but someone better will come along. They always do."

"I don't have time for a hope speech right now," Regina replied. "It could have been huge for me."

"This year's already been huge for you. Maybe it's time to take a break."

Regina snorted, but she gently touched the small of Emma's back as she did so. "I'll take a break when a doctor tells me to."

"There's that healthy work ethic I love so much," Emma said, nudging her. "Come on. This time next month, you'll have forgotten all about whatever-his-name-was. There are hundreds of other impoverished young artists waiting for you to get your magic dust all over them."

"What magic dust is that?"

"Oh, right. Like you don't already know."

"I have no idea," Regina replied, abandoning her half-full plate and shooting a pout in Emma's direction.

"You're just fishing for compliments."

"Well, I'm having a bad day. I'm allowed to."

Emma rolled her eyes and stepped closer, noticing that Regina's breath automatically hitched as she did so.

"That magic dust that lands on every single thing you touch," she said. "Whenever you get your hands on something, you make it better."

Regina's cheeks coloured slightly. "That's a lie."

"It's not. Just look at me."

"That's even more of a lie. You were already perfect when I met you," Regina replied, reaching for Emma's hand and squeezing. Even then, two years after they'd first met, the way Regina could dish out compliments so easily and sincerely still knocked Emma off her feet.

"Stop trying to butter me up," she muttered, ignoring Regina's smirk. "You're already sleeping with me."

"True, but maybe I'm about to ask you for a favour and I need you in a good mood for it."

Emma hesitated. "Are you?"

"No," Regina said cheerfully. "I just like to torment you."

Rolling her eyes, Emma said, "You're in a weird mood tonight."

"Aren't I always?"

"Well. Yeah. But weirder than normal. It's making me nervous."

It wasn't really, but Emma loved the wicked smirk Regina got on her face whenever she thought she was being intimidating. Right on cue, she grinned, her dark eyes flashing. "Good. That's exactly what I like to hear."

Then her tone shifted, and she turned away from Emma like nothing had happened at all. "Now. What do you think of this one?"

She was talking about the painting, much to Emma's disappointment. She glanced back at the canvas to make sure they were discussing the same thing, and then flatly responded, "I don't like it."

"You always say that."

"I do not."

"You said it last week at Frank's gala, and two days before that at—"

"I told you," Emma interrupted. "All of these new ones are boring. Everyone's decided that browns and greys are the most exciting colours to ever exist, and it's killing me. There's no spark anywhere."

There was genuine shock on Regina's face when she looked back at her. "Wait. You have an actual artistic opinion on them?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"It is, coming from the woman who started off saying that she only likes paintings that look like what they're supposed to look like."

"I stand by that. But fine – I guess you've accidentally taught me a thing or two."

"Nothing is accidental with me, darling," Regina replied, nudging her.

All Emma could do was smile and look away, because whenever Regina's voice got all soft and playful like that, all she wanted to do was grab her by the wrist and tug her in for a kiss that would leave everyone in the room staring.

Even after two years of them showing up at events together, people's eyes still constantly strayed in their direction, although Emma hadn't worked out whether that was because it was so scandalous that two women insisted on being happy together, or because it was unthinkable that Regina could be happy at all.

And just like that, Emma's smile tightened.

They stood in silence for a moment – Regina observing the painting, and Emma observing Regina – before the anxiety that had been living in the base of her stomach for the past six months finally became too crackly to ignore.

"Maybe it's a good thing that we're still not living together," she said, forcing a laugh. "If you've turned me into an art snob from across town then God knows what I'd be like living on the Upper East Side."

She waited for a response, just like she always did. She waited for Regina to light up and say, "I have a solution for that."

Instead, she stayed quiet, her gaze still taking in the painting. Emma could have sworn the colour had faded from her cheeks.

With Regina's attention once more fixed on a piece of mundane art that Emma was almost completely certain she wasn't considering buying, Emma decided her best option was to turn and walk away. Disappointment was bubbling away inside her and if she wasn't careful she'd do what their couple's therapist kept referring to as her 'walls up' defence mechanism. It usually involved her going into a funk and getting snippy in a public place, and that rarely ended well – especially not when Regina was the one getting snapped at.

Instead, she went over to the emptiest corner she could find and took a deep breath, waiting for the pounding in her temples to subside. She'd collected a glass of champagne off a tray on her way over and was sipping it slowly – another technique she'd learned from therapy. She still kind of missed the days when grabbing a bottle of bourbon seemed to solve all of her problems, but she definitely didn't miss the bloating and the headache that came with it. Nowadays, it was much easier to pretend that she was considering the nearest painting rather than simply trying to find a quiet moment where it was possible to talk herself out of crying.

She straightened her shoulders beneath her black jacket and folded her arms, letting the champagne flute dangle casually from one hand. People rarely bothered her when she was in that position – either because they assumed she was deep in thought, or because they could tell she wasn't in the mood for small talk. Regina was the only person who ever dared to disturb her, but even she stayed away. Not that it was intentional – as much as Emma loved her, she had to admit that her girlfriend was still quite dense when it came to actual human feelings.

One year. One full year since they'd reunited on Regina's couch and had promised to stick together from then on. One year since Emma had felt her life come slowly back together and she'd started to convince herself that maybe a happy ending was waiting for her after all.

Now she wasn't so sure. It seemed to be taking its time showing up.

She took another sip of champagne before letting out a sigh. Sure, they'd agreed not to live together at first, because it had made sense at the time. They'd both been on edge about how things had collapsed six months earlier, and they'd wanted to take things slow. For months, Emma had been fine with that. But now time was starting to become another pressure that was eating at her from every side, and she wasn't sure how to shrug it off again. Growing up in foster homes where she'd spent her days waiting for people to get sick of her had taken its toll, and now, as the weeks went by, that feeling was starting to creep back up on her. She wasn't sure how to shake it off again.

Any time Regina opened her mouth with an excited smile on her face, Emma eagerly awaited a discussion about their future, but instead found herself engaging in a conversation about another artist she'd never heard of. Whenever Emma tried to bring the topic up herself, Regina's responses were always short and disinterested, either because she didn't want to engage in something so meaningless or because she was still afraid to try.

Emma straightened her shoulders again and inwardly berated herself. Don't be so stupid, she snapped, grateful that her inside voice was more of a hardass than her external one. She loves you. She tells you that constantly. She's been through a bad marriage and an even worse break-up and she just needs a nudge. Stop sulking because you aren't willing to give it to her.

She groaned at her own brutal honesty. As much as she hated to admit it, this was something she needed to do: she couldn't keep blaming Regina for the fact that both of them were still a little scared of taking the next step.

But then her internal monologue was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Immediately, she felt herself loosen – Regina must have realised that something was wrong and come to ask her about it. Maybe now they would finally have the conversation that Emma had been pushing for since Christmas.

She turned around with half a smile on her face. She even prepared to hold out her champagne glass in case Regina wanted to steal a sip.

Then she stopped, blinking hard. She stepped back in case a hand was about to shoot out and do something to her that she couldn't stop.

"Swan Song," Neal said, grinning at her. "It's been way too long."

Emma automatically took another step away from him, her heeled boot nearly slipping as it hit the floor.

He was right there. Right in front of her, with the same cheeky grin and narrow eyes that crinkled at the sides. His hair was slightly longer but his chin was just as stubbly, and he was still slumped forward like he was trying to get as close to her as possible.

The only thing different about him was that he was wearing a suit. It was crumpled, sure, but it was there, hanging limply around him like a used paper towel. There was a white shirt under it that Emma knew from the specific, straight creases down the front had just been removed from its packaging an hour earlier, and a tie that was loosely knotted and hanging to one side. Years ago, she might have thought his rumpled lack of care was endearing. Right then, she felt sick.

"Neal," she eventually forced out. She didn't try to smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprised?" he asked. She was expecting him to say it with some malice, but there was none. Instead, he was beaming at her like his life hadn't been complete until he'd seen her across the room 20 seconds earlier.

"I... You could say that." Emma looked over his shoulder, hoping to spot Regina or Archie or absolutely anyone she knew, but she was met with a sea of white faces that she barely recognised. "It's been a while."

"Over a year," Neal replied cheerfully. "I've missed you. What have you been up to?"

"I've..." Emma faltered as she looked around the room once more. The only thing worse than the fact that she couldn't see Regina was the fact that no one else was even looking their way. No one was staring or wondering what the hell he was doing there – no one else in the room knew or even cared what he had done. He was just another scruffy-looking guy wandering around in odd socks, and as far as they were concerned, his sloppy appearance was the most unforgivable thing about him.

"You're blown away by my presence, I see," Neal continued like he couldn't see the mounting panic on her face. Emma automatically took another step back, wondering how long it would be before she crashed into the painting behind her.

"I'm just... I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Yeah, well – I took a little break from all this. But I'm back and I've been really looking forward to catching up."

"You have?" Emma asked, folding her arms tightly over her chest. Neal's grin never lessened.

"Of course I have. We used to have fun together. Remember that party where we shared a whole bottle of tequila? I've never known a girl to drink as much as me."

Emma nodded sharply, not knowing how to respond. She glanced behind her to gauge her escape route and realised that she was as close to the wall as she could get without knocking the canvas off its nail. When she turned back, she could have sworn that Neal had edged closer.

He smelled the same – weed and paint and unwashed hair after a long sleep. She hated the fact that she still remembered that.

She looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. She opened her mouth so she could make her excuses and leave.

She was cut off before she could try.

"What," a voice – so familiar to Emma that it made her automatically relax, but cold enough to force her spine into a rigid line – said from behind Neal's back, "are you doing here?"

Regina was standing two paces away with her gaze fixed on the back of Neal's head. Emma tried to think of a time when she'd seen her look that angry before, but she came up short. The only thing that came close was when she'd come home from work to find Emma and Henry eating candy on the couch, totally unaware of the fact that one or both of them had ground chocolate into the designer fabric.

Neal jumped an inch, his smile finally dropping. When he turned around, Regina fixed him with a stare that made Emma's knees shake.

"Regina," he said, his swagger vanishing in the tremble of that one word. With his back turned, Emma felt safe to edge out from behind him. "Great to see you again."

"Is it." There was no question in Regina's sentence – it was blatantly apparent that no, it wasn't.

"It's been a while," Neal continued, glancing at Emma as she shuffled over to Regina's side. "How have you been?"

"You know, I've been terrific. The past year, where you haven't made an appearance even once, has been delightful," she said flatly. "And yet, here you are. I must admit I'm surprised."

"Because you missed me so much?" Neal grinned.

Emma felt the rush of rage that filled Regina up before she'd even opened her mouth. "No – because I made it very clear when we last spoke what would happen if I ever saw you at one of these events again."

"Regina," Neal attempted to laugh. "Come on. That was ages ago."

"And yet I'm still deadly serious. Did you not enjoy having your career ruined, Mr Cassidy? Are you here to see if I'll do it again?"

At that, Neal's shit-eating grin finally vanished and turned into something far more malicious. "Get over yourself. You don't have the power to ruin me."

"I did it once, didn't I?"

"No – you threatened to do it once," Neal corrected, making Emma go cold all over. "And I was young and dumb enough to believe you. But now I have security, and I'm not scared of your baseless accusations anymore."

"Baseless?" Regina spluttered. Emma felt a dozen sets of eyes snap over to stare at them. "You assaulted my girlfriend."

"Says her," Neal replied coolly. Before Regina could cut him off again, he added, "And that's not relevant. I'm not here because of Emma, or because of you."

"Why are you here, then? Did you sniff out the free champagne from down the block?"

"Excuse me, Regina," another voice interrupted them. It was calm and quiet, and it was one that Emma always hated hearing. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to my client like that."

Emma and Regina both turned to find Mr Gold waiting for them. He was leaning on his cane and wearing a smirk that made Emma's skin go icy.

"Your client?" Regina demanded. When Gold just kept smiling serenely, she turned back to Neal and snapped at him, "That's why you're here?"

"I've been signed," he said, his smugness radiating from him. "Someone else recognised my talent. Don't be upset about it."

Emma immediately reached out and grabbed Regina's wrist to stop her from doing something that would land her in jail. The tendons in it were taut and protruding.

"The boy's got a gift," Gold said from behind them. "It would be a travesty to waste it."

"It's not a waste if he's a predatory little wretch," Regina snapped, spinning back around. "I told you what he—"

"Just because some of the sheep we work with believed you when you started trying to sully this young man's name doesn't mean we all did. You're not the only voice of authority in this industry, dearie."

"Regina," Emma muttered in her ear. "Just leave it."

Just as she expected, Regina ignored her.

"This young man isn't fit to walk among us," she snarled. "He's sloppy and lazy and cocky and rude, not to mention all his other undesirable qualities."

"Says you."

"Yes, says me. Trust me – if you get into business with him, you'll live to regret it."

Gold looked her up and down like she was a beggar who'd just wandered into the gallery. "Trust you?"

After a long pause, he let out a sigh and added, "Although, in fairness, it wasn't you telling tall tales, was it?"

Regina's back went rigid. "Excuse me?"

Gold's gaze slithered over to Emma like an insect skating over the surface of a pond. It took every ounce of attitude she still possessed not to shrink back from it.

"Someone else here was the one telling lies," Gold said, staring levelly at her. "I suppose it's not your fault you fell for them."

Emma's body went hot, then cold. She could feel people muttering around them. Somewhere in the background, the incessant jazz music that always played at events like this was still droning on and on, and Emma decided to focus on that rather than on how badly she wanted to reach out and beat the wrinkles off Gold's face.

Beside her, Regina was having a harder time hiding her wish to do so. "Who the hell gave you permission to talk to either of us like that?"

"No one – since when have I needed your permission to do anything?"

If it had just been Gold being an insufferable jackass, maybe Emma would have been able to bear it. As it was, though, she happened to glance over at Neal: he was wearing a cocksure smile that would have been slightly charming if she'd been five years younger and still sniffing around dive bars looking for grubby guys to give her cocaine. Now that she knew exactly what kind of person he was, it just made him look like a crocodile that was waiting patiently for a smaller, stupider animal to wander toward him.

He felt the weight of her gaze on him and he lifted his eyes to meet it. In that one look, she saw a flash of something she didn't like at all.

Without thinking, she turned and walked off. The people who were watching their conversation without even trying to pretend they weren't parted for her, and she stormed through the crowd thanking God that she'd learned to powerwalk in five-inch heels years ago.

"Emma," she heard Regina's voice from behind her. Emma kept walking, forcing her chin to stay in the air so the people staring at her wouldn't see the wobble in her jaw.

She threw open the main door and turned right, not quite sure where Sidney would be waiting for them but knowing Regina was probably already texting him to start the car. The footsteps behind her were getting quicker as they struggled to keep up, and it was only when Emma was two blocks away from the gallery and finally feeling less dizzy that she stopped to let Regina find her.

"Emma," Regina said as soon as she was three feet away. She was out of breath and her voice was laced with concern, but bubbling beneath that was anger. A lot of it. "Are you okay?"

Emma nodded sharply, facing away from her. Regina reached her side and grabbed her hand. "I can't believe what that little imp is trying to do. He's so... I'm furious. He won't get away with this."

Nodding again, Emma kept her eyes on the street ahead. The evening was warm, although not quite as sticky as it had been the summer she'd met Regina. She had a sudden, vivid memory of walking to Le Bernardin to have dinner with her for the first time – sweat had been trickling down her back, and she'd been so nervous about what they would find to talk about that she'd nearly turned around and walked off again. When they'd left the restaurant and Regina had kissed her cheek goodbye, Emma had barely been able to breathe.

And now here she was, wearing shoes that cost a thousand dollars with that very same woman clinging onto her hand and muttering fierce reassurances in her ear. So much had changed, and yet Emma didn't feel very different at all.

"Emma," she heard Regina's voice properly. "Please talk to me. Are you alright?"

Forcing out a sigh, Emma said, "Yeah. I'm okay."

That obviously wasn't good enough, because Regina pulled on her wrist until she was forced to look at her. "You're not. But I'm going to fix this, I promise – Gold's not going to walk all over us and trail that slimy little rapist behind him as he goes. It's outrageous, and I won't stand for it."

Regina's eyes were flashing black with fury, and for a split second Emma felt better.

But then she remembered that night – the one where her lungs had stopped working because she was being pinned down into a couch and didn't have the strength to kick herself free – and how Regina's eyes had shone in the exact same way when Emma had run to find her. Just like that, she felt worse again.

"I just want to go home," she said flatly. Regina blinked.

"Okay. Sidney is bringing the car round. He can take you to work tomorrow, and—"

"No," Emma interrupted, squeezing Regina's hand so she wouldn't take it personally. "I mean, my home."

"Oh. Alright. I don't mind staying there tonight."

That wasn't what Emma had meant either, but rather than argue, she just nodded. She tried to focus on the positive – she wanted some space to calm down, so maybe it was a good thing that Regina still refused to have a conversation about them moving in together. If they shared a bed, Emma would never be alone again.

Except that silver lining was looking distinctly grey, and no matter how much she longed to pull away from Regina, all she could do was tangle their fingers together.

When the car pulled up, they clambered into the back with Regina still muttering to herself about what a disgrace Mr Gold was. She had her left hand clamped in Emma's across the middle seat, but her right was already typing out an email.

"It's absolutely disgusting," she was saying more to herself than to anyone else in the vehicle. "He thinks he can flaunt that snivelling little sex pest in front of us and I won't do anything? Because I'm, what? Scared of him?"

Emma's nose suddenly started fizzing and she scrunched it hard to make it stop. Regina had scoffed at her own words like they were so utterly laughable, but the sorry truth was that Emma was scared. She'd always prided herself on being someone who took no shit and wouldn't hesitate in telling a man where to stick it once he got out of line, but the moment Neal had come bearing down on her, she'd felt the panic settling in with enough force to crush her chest. It had been 18 months but she could still feel him on top of her and, for the first time in a while, she felt truly powerless. It reminded her of being 17 and staring blankly at the wall of her juvie cell, knowing that she was trapped for the foreseeable future and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

"Emma?" Regina asked. "What's wrong?"

Emma shook her head. "Nothing."

A heavy silence filled the car. At the sound of her cracked voice, Sidney glanced up at her in the rear-view mirror.

She felt Regina shuffle half an inch closer, her phone falling to one side.

"Darling. I know this was a horrible surprise and you must feel so angry and afraid, but I promise you I won't let anything happen to you. I'm going to keep you safe. Okay?"

Her words were soft and comfortable and they made Emma's throat hurt. She desperately wanted to lean into them and find some relief there, but she couldn't. Not when she felt like she'd just tumbled back two years and everything was dangerously close to falling apart all over again.

They were getting near to her apartment, and maybe it was the thought of them going inside together and yet again not having the conversation they needed to have that made her turn to Regina and ask, "If we can't fix this, are you going to tell me to leave again?"

The look of hurt on Regina's face was enough to send her reeling backward.

"What?" she demanded. "Why would you ask that?"

"…I'm just wondering."

"Wondering if I'll kick you to the curb just because Neal is back?"

"I mean... It wouldn't be the first time."

All the air left the car as Emma realised what she'd just said. Regina snatched her hand away fast enough to leave a scratch from her ring.

"That isn't fair," she said. "I thought we were past that. You said you'd forgiven me."

"I have. But it still scares me and I can't help but wonder how long it's going to be until you get sick of me causing drama and ask me to leave again."

When Emma realised that Regina looked close to tears, she felt sick.

"I... No," Regina said flatly, looking out the window so she wouldn't have to meet Emma's gaze. "I wasn't planning on breaking your heart again. But maybe I can shift some things around in my schedule if you think you'd like to have another unnecessary fight."

Emma let out a loud sigh. "Don't get all defensive. It was just a question."

"It was a question designed to hurt both of us because you're feeling insecure and when you get like that you prefer to punch back rather than open up," Regina replied shortly. She was right, and she still wasn't looking at her. "Which is ridiculous and hurtful. No, I'm not planning to do that again. Satisfied?"

"Not exactly," Emma muttered, although she was feeling so ashamed of herself that she thought she might choke. "I was just checking. I just need... reassurance."

Regina's eyes flashed as they snapped back over to her. "Reassurance? How have I given you anything but that over the past year?"

"I..."

"I love you. I tell you that 10 times a day. Even when you're being a brat and I want to push you out of a moving car, I love you, and I've spent months trying to make sure you know that. I did a terrible thing back then, but I'm different now and I've apologised and I don't want you throwing that in my face any time you're upset. That's not how this works."

God, Emma hated being in the wrong, but it was even worse when she'd grabbed the shovel and freely dug the hole for herself. Regina's eyes were glassy and hurt, and by saying the stupidest thing she could think of, all Emma had done was take her own unhappiness and forced her girlfriend to sit with it instead.

She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Of course I am. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'scared'. "I spiralled. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I think so much more of you than that."

Regina looked at her suspiciously, but when she saw the sincerity on Emma's face she finally reached for her hand again.

"Fine. Just don't be such an asshole."

"You know I can't promise that," Emma said, smiling weakly.

"True. It is a key part of your personality."

Emma squeezed back, then sighed. "I want to go home."

"We're going home, you silly girl."

"I mean, by myself. I want to go home alone."

Regina blinked at her. "Why?"

"Because, I just... I need some time to think."

Regina didn't look offended. She looked worried. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"If you come back to mine, I'll either keep thinking of horrible things to say just to distract myself or I'll keep you up all night with my worrying. It's for the best."

A delicate pout was clinging to Regina's bottom lip. Even then, Emma couldn't help wanting to lean forward and gently dig her teeth into it.

"But that's what I'm here for – to be kept up all night with your worrying."

It was such a ridiculously sweet thing to say that it only made Emma want to cry more.

"Seriously – I just need to go home and think about this whole Neal situation and get myself under control. Is that okay?"

Regina nodded, but she didn't look happy. Her fingers were still clinging onto Emma's. "I... Sure. Of course."

"Cool." Emma hesitated, realising they were slowing down outside her apartment. "I'll call you tomorrow?"

Another uncertain nod. Regina didn't let go of her hand.

Emma turned to the door and went to grab the handle, but paused at the last moment. "Thanks for sticking up for me tonight."

That, at least, made Regina smile. "Don't be an idiot. I'll always stick up for you."

"Right," Emma said, trying to laugh. When Regina heard the sound – as forced as it was – she finally let go. "I'll talk to you later."

"Of course," Regina replied. Emma clambered out the car, saying goodbye to Sidney as she went. It was only a second before she shut the door that Regina called out to her again. "Emma!"

Turning back to peer into the car, Emma asked, "Yeah?"

"Can you...?" The question visibly dried up on Regina's tongue. "Just... let me know you're safe."

It was when Regina said words like that in her softest, most uncertain voice that Emma truly realised how much she cared about her. Without thinking, she lowered herself back into the car and kissed her on her slightly trembling lips.

"Promise," she said. Regina smiled back.

The car didn't drive off until Emma was safely inside. Even then, filled with anxiety and anger and the sharp bubbles from champagne that had been drunk too quickly, Emma felt a surge of gratitude.

She walked slowly up the stairs and reached her apartment, her heart sinking slightly as she realised that she'd consigned herself to a night completely alone.

She could still smell Regina's perfume on her. That would have to do for now.